I am a house on fire, blazing
An inferno
A heated cross between survival and demolition
Up in smoke, with no hope for redemption.

Kubhulwa kuseliwa.
[Sifting the corn in the tray]

I am a sea, a roaring sea of possibility
Caught between opportunity, chance, belief and
the conflict of the voices in my head
The voices of my upbringing.

Intombi yeyase maMpondweni.
[The girl is from Mpondoland]

I am a fresh breeze of air at the break of dawn on a
Sunday morning before the morning jog.
I am freezing in the sub-zero temperatures of the
winter yet basking in the whimsical colours of
spring – blissfully hopeful.

Ngoba elona likrakrayo lelona liphilisayo.
[The bitterest medicine is the one that heals.]

Unto this my surrender is one:
To allow myself to be chiselled, so as to be refined.
To be burnt so as to be reshaped.
To be frozen so as to be contained.
To be watered so as to be refreshed – to be birthed

Njengo libo lwesivuno esitsha, kude kufuphi
kwindawo yexhwayelo.
[The first fruits of the great harvest, near yet far from
where it began]

I am a house on fire …
A flickering torch – the result of moth to a flame,
the aim is for my fears to be set ablaze.
I am a three-storey house on the verge of burning
down, one layer in the morning, the second at
noon, the third in the wake of the night.

Njengeendidi ezintathu zamasi eselwa: ingqakra,
umthubi nentloya.
[Like the three forms of sour milk in the calabash,
bubbles, cream and water.]

Nakanye uthobela sikutyele!
[Not one who can be bullied.]

I am a house on fire …
Burning down from the burden of responsibility
and the weight of emancipation.

Idiza dala belikhahlaza, ndinga-ndingaba kumila
kumbi, ndiguqe nokuba kungedolo oku
kokuba ndingangqengqi ngomqolo kukoyiswa
ziinzingo zobubom.
[Like the stalk of a mielie that is being harvested, I wish
to be a different form, at least on my knees rather
than defeated and flattened on my back.]