What Love

Written by: Sizo Hlophe

She still walks the streets that moulded the 
dimples in her smile,

the streets that had her sing a tale song 
tailored with a forged rhyme.

She's fond of the trees that cater a platter 
of shade towards her mile, 

a mile that has so many hearts of weary 
travellers on her pile.

What art is she?

She shares a splif with the dukes of our 
time,

And walk into fortresses to dine with the 
lords we spite.

She feeds on reasoning of fouled grey 
widows,

how come, how should, how can: she 
mourns.

What love?