Mosquito Bites

Mkhulu, outside a township heat wave passed us more than a thousand times. yesterday We were sitting on your straw mata’s listening to crickets and toads growl in agony behind unknown places. Just the way you taught us Mkhulu. The night, so innocent, was pure and celebrated by stars of which you were one of them. Subconciously our tiny hands slapping at our tiny feet at night, dodging the unnatural touch of shongololo’s and mosiquito bites. Consiciously watching the pale lady of diplomacy singing lullaby’s to her people.

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