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grade 8 poetry

The following Grade 8s are commended for outstanding extra-curricular writing. Their poems will be entered in the POETRY COMPETITION being run by EVOLUTIO.
Meagan Roos
Luthandolwakhe Storm 
Dohne Pennacchini
Christy Witter
Neve Burness

You cannot know the fears I have:
 By Dohne’ Pennacchini
You cannot know the fears I have as I think about you.
I yearn for the soul-filled look from your
Lie awake sleepless night recalling your voice.
So solitude does not swallow you
No pining, nor regret
Engulf your doubt with hours of delight
About our hopes and dreams, your earlier
Spoken over my life both day and night
While guiding me lovingly
Through the deepest depths or the highest
Heights of my life
Even as your love surrounds my entire
Some intuitive sense
Uplifts your loving spirit
With apologies to Shabbir Banoobhai
By Luthandolwakhe Storm
You cannot know the fears I have
As I think of you
I fear that I shall live only as your daughter,
That the bond I have with you
Is not deeper than the ocean
You cannot know the fears I have
As I lie awake finding no sleep
But praying you may live long;
That the Lord blesses you
With all your heart’s desires
For you are the center of my world
And your happiness is all
I strive for
You cannot know the fears I have
As I think of you. I fear
That one day you will no longer
See me as your daughter, but
An ordinary girl and that day
Is the day I shall no longer
Be complete
You cannot know the fears I have
By Christy Witter
You cannot know the fears I have
As I think about you
I fear that I shall live only as your daughter
While I sleep you lie awake
Until you know my fears are gone
You overwhelm my world with wonder
With love and kindness, your gentle care
You help me up when I fall down
When I need help, you’re always there
Your creativity has passed on to me
I shall always keep it in my heart
I just want to say I’ve loved you
Right from the start
Apologies to Shabbir Banoobi
By Isabella Greef
You won’t know how sorry I am
When I think about you
You fear you will only live to hear me laugh.
You stay up long nights to check if I’m okay
So that I won’t be alone with the lonliness,
Nor hunger nor thirst.
When I came into this strange, wonderous world
With music of words my earliest home
When you read the poems you wrote the night
As I smiled bewildered
Or when I depended on your breathing.
Even when I searched for comfort from your
Or where something horrendous
Crushes your strong fighting spirit.

Poetry workshop of 17 August

Presented by Olwethu Mxoli

Music by Sibabalwe September
Music is a beautiful thing
It soothes the soul
It cleanses the heart
It clears the mind
I may not know to read it
I may not know how to play it
But at least I am able to listen to it
My soul is soothed
My heart is cleansed
My mind is cleared
Music is a beautiful thing
When listening to music
Your heart beats with the beat of the song
Your soul feels full
Your mind feels calm
Everyone thinks I am going crazy
Just because I always sit in my room to listen to music
When I explain to them it’s the love I have
They laugh and giggle as it was funny
Music is a beautiful thing
It soothes the soul
It cleanses the heart
It clears the mind
Gavel by Carison Kramer
This is a hammer
This is a gavel
It might not look like one but it is one
Gavels are strong and load
Strong represents a woman
Women are strong beings
Woman may be load
But loud out of love
This is a gavel
As disproportionate as it may look
It’s disproportionate
To show how woman don’t balance out what they give
This is a gavel
No, this is a woman  
Coffee by Lauren MacGorman
Feeling the warmth in your hands
Laughing at the old
Enjoying the new
Lying down and talking
Bright colours
Soft lights
Late night cartoons
Dancing to L.A Deuottee
A soft peace around us
A new world
One where we can see the light
Even in the dark
Inside jokes
Fuzzy socks
A best friend
 Woman by Phelisa Kosi
What defines a strong woman?
Some say it’s her character
Or the knowledge the possesses    
Others say it’s the way she walks the walk and talk the talk
I say it’s her ability of making perfection out of imperfections
A woman is a true definition of a rock
She is bold, fearless and fierce
She knows how to give life to a being without needing to press skin
She loves hard even when she’s aching 
Now look in the mirror and tell me what you see
Because I see a fierce, pure and fierce individual
I see a woman who possesses great quality
I see a strong woman


