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.