Indeed, it is indebted to the rivers, glades and mountains
My hand bows before the lakes for thoughts to maintain
A good balance of what I need
And that of my master who leads
I felt fear growing on the back of mind
My hand and pen are honest and kind
Until the paper takes it to the streets
Unleashes its anger, then I will retreat
My happiness comes from this pen
Like a farmer who feed his hen
I will never take a rest
Not until I give my best
I am a poet of my own words
I will stand firm as poetry shifts the worlds
I will sing praise where it’s due
Curse the day when thoughts rue
Forgive my dialects, never mind
If there, something offensive you find
My words are harsh; take time, don’t rush
I bear no grudge or anger in my heart
Until I’m done with the hypocrites
I feed from dried vegetables and termites
Look at what had filled my roundavel hut
A calabash with foaming goat milk
It will be just an eye blink
Before you grant me peace, I won’t take a dive
Like honey in the hive
I will stay cool and calm
As my pen is called to arm
Written by:Rabelani Tshidino
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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