We are denied the warm moments to exchange kisses
Our lifestyle is this vast
love denying jail
If you don't come to me
I will not come to you
Pride is the arbitrary
arbiter of our love
You don't write to me
Technology has saddled me
With the iron grip of
The loss of memory
I have forgotten how to
write the moving love letter
of innocent old style romance
Because of some obscure reason
of life we are denied the warm
Moments to exchange kisses
And time is the match commissioner
who wants to know the results
Of whether our rematch is ill
fated for relegation and doom
We rarely meet on the home front
And when we meet on the phone
The conversation flies off into
The jabbering accusations and counter
Accusations that end with the staccato
of the bitter disputes and insulting
acrimonious recriminations
In your headquarters of the lion's lair
You hide to growl at me
Whatever happened to the brilliance of
Your clever word play that kept
The fires of love burning bright
in our hearts that flowed with love?
Where lies the corpse of my witticisms that
pay the price for this wretched romance?
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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