Mzansi,
an ancient landscape
where the baobab sprouts
between rock and borbonia
between yellow wood and protea
Mzansi,
an ageless wasteland
where ruins of modern cities
crumble to squatter and squalor
a resting stop to an unknown sailor
Mzansi,
a meeting point for generations
a street with two names
separated by a sea of colours
yet everything remains black and white
Mzansi,
a place where women
rescue their lives in broken hands
whisking it from one dark corner
to another, in search of the light
Mzansi,
sloping hills and running rivers
towering mountains and crushing waves
the land and sky full of hardships
that is our country, our home.