Thunder wakes me, rolling over the townships,
then the suburbs south of the city, and eastward over the veldt.
Heavy rain falls suddenly, bouncing off the vehicles
in the secured, hotel car park.
The Klipspruit, which flows passed the vast,
abandoned gold reefs, will have risen, inundating
the shacklands, their improvised shanties,
dirt streets and hard won gardens –
and I think of the rain falling on the newly paved
Walter Sisulu (erstwhile Freedom) Square,
the other side of the railway tracks.