Inside My Zulu Hut by Oswald Mtshali

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It is a hive

without any bees

to build the walls

with golden bricks of honey.

A cave cluttered

with a millstone,

calabashes of sour milk

claypots of foaming beer

sleeping grass mats

wooden head rests

tanned goat skins

tied with riempies

to wattle rafters

blackened by the smoke

of kneaded cow dung

burning under

the three-legged pot

on the earthen floor

to cook my porridge.