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Constant contrast,
In the Eastern Cape.
Sun-soaked beaches,
Pina colada’s within reach.
I’m not interested in preaching,
Finding something, finding nothing.
It doesn’t matter, it’s all in the exploring.
Implying you’re a wanderer,
Hanging inland in Makhanda.
Met an ex-con, turned security guard.
He was on his guard, as I was off guard.
God knows how tired I am.
An 8-hour drive through the Promised Land.
I was almost late for the show,
Yet I always find a place to go.
And, in this moment this is home.
Solid walls or flimsy polyester tents.
It doesn’t matter, today,
I have no reason to vent.
Ventilation, we can’t find any frequencies,
Which would enable us to tune into radio stations.
It doesn’t matter because we’ll listen to the sound of birds singing instead.
Fighting off eternal dread.
There is no need for any of those ill feelings here.
Today and now is all we need,
Ride off into the sunset on a,
Metaphorical: trusty steed.
Horses, or cows,
Trackers are ready to plough…
This is, farming country,
Pineapples growing abundantly.
I’ve never seen such a giant prickly structure,
Bathurst strangely calms my soul.
Today, I have nowhere else to go, go go.
Stay!
Yet that’s okay…
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Another gun battle down the street
So many now living off stolen meat
Townships burning, the city too
What is a worrisome fellow to do?
Roadblocks at every corner
Vigilantes on my street,
Wandering and wondering
Reckless
The calm before the storm
Deathly quiet
Until a gunshot rings out
Is this a taste of civil war?
So many factions
So much is being fought for
Almost out of things to eat
Ques for days
End of days
A cloudy haze
Tires burning down by the industrial park
Don’t go out after dark
It’s too late to come back
It’s too late
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