Though not of the same color, but of the same blood.
Though not of the same tribe, but of the same mother.
I am one of them, but I don't talk like them.
I live on the other side of the house.
Where hatred is not a thing like in their house.
Tear my tableaus and throw them away is a sign of animosity.
Am one of them,
but when I come he pretends.
My arrival is their agony.
My presence is his hallucination.
Am one of them
Joshua madiba
YOU ARE READING
Boy from Lwakaka and the twenty poems of the living cent
PoetryThis is a story of my life and the hard situation i passed through. And i send my appreciations to grand mama and may dear aunt who where their for me
