by Walter Dikgale
(Polokwane, Limpopo, South Africa)
At times I sit to write words,
But they are nothing but just decorated verses....
Today here I am again...pouring out my heart.
As I thread this road,
Caged in fearful but honest thoughts,
I know one thing is real
I'm drifting further and further from home.
I have quickly forgotten the teachings of a bird and its nest,
Let alone a little featherless birdie.
The essence of having a home.
Life has set its rules and boundaries, my role is predetermined. But as I walk, I am aware of a similar path running parallel, a stone throw away from my track.
The voices in me tell me that I am getting lost,
but I am loyal at heart thence why abandon this decorated path that I have walked on before?
Look, I am not doing anything wrong, I'm simply not doing what I ought to do. . .
That's my return of heart.
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