Eish Tsatso

How could I not remember lullaby
once we were like teenagers
floating high in the sky in
kind like a kite my dolomite
my stalactite stalagmite yours is a rite
left to the passage of time, is
my beat in yours a crime or
can I always be your
memory your desert red
rose my Kyalami Sands
khaya lami
your heart is my garden of
Eden, watseba mos, done.