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Poem

We spoke words,
We sung our emotions loud,
We felt fiery feelings for each other,
We shared smiles, we shared frowns,
We played in the rain, we wrestled in the mud,
But today we are against each other,
Today we are pointing not only fingers of accusations but actual machetes,
My folks why are we at war?
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Remind me please, why are we fighting?
Is it because Ngwenya's son stole a cob of maize from Chona's field?
Is it because of hunger found in our own brothers household, that we choose to spill blood?
When we were young, remember, we stole not for hunger but for pleasure,
Even then, our parents never in a moon wished to shed blood,
Our parents never sworn enmity, never disowned each other because they knew that children are children,
Now our son has stolen for hunger, a noble cause,
Why then should we fight, men of one house?
Why my brothers should blood be shed?
Why should blood of our very own be spilt?
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Is our blood of equal value with maize?
Should our blood be of equalled to a cob of maize?
Listen, our wives mock us,
Hear, hear how old women make fun of us,
Look, our fathers plead with us,
The ground rumbles loudly to our display of folly,
The skies above us, drop tears of disappointed gods.
Gods mourn for our cursed savage ways.
Why should blood be spilt for a maize cob?

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