We grow up landless

I finally placed my mat upon the ground
And set my feet at the tip of its tongue to ask you
Who keeps telling you that my happiness threatens your own
When love is here without favourable position
It was here before any land on earth was ever promised
And it will be here long after.

Copyright © Nomzi Kumalo, 2015.

Kitchen in my religion

Hands deep in the communal water
Love, the kitchen cupboards, dishes
Piled up again to live out my religion

My feet and my heart, compassion
How comforting the steaming kettle
Whistling my life pressures away

Naked before all of my confessions
I now wipe the table clear of dirt
Breathe hymns into the soft season.

Copyright © Nomzi Kumalo, 2014.