Sizwe Hlabisa Poet Free verse

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.

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