Here, air tastes of distant rain, of petrol, sage, and sweet sugarcane; kites of vultures wheel and turn, while lanterned houses stoke and burn.
A splash of sun on marula leaves, luminous as forgotten eaves; impalas cut a silver arc, and time slips soft, and evenings dark. lost paradise lanseria
Golden heat on veldt and wing, Lanseria breathes — a ribboned ring of runway light and jacaranda bloom, where city hum meets open room. Here, air tastes of distant rain, of petrol,
Come sit beneath the jacaranda’s fall, let evening’s hush unmake the gall; Lanseria holds, with gentle art, a wild, uncomplicated heart. air tastes of distant rain
Market voices, laughter bright, fruit-sellers barter fading light; the airport’s pulse — arrivals, calls — a small town heartbeat through the walls.