By Ernie Koela
Molo Qamata,siyabulisa, sicela amazwe.
Xhokonxani nide nophe, khuthazanani ukuze
niphile, noko kunzima.
Stop to figure,
what’s confused by the dialectic tongue that creates the false dichotomy between my somatic features and abilities to express my speech.
Conflicted living in a world of paradox culture seems appropriated from me –
I represent a lost cause of those in limbo hoping to find home in a road with no arrows pointing the way to go.
To figure me is to question in what language do ‘I’ dream and subconsciously see things in the realm where me who is me walks freely without the rigidities of arbitrary purpose Dick-tated by fiscal means.
How do I abstract violence on other bodies when it seems I am terror?
Through my wrists I slit, adjacent lines that sever the flesh, on paper only to reveal my veins only go pen deep
Pensive of my thoughts only see a person with no life tree and history, an absence of a being who is defiant and will surely create the negation (me.)