in the moment

By Valentina Longari

Mindfulness is defined as “the quality or state of being conscious or aware of something,” but to me that single, powerful word means so much more. Mindfulness is not a state, nor is it a fleeting quality one obtains; it is in fact an art.
It is often said that there is beauty in everything, but mindfulness is the key to unlocking that beauty. When one is mindful you take the time to appreciate the little things in everyday life. You no longer see a rusty old watch with a cracked face. Instead you see the hours that took to forge it or the hands that worked on it, you notice how the sun beams dance along the cracked face lighting it up like a diamond. When you are mindful you notice the little things, the things that truly matter.
Mindfulness is an art and just like every art it centres on appreciation and love. One does not stare at a painting if one does not appreciate or love something about it. Perhaps you love the brush strokes or the symbolism hidden within the rough canvas, perhaps it speaks to you on a certain nearly unreachable level. Whatever the case; be it a lush forest, antiquity or simply a rock you will find yourself enthralled by something about it, unable to look away.
When you are mindful you use all of your senses. It is the only time you truly look and see, the only time you take a break and taste all the different flavours and smell all the different scents. When you are mindful you take time out of your muddled life and you focus on the beauty of one thing… that in itself is an art.
Seeing as mindfulness is an art, it follows that to perfect it you need time to practice and understand how mindfulness works. Someone once said, “Be still, the quieter you become the more you can hear.”  This quote is the perfect way to introduce how to be mindful. In order to truly appreciate something you cannot be distracted by noise, whether it comes from outside or within. To perfect the art of being mindful you first need to quite… after that all you have to do is appreciate and think.


Junior school

Learning a Lesson

By Sarah McFarlane

Julie was a mean six year old girl. Her friends Victoria and Bella thought they should teach her a lesson. They would stay up till twelve o’clock at night, thinking about a lesson. Finally they thought of one, so Bella invited Julie to her house and Bella’s mom read them a story. It was about a girl who was mean, when her friend was mean to her she realized how it felt and she changed. Julie realized she had been the same and suddenly she changed. Now she is a sweet girl and never is mean. 

A Thirteen Year Old Girl Saved by a Safety Belt

By Georgia Ownhouse 

A miracle took place yesterday when a thirteen year old girl survived a serious car crash. The thing that saved her life was her safety belt. Her mother was taking her to school and warned her to put her safety belt on. Seconds after her warning, they crashed into another car and the girl almost flew through the window-screen. Fortunately the safety belt saved her.  The ambulance came straight away and took the injured girl to the hospital. Her mother only suffered minor injuries to her face and right arm. The young girl broke her leg and it was put into plaster of paris.

My Role model

By Neo Matsuso 

My mother’s name is Thobeka which means “to be humble”. She’s 35 years old and was born on 2 May 1979. My mom’s married name is Mathabang. Her clan name is Mamzangwa but I use my grandmother’s clan name which is Mamkoena. She’s my role model because she teaches me to be loyal and to be respectful. She’s special to me because there’s nothing else in the world that is sweeter than my mom.

A Beautiful Childhood

By Meagan Roos 

A beautiful childhood is all about family and friendship.  It is about having fun and living in the moment with friends and family.  I would never be where I am now without the loving and beautiful support of my family and my friends. 



Deur Wade-Lee Muller

My hond se naam is Tinker Bella, maar ek noem haar Bella. Sy is swart en sy het bruin oë. Sy is baie slim en sy is lief vir speel. Sy blaf in die nag en sy is vroeg in die oggened wakker. Ek is baie lief vir my hond en sy is baie lief vir my. Dit is hoekom ons beste vriende is.

Deur Caitlin Peters 

My kat se naam is Olly. Hy is my troeteldier. Hy is swart en wit. Hy vang muise en rotte. Hy speel met ons hond, Skooby. Hy hou daarvan om vis te eet. Ek is baie lief vir katte, want hulle is oulik.

Life is so beautiful

By Joanne Miller  

Your beauty shines brighter than a star

And that is just what you are

Your gentleness floats like a soft puffy white cloud

Love will shout your name out aloud


Hope touches your heart

And makes sure that you are not apart

Apart from the people you love

Even the ones that are high above


Let the joy rush through your body

And then share it with everybody

Happiness flows down a river that will never end

When you’re on a journey remember to bring a friend

‘n Leeu

Deur Jaime Boswell 

My dier is groot en baie wild. Hy eet vleis en ander diere. Hy woon saam met sy familie onder ‘n groot klip. My dier het groot pote, bruin oë, baie maanhare en hy het die hardste brul van sy famile. Hy is nie bang nie, maar hy is dapper.


By Lerise Johnson


Different sizes

Flying up high

Beautiful and amazingly unique



By Sihlumile Mojombozi


Loving, caring

Makes me smile

Always there for me



By Mellisa Lemley


Relaxing sounds

Drops of joy

Tears from the sky




By Taryn De Klerk



Shining bright

Guidance at night


Treat your Friends with Kindness

By Bilqees Vauda

Mary was a rude eleven year old girl, who lived in a big house and got everything she wanted from her parents. She enjoyed teasing her friends. One day Lucy and Aamena decided not to take Mary with them to the movies. Mary was disappointed because they did not invite her to go with them. She regretted treating her friends so badly and now she is very happy because they forgave her after she said sorry to them. Mary realised that her nastiness pushed her friends away and she vowed to stop teasing others.


