No man is an island but plenty hearts are desserts
Stretching like the partridges of grass but never reaching spiritual gardens
Because man is content with shame that he covers his pain with a smiling face 
Hides his natural state to honour inauthenticity’s fame, adopt it as his ancestral name
Is it that as seeds we are nurtured to be everything but none of ourselves
Why do we pack death upon our living shelves 
Upon our palms we grasp life that in love we must give
Only if we are real, we then heal our nation from ethnic ills that are keeping us array from being one
Yes! We are diverse but not in adverse to divert from “ubuntu” as you read my verse I am one with your nerve
Feel my pulse beating in these metrical words to enliven your poetic verve, free in a verse
The price is to pay attention….cause the only debt made to knowledge is ignorance and the only price paid to knowledge is dedication!……peace once more my nation…no man is an island let your heart be a garden