Farmers plough and plough again,

In the dew-filled fields of the elder victuals now departed

And then, once again, returning with the rain.

Only your spirit can ascertain

What is certain beyond argument, and popular unjustified beliefs, dressed up in logical claims.

How then, is the lake so different to the sea, but so clearly the same?

The water droplets recall the birth of new names

And that is, the parable of the sprouting seed,

Baptised in the Black Nyanja like the River Ganges.

Locked and plaited with sanusi/sannyasini sayings,

The reflection of the days and memories retained in water, a Land of Lakes and horizons of fire in the brain.

Mama iNyanga – the Moon and Ubaba Ra – the Sun Came, and gave the patient flow its true rifting name

While creation's daughters and sons

Climbed and fell from the summits of Meru

To give DiKenga,

A Dharma for those who can connect the ancient pathways.

The different gods of my ancestors are sunken,

To reawaken, immersed upon my skin.

I felt in my consciousness, as with the waters I dwelt within, that the portent polarities

Are only dualities on the surface of the water, and rock faces, A lesson, the Lake teaches one, when you let its vastness in; To live for others

As the gods of our ancestors

Are the distant ancestors of our ancestors themselves

Diverging, to arisen and submerged places,

Which we have never seen or have always been.

That is why

There is always a ‘ship’ of offerings to form networks of ‘kin’.

From this site we should see that

Our present life is our only true wealth. And so,

The burden of the community, I too will bear,

To share fresh-water words irrigating health

As it is deeply and fundamentally free by itself.

Therefore,

Under these ephemeral waters

I will submerge my future cells and my self.