Going To Groblersdal In The Morning Poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya

There is sunrise here and there
And lights here and there
Oddity and rarity I look,
Where the dark fades to
Trees in Mountain look sleepy.
And there are no birds of the sky in the sky.

06H00, I leave the village.
A glimpse at our dilapidate houses
To incline esteem

Hopes high and heights not high
To come and hold back
Bread buttered sides.

Forest amid trees that sowed by cosmos
Open a window for puff of air
Breeze is the order in the morning

There are farms here and there,
Maize glowed by the sun
Summer is the season of sassiness,
Brashness and brass-neck

Bypass forest of farms
There is a man in the road
Waving a left hand in air
Holding a hat in it.
Woman holding a baby in the hand
The hand that is meant to wave in the air

Small towns are lonely and angry in the morning
Travellers of town are not dwellers of the city
The dwellers of the village are the travellers of the town
Small town are like cut from the same cloth