I do not feel like going to the meetings today
I do not feel like going there would do anything for me
I do not feel I do have the strength it takes for me to see people today
Happy people,
People with their mothers happy,
People with their fathers alive,
People with their sisters not crying their eyes out
In heart ache, disappointment and despair;
People sure of themselves
People unlike me,
People not doubting themselves,
Not doubting their actions,
Their every step,
Every sweat
Every thought.
People who do not question the need for their every breath
The value of it.
People who are sure of themselves.
People who eat well,
Those who dress well,
People who not disturbed by this thing they call life
They are oblivious to these pains
Excused from these our burden
People who live in our dreams
Nice life problems people
Those to whom our lives are nothing but horrid three second dreams.
We who are dead.
We who are alien
We who live on the outside.
We who they slaughter on a daily bases,
We whose murder is but only a kill to them,
We who die on their hands like flies
I who my father’s blood is but a phi-dog’s blood to them
This, my mother’s blood is but a bitch dogs blood to them
Pangas to them know no wood,
Knobkerries’ to them know no old man’s shaky hand or frail bone
The African’s hand no matter what shade or degree of warmth knows healing
His kind eye to me the outsider is but a false promise,
A lie.
This, my brother’s praise full tongues is but what the spider’s web is to the fly.
My mother cooks food to her children but gives me poisoned honey.
I die not knowing.
I the African son die right inside my own father’s throne room.
I the bearer of Ubuntu smile from ear to ear,
Sing and dance to my mother’s, my father’s, my own sister’s and my own brother’s death.
I chase him out of my house.
His own house.
I the bearer of Ubuntu.
These bearers of Ubuntu
Bearing torches in the night
They come to these shelters we call our houses,
Shinny mentally sharp thingies carried by no hands
White teeth smiley and cheery
Deep, warm voices singing and happy
These bearers of Ubuntu
I do not feel like going to these their holy meetings
These bearers of Madiba’s name
They come to my sheltery thingy voices happy,
White teeth smiley and cheery
They torch it down,
Me screaming and squirming as is a women in labor,
This, my brothers,
They drag this dog I am by its right foot powerless,
Pangas sharp to cut a hair they cry,
Knobkiries strong to carry my granny’s weight they snap
Voices warm to be my mother’s they laugh,
Voices deep to be my father’s they laugh,
This my own people they laugh.
They laugh as the stick snaps on my neck,
They laugh as the panga eats away my flesh
They sing as my wife, pregnant with child dies
Her blood drenching my face,
Our blood drenching their red warm soil,
My mother
Our blood drenching their faceless teeth white as they were
Spit on my face as its life leaves it,
The memory and feel my mother’s red breasts leaving me
These, the bearers of my Ubuntu
These, the bearers of President Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela’s name.
I do not feel like going to their holy meetings.
Is it not where they plot to kill me right inside my father’s throne room?
These bearers of Ubuntu
These bearers of Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela’s name.
N. B. Thank you for finding some time off to read my posts…For more insight in reference to this post, please visit www.news24.co.za and look for South African news on Xenophobia,farm murders directed to the Afrikaner and the general public’s women and children.
key:
Panga is another name for a bush knife.
Ubuntu; is Zulu for the concept of Humanity as was developed in South Africa by the Nguni people.
Knopkiries is a fat headed walking stink used by the old.
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