The tidy linearity we’re used to leaves little room for revolution.
If one loved in the Indian provinces, one could only love in English, with “I love you.”
But was there a better way to put these pronunciations on the page?
If poetry is an act of discovery for a writer, then even a computational poem has to uncover something new.
A daughter who is jia 嫁 is out of the house is gone forever, water poured out of a bucket, never whole, never yours again.
For me, Khelobedu is a language, a culture, home. For most South Africans, it doesn’t exist.
What kind of story would you like to write?
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