My Puppy

By Robyn Minnaar

The day I got my puppy

I was wearing a pink puffy pumpkin dress

The puppy was very, very fluffy

And he was really hard to impress


He played with me we had real fun

His eyes were as blue as the sea

Love spoke to me and told me he’s the one

I just had to pick him because he picked me

I love my puppy



By Siphosethu Vena

What is a girl without fashion?

A style for every story.

Clothes mean business.

Designed for fit. Love for style.

Fashion is nothing without people.


By Naledi Mankayi


Happy moment

Scoring and noisy

Running, playing, having fun



By Monique Balie


Cool, smart

Ace every test

I’m one of them




By Fatima Salie


Soft petals

Blows in the wind

Attracts insects


The naughty Hare Triplets
By Shay-Leigh Little  

The Hare Triplets are really naughty, young boys that love to pull pranks. They always pulled pranks on their family. They became the neighbourhood pranksters. In the end they learn life is not a joke. They were big trouble makers.


One day Jeff, Joe and George, the naughty triplets, were being naughty and pulling pranks. They giggled and laughed when they saw dad coming down the stairs and into the kitchen.  He opened the fridge and Wham! He gets hit in the face with a pie. They were grounded for a week and sent to their rooms, but soon snuck out of the window. They were bad hares.


They snuck over to Marshal, their neighbour’s house ,and set up another prank. They put wire by her front door and called her to come outside. She opened the door and ran out but she fell into a big muddy puddle below.  She was full of mud but before she could say anything, they ran off laughing.


Next, they went to Red the Rabbit’s house and decided to pull another prank. But when they snuck in they were in for a treat. They all open the door and a big bucket of goo fell on their heads. Red, Marshal and Dad jumped out and took a picture and put it on Facebook. They swore never to prank again.


The triplets were mischievous little hares. They pulled pranks all the time because it’s their favourite thing to do. They were known for their pranking. But they started understanding life is serious. They were really naughty.

I am a Scientist

By Bilqees Vawda

Bilqees Vawda is a nine year old girl in grade four at Riebeek College.  She enjoys school and her favourite subject is  Natural Sciences and Technology. During the month of March she had an assessment week.  Bilqees studied hard for her assessments. On Monday the 10th of March she had a Natural Sciences and Technology assessment. When she received her results she got full marks for her assessment and her teacher said that she is a real scientist!

Riebeek College Stay Awake

By Carly Erasmus

Riebeek’s yearly Stay Awake for the juniors, is the highlight for most of the girls. This is an event not to be missed!  It starts at 8 o’clock at night and ends at 7 o’clock. Girls are placed into groups. The Grade sevens were the leaders. Every year there is a new theme and this year’s theme was Keep it Country. There are also exciting games and enjoyable activities. Girls and teachers all enjoy the night and they all have to stay awake!

The Little Seed

By Amy Reed

Once there was a little seed,

Oh, what could it be?

Could it be a sunflower,

Or could it be poppy?

I wonder if it’s a marigold,

It’s so long until spring time

Oh, how I hope it’s a rose!


Spring Fun

By Jessica Craill

Spring has sprung, Spring is fun

Blowing flowers to the sun

No more cold breeze

But flowers on the trees

spring is time for family fun

taking walks in the sun

blossoms here, blossoms there

even blossoms in your hair

My Pet

By Eesha Nathoo 

I have a pet monkey

Who thinks he is quite funky

We call him Tom

He thinks he is a bomb

He likes to climb trees

To chase the bees

He likes to cuddle

When he has caused some trouble

Bob The Crab

By Jessé de Vos 

There once was a crab

Who looked like a slab

He was very fat

He wore a red cap

He loved the sun

He was always on the run

He lived in a hole

With a big fat mole

In my garden lives a honey-bee

By Shanique Scharnick 

 In my garden up in a tree

There lives a little honey-bee

He feeds on nectar

So I think his name is Hector

He has a big “stinger”

But he’s a good singer

He might be a bee

But he can see


By Emihle Pezisa 

Stars are bright and beautiful

They are light and shiny

They shine at night

They sparkle and shine

They twinkle and twinkle all night long

Stars are beautiful and magical and yellow

The stars bring light to us so that we can see
A star is a beautiful thing at all times

The Great Sight

By Tegan Brown 

There was once a frog

Who lived on a log

He found a dog

Playing with a hog

The frog was happy

And the dog was yappy

Oh what a sight

Only happens at night


The Cow

By Reutloue Dunywa 

There was a cow

I just saw it now

The cow always moos

And chews

It likes to run

And have some fun

It sleeps all the time
From noon until nine

The Cheetah

By Jihaad Ravat 

There was a cheetah

Her name was Reetah

She loved to eat meat

She wasn’t very neat

She didn’t like to swim

Without the hat with a brim

Reetah lived in a tree

Close to the sea

The Dolphin

By Faith Müller 

There was a dolphin living in the sea

He could not jump

It was plain to see

He wiggled to the left

He swam to the right

But jumping was totally out of sight

His mommy came to him one night

She said, “Let’s see if we can make this right”

