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Poem
To this day, the breath labours on still 
Marrow birthing blood same as ever 
to keep this battered carriage oiled
The soul wills the flesh to hobble on 
and prays the spirit keeps aflame 
The game remains the same 
to this day some will insist 
I'm starting to think this game 
has been rigged from the start 
The stakes are now twice as high
as well
It's the same wilderness out there
I've been told
Prey and predator still run tail to tail
In the ever rotating carousel of survival 
The pre destined Russian roulette entanglement with fate
as ancient as sin itself 
Its simply fuelled by our primal desire to catch a glimpse of the sun God Ra just one more time as he rides the break of dawn 
to shower the world with his unconditional love once again 
I never truly learnt how to navigate this new world I chose I must admit 
Back in the day my brown hands were good enough to earn me safe passage 
They always afforded me a seat somewhere at the back of the race
Fed the taxman his cut and hauled home the remaining bacon 
No one seemed to care about the hue of my hide in those times
even though I was all but my hide back then 
the coil to my kinky fur or the twist of my native tongue in speech, never raised an eyebrow in neither query nor alarm then
Not when it came to getting the job done 
My skill paired up with my transcript 
burst the doors of what I mistook for opportunity wide open in plain sight 
and paid lobola on my behalf like I was a bride of high worth
My delivery didn't disappoint either 
In fact it bore but a few flaws over the years if memory serves right 
Flew higher than average expectation even some might say
Everyone knew Africans were assets in those times of desperate need
They just wouldn't admit it in the light of day
So I played by the rules and earned my keep along with my kinsmen 
Upholding the statures of our African upbringing, thankful for every tiny morsel, even the one tainted by ill will and spiced up with insult 
It all served to support my path back then, so I kept my head  down and forged ahead
I wasn't bothered about anything else, never been my nature to rouse a cackle from its slumber 
I kept my focus on chasing my dreams much like everyone else did really 
I never quite learnt the art of greasing palms in the process 
Never even picked up the skill to plump my lips up into the the perfect pucker 
the better to adorn a posterior of superiority allusions with a kiss, should need ever arise
That oversight was the making of my downfall in my sight
But my son attributes it to questionable boundaries on both sides
or something along those lines
I feel that's just fancy talk and a pile of bull if you will
Smoke screens and mirrors is all I see 
It's all very superficial and fickle what's on offer nowadays 
The packaging is pretty and the delivery comes in melodious, reassuring and alluring words
But the actions that follow those words always speak of a different tale
Its a tale fraught with impending doom, deceit and just a smidgen of ignorance 
A far cry from the world I was bred in
Harsh as it was, what you saw was what you got
No beating about the bush over there 
Though that could have easily been on account of the predators prowling the bushes freely 
The predators over here prefer disguise and a spin on the truth 
It was a multi cultural world too by the way
So that can't even be used as a valid excuse anymore 
Maybe I found the common sense and simplicity over there easier to navigate 
Intellect and so called being woke in this brave new world is fake in my view
It all breeds a false, shallow yet inflated sense of self for the most part 
I'll take good old salt of the earth any given day 
Something real and tangible to hold onto is what I always stick with 
Pure manna to all ancient souls at large 
But then again what do I know 
I'm nowt but a termite accustomed to burrowing the termite hills in Setatshe at leisure
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