(In a land where we are declared free, we need to be able to speak freely)
A shack can’t afford a plot of land to stand on corrugated feet
so homeless houses plant their struggles in gravel gardens
where rotten apples grow seeds
that run away from starving
only to grow hungry on the streets
the black rose from a bed of thorns
that left our petals torn
the roots of our mother shoot to kill our fathers in Marikana
the grass is dead
our roots no longer live there
My kind
mine bread crumbs beneath the surface of the breadline
nothing new under the white son
black absorbs the heat
and we are still burning
The incense has lost its scent
our ancestors their strength
coz we blacks have become too damn scared to unlearn apartheid
That school rings a sensitive bell
when the 2nd period of oppression is a language
in Afrikaans, you must pass
for varsity to give you a chance
it’s how multi- racial schools you in class
rooms groom a generation of bantu English fools
where wrestles motherless tongues aren’t pruned
colonized wombs bearing jungle fever baboons
they call your cocoon
like it grew in the middle of the great Karoo
then a native land act swept you to the zoo
endangering our species
we’re nearing extinction
So black child vuka
your dreams seek to serve you proper breakfast
not just fat cakes
cost effective food is only effective for as long as it keeps you full
Freedom is the right to choose what to eat
the comfort to excrete
without landing you feces on the streets
The long walk to freedom constipates my feet
coz it’s a white lie
sold to a black child
with a burdened heart
coz daddy is a security guard
watching buildings instead of building a better man of his son
mother cleans the white house
no presidential pardons
for these children of the slums
so text books get dumped
Young ones
no longer raised by their grandma’s
me I want a white matron
she will serve my kids bacon
in a greasy old apron
They will call her aunty
throw tantrums when they are hungry
then we can talk about this equal opportunity
when my garden boy is white
my garbage boy is white
all those on strike, on a go slow
are as white as snow
we can then bow to this nonsense of a rainbow
when the farmer can’t stand to be called BAAS JOHN
so the farm boy simply calls him JOHN
Tell me
when the CBD rocks Jozi streets to sleep
what’s the colour of the skin inside the broomstick
sweeping hopes and dreams
passed cnr Sauer and Bree and desires to read
past the dust outside the Library gardens
so dear white son I beg your pardon for declaring clear
white skies to my black rainy eyes
when you claimed to have never met any who feel inferior
The graffiti you left on my Facebook wall
doesn’t change the fact that you are who are
because of us
The bullets you aim at my raging tongue
wont murder the truth
you’re an inheritant of your fathers sins just like I am of Eves
Yes, you weren’t there in the struggle
I wasn’t there in the garden of Eden but I bleed
your apple doesn’t fall too far from my tree
yet you fail to believe in white supremacy because the government is black
I’ve watched some of you turn your backs 360degrees
still burns us blacks.
By Mandi Poefficient Vundla