The next morning he was jumping high

Right up in the sky

The Fox

By Samantha Seifert 

There was a fox

He had red locks

He howled when happy

He growled when cross

He ate the fish

Without a dish

And left with tail a-swish



By Liyabona Meke 

There was a lion

His name was Ryan

Ryan liked to roar

When asleep he’d snore

He played with the dove

He had lots of love

Everyone loved the lion

Called Ryan

grade 4 - 2016

The Dog
By Dayna Dennis (Grade 4C)
Have you heard of the dog
That croaks like a frog?
He lives in a house
With a little old mouse
The mouse has a child
That is always so wild
Suddenly he has a wild dream
Where he could not scream
He was so sad
But the mouse was so glad
Now they could finally sleep
Without one little peep!
 The Ballerina
By Lana Peters (Grade 4R)
There was once a ballerina
Whose name was Angelina
She had tiny feet
And always danced to the beat
Everyone loved her
She hated animals that could purr
Angelina was actually a mouse
And she lived in a small house
Whenever a cat came to play
She danced away
One day the cat decided to stay
So Angelina ran away!
 My Beste Dag in Graad Vier
By Tazmia Savahl (Grade 4R)
My beste dag in Graad vier was die Graad vier verwelkoming. Ons was in groepe van nege gedeel en ons het rondom die hele skool geloop. Ek het baie geleer. Ek het met my maatjies gespeel. Ons het koekies, munchies, stokkielekkers en koeldrank gekry. Ek en my maatjies het liedjies gesing. Op daardie dag was dit baie warm. Ek het baie gelag en dit was baie lekker. Dit is hoekom dit my beste dag in Graad vier was.
 My Beste Dag in Graad Vier
By Kassidy Lottering (Grade 4C)
My beste dag in Graad vier was die wakker-bly(Stay Awake). Dit was baie lekker. Ons het gedans en ons het geëet. Ons het met ons maatjies gespeel. Ons het gesing en dit was baie baie lekker. Ons het geslaap, want ons was so moeg. Ek en my maats het geteken en ingekleur. Ons het baie gelag. Ons het koekies gemaak, dit was baie lekker. Ons het ‘n ‘disco drive’ ook gedoen.

