I am a little boy south from the mother of mankind
Rooted where I can serve on the tabletop on one of the wonders of the world
I stand close to the “ouens” with the warm coals singing in unison with the gas of the coke
And when I spoke in my mother tongue, my father would reply, “My English is op”

I inherited the curls from my father which may not blow in the wind
But I have curled into my principles like a bowler that blooms courage and beauty
You may call me a Protea that jumps out of the wild into the field like a springbok
Not in a veld, but a kraal filled with green pastures and the gold in it, her people…

My community is my built foundation with tall buildings ironically called the Cape Flats
A home called Elsies River that may be a scary area, but that’s our struggles and nobody elses.
There are still memories I hold, with my Aunty calling me, playing soccer in the streets with my friends, “Kyle, please buy a bread”
My Uncle standing in the yard and garage would call me to hand him the spanner lying next to him.

I come from the line of ancestors that wrapped them in the skins of animals they hunted
And my colour is not far from the brown soil they stood on that I played in when I was young
I try to connect with my fellow brothers and sisters, but sometimes their language is hard
Yet I try when they ask, how are you and I reply, “ndiphilile enkosi, kunjani?” and that’s where I would stop.

As much as my beautiful heritage informs who I am and what it stands for
I need to own it, like I champion it.
I augment the importance of it like handing my last name down to my future offspring
To breathe in the air of royalty like an heir to my heritage to which the throne is shared

My country, my people and the future not informed by a past, but the existing beautiful heritage”