Wednesday, 25 April 2012

Poverty of Africa

In our own lands;

Lands of our forefathers,

Lands of our great-great-grand fathers,

Feathered by extremes of other outlanders.

Felt the blame to be thrown

To the fellow next door;

Whilst faith blamed the first war.

War one, war of the mind,

War of shaming, blaming, hating

Instilling poverty within our genes;

Started to be called stubborn,

Kaffers and all bobojanans.

I ain’t filled with hatred but

Stimulated by the manipulation of the past.

Past is past but poverty is

Ain’t wealth and shall eternally be impoverished.

Dumb they were made,

Fooled they were turned against each other,

Sophiatown, Newtown felt the best

While Soweto burn internal anger on tyres along the streets.

Anger of being betrayed their territory;

Identity, mutuality, originality, life and oneself

By foreign selves.

Felt the pain burning lives of Africa

Culled across their streets; our fathers,

Mothers, brothers and sisters

Laid like useless bags of potatoes.

Like plastic flame hatred increased and spread,

As our mothers run across the streets

To claim back our lives, freedom, oneself and identity.

Deeper than the graves where they were dumped like rubbish of the street,

The filter filtered more filtration

To the victim of action.

The country’s future, leaders of tomorrow

Burned with teargas, many killed. “Rest in peace Hector Peterson”

In comfortable offices leading us

Like animals. Poverty of the mind

Well placed like glasses or eggs.

Freaked the frowned derailed the railway

From Pretoria to Johannesburg.

War of weapons end on tragedy of tears;

Friends, families carried to the burial site.

Pain form exospores on their faces

As those thoughts never died with them.

The war of poverty shall never end

For it was instilled psychological.