grade 5 - 2016

My troeteldier by Thaakirah Dolley (5C)
Ek het ‘n troeteldier.  My troeteldier is ‘n hond.  Sy dra ‘n vlooihalsband.  My hond eet drie sappige bene ‘n dag.  My hond het vier pote.  Sy is ‘n baie oulike hond.  Sy hou daarvan om voëls te vang.  Sy slaap nie in ‘n hondehok nie.  Sy slaap op twee kussings.  Sy eet haar hondekos.  Ek gee vir haar baie lekkernye, want sy is altyd soet.  My hond sal blaf as iemand my wil seermaak.  My hond se naam is Elsa.
My hond Suzy by Reutloue Dunywa (5C)
My hond se naam is Suzy.  Sy is baie oulik.  Sy is my gunstelling troeteldier.  Ek gee haar lekkernye wanneer sy soet is.  Sy slaap in die hondehok.  Suzy het bruin kolle.  Haar oë is swart en haar ore is baie groot.  Sy blaf altyd wanneer sy honger is.  Haar gunstelling kos is vleis.  Sy is baie klein.  Ek is lief vir my hond.
My eie storie by Carys George (5C)
Eendag was daar ‘n meisie.  Haar naam was Violet.  Sy was lief vir speel.  Sy het ook baie vriendinne gehad.  Eendag sien sy ‘n groot hond.  Die hond het groot ore gehad.  Violet het gaan speel.
Op ‘n dag was daar ‘n konsert.  Violet het van die verhoog afgeval en die hond het na haar gehardloop.  Toe het sy opgestaan.  Sy sien ‘n mooi plek met ‘n prinses en ‘n prins.  Sy het daar lekker gespeel.  Violet moet huistoe gaan.  Uiteindelik was sy groot.  Sy het ‘n prinses geword.  Sy was so bly dat sy ‘n prinses was.  Die hond was haar beste vriend.
My troeteldier by Likhanye Goqwana (5C)
Ek het ‘n troeteldier.  My troeteldier is ‘n hond.  My hond se gunstelling kleure is rooi, pers en pienk.  My hond is ‘n soet hond.  As my hond vir my sien dan waai sy haar stert.  Sy is ‘n baie oulike hond.  Sy is baie, baie lief vir blaf.  Haar oë is blou.  Sy slaap in die hondehok.  Sy eet uit haar kosbak.
My troeteldier by Jihaad Ravat (5C)
My troeteldier is ‘n hond.  My hond het bruin oë.  Hy is baie oulik.  Hy is wit met bruin kolle en wit pote.  Hy dra ‘n vlooihalsband.  Hy slaap in sy hondehok.  Vleis is sy gunstelling kos.  My hond is baie soet.
My gunstelling dier by Aeryn Ferreira (5R)
Katte is baie mooi.  Jy moet katte goed behandel en vir hulle baie kos en water gee.  Katte het twee oë, twee ore en vier pote.  Katte hou daarvan om vleis te eet.  Ek dink katte is baie oulik.  Ek het twee katte, Oreo en Cupcake.  Hulle hou van speel en is baie stout.  Katte is troeteldiere.  Meeste katte hou nie van swem nie.  Jy kry baie verskillende katte.  Ek is baie lief vir katte.
My gunstelling plaasdier by Lindokuhle Gosani (5R)
My plaasdier is ‘n hen.  Sy lê eiers.  Sy is bruin.  Die hen het twee bene.  Sy is baie oulik.  Sy het mooi vere.  Die hen eet mieliesade.  Sy kekkel elke dag.  Sy eet met haar snawel.  Sy het ‘n kam.  Sy is ‘n goeie hen.
My hond by Libby Klassen (5R)
My hond is lief vir blaf.  My hond se naam is Max.  Hy is baie lief vir hondekos.  Hy eet ook hondehappies.  My hond dra ‘n halsband.  Dit is rooi.  My hond bly in ‘n hondehok.  Ek is baie lief vir my hond.  My hond is bang vir muise.  Hy is baie stout.  Hy vang katte.  My hond het vier pote.  Hy het ‘n lang tong.  Hy het groen oë.  Hy is ‘n sterk hond.
My eie storie by Makagonaishe Rwodzi (5R)
Eendag was daar ‘n slang met die naam Hans.  Hans was ‘n baie lui dier.  Peter die slim muis het eendag met Maan gepraat.  Die maan het gesê:  “Al die diere moet na ‘n ander veld trek.” 
Op ‘n dag was daar ‘n groot vuur en al die diere het weggehardloop.  Toe het die vuur groter en groter geword.  Hans het in ‘n boom geslaap.  Toe hy wakker word skree hy en sê:  “Help, help my asseblief!”
Uiteindelik het Peter gegaan om vir Hans te help.  Almal was gelukkig om hulle te sien.
My eie storie by Samantha Siefert (5R)
Eendag was daar ‘n meisie.  Haar naam was Sannie.  Sy het op ‘n plaas gewoon.  Haar twee vriendinne Luis en Trenrie het elke Vrydag by haar kom kuier.  Elke Vrydag het hulle in die veld met die kalfies en honde gespeel. 
Op ‘n dag was daar ‘n groot storm.  Die wind het gewaai en dit het hard gereën.  Toe het die hek oop gewaai en al die kalfies het weggeloop.  Wanneer die storm verby was, het Sannie en haar vriendinne uitgekom.  Hulle het al die kalfies gesien.  Hulle was nie in die kraal nie! 
Uiteindelik het Sannie, Lius en Trenrie die kalfies gekry en hulle in die kraal toe gesluit.
English Creative Writing-Grade 5
Full Moon by Zoe Craill
Full moon how you shine so bright,
Why do you only come out at night?
You are with the shiny stars I see
And I do not know if you ever see me.
You are like a night-time sun,
Shining bright for everyone.
Stars by Sarah-Leigh Thompson
The stars sparkle like diamonds
I wish I could catch one,
So I reached up high to try,
I lie there and watch them go by
Like a firefly!
Snake by Faith Muller
Sylvester the snake was as
Long as a branch.
Sylvester hissed, hissed and hissed
Everywhere he went.
He would make you shiver and shake
What would you expect
From a slithery, slimy snake?
Thunder by Makagonaishe Rwodzi
Here comes thunder
Animals duck under.
Bright blue blinding light
Goes thunder throughout the night.
Like trucks thundering on the road
With a boom and a bang
And a crashing sound!
Here comes thunder all around.
Full Moon by Samantha Seifert
Full moon rises
Changing tides to different sizes
Its glowing smile as bright as day
Guiding birds on their way,
Aiding sailors in their plight
Navigating through the dark, dark night.
Shooting stars swish silently by.
The only sound that can be heard
Is that of the owl, the mighty bird
Waterfall by Aeryn Ferreira
Have you ever seen a waterfall
With rushing and gushing water
With rocks rolling round
With that splish-splash sound?
Have you ever seen a waterfall
Bubbling like a soapy bath
With that splish-splash sound?

English essaY

Valentina Longari, Grade 9

The Graveyard In The Veld.


A chill ran up and down my spine as I looked around the small, secluded clearing. There was something in the air that made me wary, something cold, an alien feeling. The structure I looked at was made of white marble, it was small, about the size of a bed, Greek styled pillars supporting the entrance.

“Looks more like a hole into hell.” I mumbled under my breath.

