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
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