Foto: Canva
Grahamstown
A town not in a hurry.
Architecture whispers
like a scene from a Victorian film.
Donkeys, cattle, and people
move together – unbothered.
The landscape, full of flaws,
yet somehow breathtaking.
A town not in a hurry.
If you are in a rush,
go elsewhere.
She is like a woman in her thirties,
with nothing to prove to outsiders.
A place that feels familiar,
a déjà vu of the soul.
He is like a boyfriend,
underwhelming at first glance,
yet if you stay,
you discover his quiet depths.
Grahamstown –
where loneliness feels heavy,
but joy belongs to nations.
Where potholes and donkeys
meet fresh, breathing air.
Here, you breathe better.
Your nervous system sings
if you linger long enough.
This is the place
that gave rebirth to my dreams.
Capitalism hurries elsewhere.
Industry does not press its weight here.
The air you breathe
is the air you were meant to breathe.
Pure bliss. Pure joy.
Oh Grahamstown,
you let me catch my breath
when the world was chasing me down.
You held my hand and whispered,
“Sit, my child. Here we are not in a hurry.”
And so, I breathe better now.
Grahamstown,
a town not in a hurry.