Hair gold like a lioness,
Obscure, elusive poetess.
Ducking behind syllables,
Dodging responsibility,
Painting the canvas
Like a crooked smile.
South African, Christian refugee,
Some welcome they get.
Braving all kinds of chemicals,
Just for the Hell of it:
Making her life more difficult.
Plush with anaesthesia and brutality,
Seeks sensitivity, and freedom from formality.
Fiery preacher of nativity, of an imported proclivity,
A sublime religion of sad suicidal tendency:
Undermined and ripped off by plastic medicine.
Taught to fear truth so long,
Conscience clear sings siren song.
Resilient like a phoenix,
From the ashes of last night’s self-immolation,
Two thousand years spiritual immigration.
With kindness still in her nature.
But is there still fight left in her aegis?
She’ll need it now – and for the duration. --
Quietly, we pray.