IT IS

It is the sound of a tambourine played by nature on this cliff
Ascending on a rapid pace with melodical notes
stealing ears that do not realy know their delight.

It is that antique guitar
which its appearance may not be appertising but
what is confined in its brass strings
let go of arrows aimed in our misery's
separating us from the existance of grief.

cause the first being resided in the gardens of abundant peace
the potter which call him fourth on the ground
utilised the same skill even to us.
If we could share the same conceivement
couldnt we be entitled to his blessings.

It is the beat of a drum
played by an adroitful player
which is meant to motivate these feet
that stomp the ground
to raise fumes of dust
making nogqawuse proud.
siso kanye isingqi sakwaphalo.

Ressurecting not our ancestores ghostly characters
but that which was moistly stuck on their tongues
Ubuntu.

It is that root that was born not of a seed
but was sucked on the bossom of an african woman
who's independency forbides her from being two minded
who's afflictions force her to be a man for her offsprings.

It is that which it is
and cannot be that which is not.