We are proud to bring you the annual prestigious NATIONAL POETRY PRIZE and to announce the winners through OFF THE WALL, on Monday, the 3rd April, at 7.30pm.
The always competing two horizons delay themselves in a pause before night’s fall, and the sun’s lazy eye that had reached the edge eyes the moon’s beguiling eye at this decline between evening and night, heralding the zen of things.
Aba teetered between sleep and waking. Each time she drifted off, a bark or a croak or the rumble of a car rushing past roused her, so that again, she counted her breath – to not only slow it down, but also to distract herself from her thoughts, which whirled and collided like balls in a lottery machine.
In die begin was die appel ŉ aanbod. Die Mattby metro is in ŉ mall, Iso Omena, i.e. The Big Apple. By Mattby trek die M1-metrokar weg en ek voel vir my selfoon om te kyk hoe ver...
Their famous guest published an essay in which he described what happened that day. He called it Luncheon at Pretoria. It was jocular; wry. He built up the narrative with his customary care, beginning with a description of the drive from Jo’burg (thus we called it, he wrote) to Pretoria.
the track has changed. the melancholy of its spine, the rattle of its dust, the verge of succulents and scented bush
Once he’d read the letter numerous times — folding it carefully and tossing it on the bed after each round, and after some anxious coughs, mumbles, and caresses of the stitched neck, picking it up again for another look through — K. pocketed the damn thing,
When the trucks are loud and heavy on the bridge above me, and there is too much sharp light from the metal bodies of so many cars flowing in front of me, I lean back into the shadows of the cool cement wall, close my eyes, and feel I am sitting by a river.
Mariam parked in her usual spot in front of the martial arts studio, a short way down from her father’s apartment block. There was secure visitors parking underground and away from the chaos of the main road, but she’d stopped using it some time ago.
Bad people live in the house across the train tracks. That’s what Ma says. She says it’s chock-a-block full of druggies and neglected children. Sometimes when we drive past Ma flicks her hand and says, Now there’s a bad lot. I don’t want you playing with those kids, do you hear?