Mzanzi, a Teardrop

The half-eaten, rotten remains of a culture Still tastes like success to a ravenous vulture To his chin, a sparkling teardrop drips Into the abysmal from their slipping tight grips Atop the tip of a sunken continent Stands a risen giant monument Under the growing weight of sadness And the crushing pressure of darkness Subdivided scatterings of a united mind In the palm of a blistered, quivering hand Shaking fists of fresh ideas punch the air Revived from the coma of stifling fear Unsheathed from an embryonic oil of riches The face of a stillborn dug from mine trenches Muddled from eons of a dysfunctional family feud Blindsided by camouflage to fall to a poacher's foot Lead by the neon glow of a golden tooth Into the gaping jaw of a lion's mouth To walk in our sandals of pride Into the distant, eyes open wide A nation built on slogans The cost was sure at a bargain And the growing waves of black and white fellowship The returns of the struggle are in the townships