Sunday Poem


when your first birthday passed
without a word
without a symbol
you kept quiet;
and when your second passed
without a present
without a party
you kept quiet.
But when your third birthday passed
you made your own car,
a mud car you drove around,
making your own world,
making your life with care
at the closed gate of privilege.

by Julius Chingono
from Flag of Rags
A joint publication by Quartz Press
and Hippogriff Press, Johannesburg