An hour earlier I had left the house hoping to clear my head, as I was walking along a familiar path, for the first time I noticed something odd, the overgrowth seemed to part a little way off to the right. I began to follow what I soon realised were the old remains of a path. Acacia trees soon bunched together forming a sort of wall, looking around it I saw small white stones spaced out at regular intervals and I realised they were headstones and right in the middle was the structure, no I realised”¦ a tomb.

Looking down into the entrance I felt like Indiana Jones, about to descend into complete and utter darkness. Taking my phone out I shun the torch into the entrance. It resembled an office cubicle, bare walls and only a narrow flight of stairs vanishing into even darker darkness.

 I shrugged.

The stairs spiralled downwards, levelling out into what looked like a bunker. The walls were smooth as if they were sanded when being dug out, wooden support beams held the roof up. I let out a breath unaware I had been holding it. Straight ahead, in the middle of the room was a stone coffin, the sort you found in a dark age’s movie.

I walked towards slowly and knelt, brushing away some sand covering an inscription. ‘Here lies Robert Owen Light ii, may his soul rest in peace unto eternity.’

“Wait till mom finds out were her grandfather was buried.” I smiled,” family secret uncovered.

senior school

My Best Friend

By Angelique Tee 

We are distant from each other time to time

But we remember our memories like a nursery rhyme

We make each other laugh and cry

To her face I cannot tell a lie

With her support I can achieve

She always tells me to believe

Every time I’m scared she holds my hand

How I found her as a friend, I cannot understand

We tend to share each other’s dreams, ideas and thoughts

I believe our friendship is as tight as a naught

Together we have a great imagination

Together we can rule a bunny nation

When we are together, sugary sweets is all we eat

Her beauty and skill you’ll never beat

She can be very shy, still and quiet

On some occasions she is a riot

 In the game of loyal best friends, she with no doubts will win

That’s why I’m proud to call her my twin


Vir daardie ou gesig en lyf is ek baie lief”¦

Deur Kauthar Ravat 

Daar loop sy. Die kort, ronde vroutjie met die kort, bruin hare. Sy is my ouma en ek het haar baie lief. Ja, sy is dalk oud en haar gesig is dalk vol plooie. Haar vingers trek al skeef. Haar rug is krom. Haar heup is al vervang en haar bors gee vir haar probleme. Haar knieë kan nie meer nie en haar bloeddruk wil nie besluit wat hy wil doen nie. Dit klink dalk asof sy in pyn is, maar sy sal dit nooit wys nie. Daar is een ding wat die ou vroutjie nie kort nie en dit is ‘n sin vir humor.


Niks kan haar onderkry nie. Sy is ‘n sterk vrou en sy weet van swaarkry. Sy weet baie mooi. Dit wys dalk op haar hande, maar daardie laggende glimlag en oÑ‘ sal nooit kla nie.


Sy het al die wêreld gesien. Egipte se piramides, die hele Engeland en die heilige Jerusalem, sy was al daar. Sy is nederig en haar hart is van goud gemaak. Sy hou die familie bymekaar. Sy is die lieflikste mens wat jy nog sal ontmoet. Sy hou die familie bymekaar en sorg vir almal.


Jy sal nooit honger by haar huis uitgaan nie. Sy is vreeslik lief om vir mense te sorg en om te lag. Lag! As sy lag, kan jy dit van myle ver hoor.  Dit laat jou ook lag en dan vergeet jy van al jou probleme.


Ja, dit is my ouma! Die vrou wat nooit kla nie, wat mense goed laat voel, wat vir ander sorg, en daar is een ding wat sy nie kort nie en dit is mense wat haar lief het.


By Ziva Isaacs  

When I look into your eyes I see hope

Hope for a better future

Where life is filled with

Smiles and laughter

Hope for joy

When I look into your eyes

I see innocence

Innocence displayed as a flower:

Delicate and soft


I see a distant happiness and

A sorrowful now

I see a smile appear and disappear

Like a shooting star


I see love

Love like a mother has for her child

Or a child for her blanket

I see you. 



By Micaela White

Time divined of a waxing,

Waning orb

Is the augury too, of every wombing,

Ebbing wave””

Of circadian rhythm gathering dusks and dawns

To engulf an aeon.

You are the Man of Signs;

Sublime cluster of chronometries

Pirouetting in each pore.

Of all that scuttles and claws,

All is conceived and naught endures.

Yet the Man full- brimmed

Of their conception and end,

Is but end bitten by end.

For time linear is cracked to a coil,

If precedent succeeds

And successor is old.


Your days of isochronal rising and stooping

Shall be strung by apothegm chains,

For morals ageless are the metrics alone befitting.

Even then,

You, solitary Man,

Shall break from this ceaseless surge

To spectate the perpetual;

To become the cessation ””

To be all,

Sans everything.



Twilight Haze

By Sameera Musa 

Dreaming by dusk
-a task indulged by many-
once opened
a window, a staircase, a doorway.

