When I am a writer

I change like seasons of the year

To complete circle of this confusion

When I am made a writer

When the rain is over, even the mighty storm

My mind left in a desert again

Lonely in fruitless moments

Gaining strength from my sour blood

That come trough rivers that

Has been blocked by dead woods

I was watching them as they fall

From my eyelids, there were not pens

I couldn’t build a poem with them

When I called a writer

I walk in misty theories of this day

And celebrate my life beyond mysteries

My mission remain prohibited in living

For every footprint was blowed by wind

Before the rain can come to strengthen them

When I am a writer

I will create my own universe

So that nothing will be removed

With its peaceful worlds

To protect voices those are lost

Those in captive and exile

Even those still to exist

Sifiso Motha