Hearts like jewels,
Precious.
Intentions as good,
Gracious.
I look at them everyday like the sun
And still my eyes don’t seem to get used to this,
“They are beautiful”, said my friend Chris
Their identity I will forever miss.

Who sees them as I do?
Who else values them with a measure that is true?
We are the paper
They are the tree,
We are free
and they are our freedom.
Those long months when we shared a space with their intestines,
Precious like gold ore in the depths of Johannesburg mines;
There we feasted in some bloody dines.

The moment of delivery came
And they squeezed us out like sugar from sugar cane,
Alive we became
And the pain wasn’t in vain.
We had milk until we could chew the grain
But their patience was relentless
Like a man insane,
They are always there.

Our hands torture them
And our words tear up them apart,
Nevertheless,
our skin still feel their warmth like chicks under the wings of a hen.

They love us,
They do miracles for us
But they ain’t Jesus.