The Eastern Cape

Fission fiery sunrise wrecks the dreary twilight, Sinister clouds form uncomfortably overhead. Denying this is the wind. Bronze headed fields begrudge the monochrome heavens. Some brave rays pierce the blankets in the sky. These images guarded by beat-up huts Pure untouched ancestral land where shadows still toil, Like ghosts herds ride the valley waves, So far removed from the rape of the real. Here I can still hear the grass and - The sanguine whispers of old