ArtistsofAzania

I wanted to tether your words With soft cotton or perhaps damask silk But I couldn't. Instead I inscribed them on paper Capturing only distant images of what they revealed The song you had chanted had filled vistas Not with echoes but it's own original symphony. I failed you and apologies are repeated again and again. You scorn their repetition, rightfully for love does not require apology and stumbling exclamations are tiresome to endure. Love is not patient but impetuous and you'll seek your desires elsewhere Perhaps you'll seek it between the incandescent rain falling between neon lights or the subjugation of your soul to high noted sound

Victoria's narrative ~~~~ When one is sitting in what one expects to be a private library, an annoying, repetitive clicking sound is generally unwelcome. Taking no measures to hide my displeasure, I glared sideways at the lady who was forced to accompany me. Sure, Ada Byron of Lovelace knew her way around this particular establishment like the back of her hand, so to speak, but for such a bookish person, one would assume she would have the decency to be quiet and refrain from constantly opening and closing her pocket watch. "I swear to the high Heavens, Lady Lovelace, if you continue making that wretched sound, I will resort to slightly vi

The great flaw of humanity is that we care to much about what others are doing and care to little about how they are doing.  

qaphela – there is fire here in my indlovukazi’s eyes she burns with her umbuso plakkerskamp op mitchels plein qaphela – there is fire in the cape and there’s an ember in her heart that died hier vertoef ‘n vlammeman in my keel – op my tong op die berg en in die see thetis, are you not mamlambo you serpent in the rivers did you know that there is fire here oh indlovukazi of old her braids adorned with shells and beads on a poster that reads: "guided township tours"