Blurred Culture
Just as we are, we were made to be
Straight ties, ironed shirt and no sense of
identity.
Who are they, they asked
Are they sooted white or just black as
snow.
They talk as would an aristocrat but yet
that hair betrays them.
Pitted deep in their heart was a sense of
longing but neither could they share their
earnest hope, to them it was a ragged
belief.
Faith was always an unspoken ethic of
their courage. They told them " In order to
grow you must cut at the base"
The thing they would fail to realise, bearer
than fiction, was their true voice. The voice
that told them the clothes they wore were
of alien decent. The Suit they prefer most
was of the barest cut.
Who decided against my choices? I left
bread for you and yet only the flour
mattered as if only you could eat the flour.
Must not the flour be moulded first to form
you bread. Why is it then that I have
become the leaven in my progression.
Until the concluding of my affairs I will not
find understanding of what They culture.
Copyright © Sizwe Hlabisa | Year Posted 2014
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