Seipati Misapitso Poet Free verse

The Traveller's Eye

I am not from your soil, but from red earth,
Yet my heart maps the scars upon your ground.
I travel through the verses of the world,
Where poets craft the truth that must be found.

We build with metaphors, not stone or steel,
A common tongue where silent pain can breathe.
We take the key, the olive branch, the seal,
And weave the hope that politics bereaves.

To you, who etch your grief in stubborn rhyme,
Who make a homeland out of breath and line:
Your words are not a whisper lost in time,
But roots that in the global conscience twine.

And to the keepers of the steadfast tree,
Who live the poem others dare to write:
Your dignity defines what it means to be,
A beacon in the longest, darkest night.

We are the scribes who hold the traveller's eye,
Who cross all borders under the same sky.
We carry back the story, clear and stark,
To etch your truth on history's worn bark.

So let our stanzas be a pilgrim's road,
A shared, unyielding, and a fierce abode.
A chorus rising from the shattered stone—
You are not, and will never be, alone.

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