A canvass? No...you don't say. Inspiration is my golden-shaped shadow's wake, pale as the lack of taint on the newness of this slate. Those in my path smile behind me lacking want. Passionate prisoner of principles sporadically upheld. Unapologetic African; a brisk, animated oxymoron, but my self-contradictions are merely seeming, which makes me a paradox with my mind ajar in the midst of an awakening 'prologue', the story's yet to begin. Yesterday's chapter is closed, my eyes are wide open and I can see through to the next page, a bright colored picture, a vision, a stare, a gaze sharper than the stench of mankind, kind man diluting the quake of a social land mine, brown for days, my soul's rage manifests the dark brow on my grown face, my mileage is pain, but I greet my past with a smiling face pasted to the back of my brain. Then hope, ambition and love betray my naked courtship with the future. Obsession with results endures at the expense of free time. This, in summation, is Seabelo Silitshena.