A heart like a tombstone stiff and dry,
A crow atop a willow calls thine name.
For thine pains and sufferings you stand and
cry...
Love and hate has been the same.

And life like death , and hope like fear:
Ages of lachrymose wilt define thine life.
Four seasons of suffering every year...
A tombstone engraved, a name of sin and
strife.

Who will ever live a life as full?
For all destiny is broken and shuttered in a
shade .
Ages of lachrymose are stories of Sheol...
Let us not hold back. For death we was made.

For rejection too. For loneliness more.
Loneliness and rejection is our story and fate .
As a man in Gaol once said before:
'All life my son is a story of hate.'

I sought my death, and found it in my womb;
I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb.
I realized that life is but a shade:
And now I die; And now I was but made.

~ Khayelihle Bongiswa Gamedze
© 4/28/2021