Oddly enough,
this task done in solitude,
was broken by another who too
wished to share.

As I despaired
at the unwelcome disruption,
the insistent soul
reversed the accusation!

To settle it simply,
I agreed to be welcoming,
and as the sky darkened from
ochre to crimson to purple
we held the time sacred
in such tranquil company.

As the moment passed
we exchanged glances of good-bye.

It was then that I noticed

a furry tail
against the sky”¦

The Human Condition

By Nicola McEwan 

You’re all probably under the misconception that we’re all different from one another. You might think this because we have different masses, different parent or even because we have different fingerprints, but we’re not as varied as we’d like to think we are. No matter what our circumstances, our gender, our culture, our class, we are all linked together, all going through the same cycle of life and death, all undergoing the same inescapable experience, and that is the experience of being human.


The human condition can be described as the inalterable parts of life, the generality. In other words, the common things. Physiotherapist Irvin Yalom had a very interesting definition of the human condition. He believes that it consists of four givens: isolation, morality, meaninglessness and freedom, and how we respond to these affects how much of a success we make of our lives.


It may surprise you to hear that isolation is one of these factors, after all we are always surrounded by people. But if you think about it, it makes sense. We are all born alone, we go through life as separate people and ultimately, we die alone.

In life we are supposed to come to terms with ourselves and reconcile this self with the rest of the world. However, this is often a very unfulfilling process as we find ourselves constantly blocked by a wall of meaninglessness. There are many of those cliché questions that we are all supposed to ask ourselves, and “What is the purpose of it all?” is one of them.  I sat there thinking about it one day, and I suddenly thought that there are 1.3 billion people in China alone, and I was reminded of the quote “No matter what you do, there will always be someone who can do it better than you”. Now I don’t think that’s morbid, it is simply the reality of our ever changing world. Surveys show that most people dedicate their lives to one of the following: finding God, finding love, achieving their potential or just living life to the fullest. And so maybe meaning is not some abstract concept that needs to be grasped, but rather an action: choosing a path and giving it our all.


Another one of those horrible questions is “What happens after death?”. As if life is not hard enough, we have to deal with that too. I have recently had an experience with death.  We were driving back from Johannesburg, and we drove past an accident. Despite my mother’s warnings not to look, I decided to look anyway, and discovered that there had been a head on collision. One of the drivers, a woman, had come out of the windscreen and was doubled over the hood of the car, obviously dead. She looked so limp, there was no life. I remember thinking “It could have been us”.  Surely this woman had left early in the morning as well, surely her boot was just as filled with luggage as ours was, surely she had a home to get to. And then I thought, it’s almost like she is me. A reflection, a parallel person.


What really sets us apart? What makes us different from each other? We are all born the same clean slate. It all boils down to freedom. Our freedom of choice, our freedom to change ourselves a little every day, to make decisions that alter our reality.


And that is the beauty of the human condition. That, in the face of isolation, we can choose love. In the face of meaninglessness, we can choose to strive, and in the face of morality, we can chose to live.

My Kingdom

By Phumelela Madlavu

I remember this day, although with time and age the memory has become considerably vague. I also remember having dinner at Spur the night before and how exciting that was at the time. I was, after all, only six and six year olds tend to be easily excited. I also remember the balloons: my sister and I got them from Spur the previous night. The red one was originally mine, the white one was my little sister’s, but when we arrived home that night she decided her white balloon, which she chose herself, out of a variety of balloons with a variety of colours, was no longer to her liking and that my red one was more attractive to her and that she wanted it instead. After a long, strenuous, exhausting war in which I was defeated by my sister and her allies, my parents, I was forced to forfeit the balloon and take hers instead. After this painful defeat I spent what felt like 5 hours, but was probably 2 minutes, sulking on that sofa and this photograph was taken. The next day, after I had  licked my wounds I made peace with the situation.

I treasure the memories of that day and of the night before, and although the actual experience at the time wasn’t all that pleasant, looking back, those memories are happy, rosy, welcome memories. However, I didn’t choose this photograph because of that day, or the war the night before, or even because of the balloons. I chose this photograph because of that sofa in the background. When most people look at this sofa they see an old, worn, rather unprepossessing looking piece of furniture, and that’s pretty much as deeply as most people are willing to look at it, but this very same sofa carries so many beautiful memories and means the world to me - and all I have left to remember it by is in the few photographs in which, coincidentally,  it happens to feature, because no one bothers to take a picture of a sofa, it just wouldn’t make sense. Those two arm rests, that ugly pink suede and those worn out springs were my bed when I fell asleep in front of the television; that sofa was my jumping castle when my mom and dad weren’t looking; it was my hiding spot for the better part of my hide-and-go-seek“career” (until I realised it was becoming increasingly easy to find me and I found a new spot) and I loved that sofa fiercely.

