I hold the keys to my secret vault

who has the keys to my private vault?
who knows what goes on inside that vault of mine?
what treasures and pleasures are locked in there?
some have the temerity to find out
why this vault is my hideout
but little will they know that little secret –
the one that’s so discreet.
I’ve everything locked up there
and you, I’ll always dare unveil the secrets.


My misty doppelganger

Ahead of me is a paragon of myself
All very faint and luring.
From behind, I follow myself
Trying to live like my misty doppelganger
But along I stumble and gamble my odds.
The perfect me never exists
All I know is me and my pitfalls
But try I will for he is what makes me tick.

If my poetry was colour.

If my poetry was a colour it would be red.
I would paint all the rocky mountains with red
And change the colour of the sky too.
I would repaint all the birds of the air
And all the fishes of the oceans red
If my poetry was a colour.

Dew drops

The dew on your lips
Leaps into my heart
To cool and nourish it
Each time I think of you.
Every morning you wake up
And open wide your arms
To embrace my cold heart
The dew drops effervescent
Whispering those words
That I so wish to hear from you.
Then it’s time bow to you dear.

What are flowers

What are those beautiful flowers

Without bees taping into their sweetness?

How beautiful are they

When their beauty is in the eyes

Of the beholder who walks away?

What are flowers without their lovers?

Aren’t they just vegetative matter

Whose life story is written

In the few eyes that see them

But never in the memories

Of those who have tasted them

And enjoyed them with all the senses?

Without the bees their progeny dies within them

And that becomes the end of their story.

What are those beautiful women

Without their adoring men folk?

Just asking for my friend who loves flowers.

The last dregs

The golden disc in the west dips
To gladden the dying day
Posting it on a vast canvas
Displayed on the edge of the horizon
Where no one has been and back.

On our balconies we linger longer
Sipping the last dregs of our lives
Wishing for more days Before our numbered days expire.

We can’t be so wrong

I met her on a sunny Sunday.

She looked stunning and wasn’t running

We took turns at staring at each other a while,

Then I saw her toothless smile

Beaming at me like the sun through a window

And that became the arch of our rainbow.

I chatted her up and had a leafy salad.

I realised the language of love needs no ballad

As it bound us together so long;

For being together we can’t be so wrong.

Love doesn’t die

The leaves may leave the branches
Yearning to come to the ground & wilt & rot
But with them, love for where they came from
Never dies.
Hence they remain remnants of love
Shaped like hearts that remind us
Of the importance of love
For with love
We can move mountains & dam rivers.

The poem of life

2008 – The people refused ZanuPF. The army forced it on the people.

2018 – The people refused ZanuPF. The courts forced it on the people.

2018 – The economy refused ZanuPF. Mthuli is forcing himself on the economy.

The people are raped left, right and centre.


When I was young and naive
And every night I looked up
Little did I understand
How you glow as you grow
Right there in the clutch
Of God’s palm as he tries to calm you.
Yes, now I know there was a time
When I used to be confused
By where you got the gloat
Of your glow at night.