by Buhlebenkosi Maposa
Take flour, syrup, salt and baking powder,
and put them in a bowl.
Mix in some eggs,
and roll into a ball.
Fry in a pot of oil and dip in cinnamon sugar.
Danika writes, “My black dress turned to white,
my clothing set aglow.”
The sugar shines upon these cakes,
a sweet but sour ending to a day.
A end of day tea,
with jam and jelly.
I know that we all come to an end but, I think,
because we all end,
I should see an end to these little balls of dough.
Really like a pillow: soft, odd, and hard to eat.
To roll towards a person like it wants something.
And who does not want?
Yes, the end is true:
to live is to die,
But who is ready for that?
We will never be ready.