I spent most of the first 10 years of my life on that sofa. The house was my home but that sofa was so much more than that. It was the battlefield for the balloon war, the Christmas doll war, the remote wars (which I never won) and the battlefield for almost every other battle my younger sister and I fought. When I look at this photograph and that sofa, I nostalgically remember playing with my younger sister in my white school socks and blue “College Hill” panties at 07:15 on a school morning. I remember crying over not getting my way on what is now a completely unimportant issue. I remember my happy place. That sofa was my playground, my work room, my palace. It was the kingdom of my childhood, the kingdom of euphonious laughter, innocent mischief and unparalleled happiness. Sadly, the sofa is gone now; it exists only, unintentionally in the background of a few photographs and in my memory.  

African Oxygen
By Jamonique Smith   

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in the African oxygen.

Keep calm poverty-stricken folks.

Breathe in the African oxygen, for every breath you take will slowly but surely be the end of your beautiful nightmare.

Put your eyes to rest and breathe in the smell of being rescued, being waken up from your beautiful nightmare.

Breathe in, breathe out

Because this is not the end, African oxygen is to the rescue.

Breathe in , breathe out

Brothers and sisters, for this is

African oxygen

Life of snow

By Valentina Longari

I was born on a rocky outcrop, deep in the snowy Himalayan Mountains. Raised by my mother I was taught to hunt the sure footed mountain goats of our region and to make an opportunity out of every trial, each time I brought home another meal a slash would be made on one wall. I left when I was young, taking little with me other than the knowledge which my mother had gifted me, the knowledge to survive.

A few weeks after I left I was scouting for fresh meat when I stumbled across a young girl. I did not know what to do at first”¦ it was the first time I had ever met anyone. She had shiny, raven black hair and skin the colour of pale caramel.

I blinked. I’m not sure what happened next. I remember walking in front of her, following a trail left by hares.

She started when I turned around handing her a hare, she looked at me quizzically and smiled. She told me to go with her and I did.

I accompanied her to a small village, partly hidden by a high rising hill. The village flooded out to welcome the girl back, but seemed unsure of what to make of me. A man with the same black hair lifted a blade, his eyes wide.

The girl with the raven hair stepped forward, “No! She helped me hunt”¦ without her we would all starve tonight. I won’t let you hurt her.”

The villagers seemed taken aback by this. “Maybe,” I thought, “it’s the first time they’ve seen anyone like me.”

The man lowered his axe. ”Alright, we’ll give it a shit for your sake.” He said pointing towards the girl with the raven hair.



Three years past by in blur. The girl who took me in was named Raven and her brother Q was the man who lifted the axe on the day of my arrival. Raven and I went hunting g almost every day, me tracking the prey and Raven loosening the arrow. We were a good team. Occasionally other members of the village would accompany us, on these days we would bring back a bounty of fresh meat to last days.

It was on one of these days that I lost them. We left the village in good weather, a few hours later it began to snow. Lightly at first but soon a storm set in. it was brief, but it had obliterated the tracks we were following and the ones we had made.

We wondered around for days on end hoping to see anything except endless mounds of snow”¦ we saw nothing but white ground. Night came and past then came again. A few men managed to find hares in the snow, but that didn’t help, in fact it just prolonged the inevitable. We were lost in an endless expanse of snow.

I did my best to find tracks or a way home, but the men had lost all will.

The progress we made was slight, walking for one hour and resting for two”¦ then came the darkness. There were no means to start a fire, as we huddled together for warmth one thought went through my head. “Painless.”


When we awoke four men had died, only five of us were left. It was on this day that we turned on each other. An argument led to a slash and soon they turned to me.

I ran.

Iran for days on end, thinking back to the moment the old man sunk his blade into Raven, her dropping down and me knowing she would never rise.

I felt a tug in my chest at the thought of her, the home she gave me and her family.

I crossed mountains in my pain, my anger. Hunting when I saw tracks and starving when I didn’t. Even in my dreams there was a tug, a reminder that something was missing.  Night and day seemed to have no meaning, they were just”¦ there”¦ fleeting moments arriving and passing in a blur.

Moths must have passed in the time of the storm and the day I broke through the treeline.  I made my way through the thick snow, as my mother had taught me all the years ago. Something to the right caught my eye.

As I neared it I began to recognise a rocky outcrop in the snow. I had seen hundreds, but there was something different, I felt a tug pulling me closer. as I neared I saw the slash marks on one side of the wall. In the middle of the outcrop was a smooth, shallow indentation. a thin sheet of reflective ice had frozen inside, making it seem as though it were a mirror.

I knelt next to it and peered in. Narrow, green, cat eyes starred back and a realisation flooded over me I had spent so much time in a place where I had forgotten who I was. i looked at the ice again. Narrow green eyes set in an angular, snow white face starred back. A forgotten truth hidden behind them. I felt the tug at my chest lesson and then it was gone.

I am a survivor.

I am an adaptor.

I am a leopard and I will continue to survive. 

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