Rebellious African Child
When
all
of
them
were
holding
guns.
We
held
knobkieries
and
stabbed
their
sons.
We
sang
songs
of
war,
they
shot
bullets,
we
slew
their
nuns.
They
killed
our
Azania
and
told
us
to
belly
dance.
We
rebelled
against
race,
for
that
was
of
potent
relevance.
They
wore
the
'Madiba'
attire
and
we
stabbed
him
through
their
skin.
Though
they
shot
bullets
as
we
stabbed
the
whites,
no
race
was
willing
to
win.
Eugene
was
not
willing
to
give
up
his
swollen
arms.
The
new
South
Africa
was
birthed
by
bloody
streets,
massacres
of
blacks,
and
pimpernel
scums.
We
reunited
black
through
song,
by
the
tight
skin
of
African
drums.
The
streets
are
now
ablaze
like
Moses'
bush,
sinking
in
a
sea
of
civil
war.
Our
lives
of
slavery
were
tormented
more,
than
the
soul
of
a
rapist
prisoner
behind
bars.
You
torched
our
flesh
in
burning
tire
like
witches,
and
then
tried
to
heal
our
scars.
Our
lives
are
now
turned
fable,
like
ancient
relics
untold.
Because
like
actors
everyday
we
watch
the
drama
of
our
ancient
miseries
unfold.
Copyright © Nokturnal Poet Raymond Letsitsa | Year Posted 2014
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