Musings of a Zulu Girl


It has been a while since I have written poetry. Still a bit rusty but with spending the weekend sick with flu, all I did was read, write and sleep. The below poem is something that came out of that process:


It is because of your kisses to my forehead and temples

that my baby hairs curl and flourish the way they do,

not even a brush can tame them into compliance.

I notice them a lot more as they sneak a peek

to say ‘hello’ to me in the mornings

when I brush my overgrown cornrows.


Scattered tissues, medicine, and delirious with  flu,

I think of the missed moment to fall asleep on your chest in 5 minutes

or when I am wrapped in a topic that occupies my mind and my hands do more talking,

whilst you patiently nod with your “lentombazana- izoba-inkinga-in-my-life” stare

followed by your “I-hear-you” grin, hands suspended in the air.


When my feet grow cold, wearing thermal socks is not a choice,

for I would rather opt to keep my toes near your feet

because you are a ball of constant warmth.

Weird, because though born in the winter month of May,

you are the Sun in motion that a Sun-child like me loves to take in,



This was meant to be a Haiku,

short and sweet.

But you and I know nothing is ever short with me,

except for my nails and height, obviously.


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