Dear Levi,

Four weeks ago, I buried my bracelet, my ring, and my baby.

When the sun came back/ I was a full tree/with all the room in the desert to grow,

I hope when they take my picture/I am filtered with bright exposure

The sun shone brightly as if the ancestors themselves smiled upon the day.

Stigmata on his hands/ a needle in his vein

When the Black man ruled this land, things were very different. You see, me, I’m the brother of the wind; I am the altered destiny.’

The Quality of Mercy is one of the finest books from Africa, and with it, Siphiwe has positioned herself as an important [African] writer

A small portion of your wings / Housefly, lies here before my eyes.

Here eats young and old.

As soon as the smoke dispersed, a gorgeous woman with glowing dark skin was standing there.