Best Poems Written by Simiso Sokhela

The Bars

The Bars 
 
Let me confess 
I was there when he died 
I kept quiet when he cried 
I looked in his eyes as he was fried 
 
When the police came I lied 
About my sight of the event that changed my life
It was hard to say exactly how it happened 
At first it was about the door I had opened 
 
I went in there with the intention to steal 
A few cookies and change so I could give 
My 2 year old son Shintsho (Change) 
Change? Yes his name means change 
 
I had never given him anything I’m proud of before 
That had to change 
All he was always told was that 
“Your father is a good for nothing bastard who is just a sperm donor” 
 
That was partly true I had nothing to my name 
No Job,no home, no income 
Just selling of fruits on the street 
To pay for my shelter and water 
 
Waking up every morning 
Pushing the trolley everyday,Given a ticket everyday 
The Metro police taking away the only link 
Between my Son and I 
 
Making me hate every moment on the street 
They confescated the goods because I didn’t have a permit 
My pain has caused me to drift away from what I innitially got your attention for 
Why? 
 
Why ? Why did I open that door? 
I wouldn’t have witnessed his terrible murder 
He was burnt because he refused to open the empty safe 
Why keep an empty safe Safe? 
 
Why save a cashless save? 
Didn’t he think about the insurance 
Why fight to keep safe what can be replaced 
Money has become more valuable than life 
 
The fire in his eyes 
Burnt permanent marks in my mind 
The fighting spirit he had showed he was one of a kind 
The kind of person who believes money more valuable than his own life. 
 
Don’t get me wrong the guys who brutally murded him 
Were wrong ,they were not supposed to take what didn’t belong to them 
I confess that I sat behind the shelves 
I watched him die even when they were out of the store 
 
I was still in shock 
But that doesn’t justify 
I let an innocent man die 
Today I stand behind these bars guilty of arson 
 
My fingerprints were all over the man’s clothes 
A few months before that incident I went to the post office 
To get my grant money but my fingerprints didn’t match 
I had burnt them during a fire at my shack 
 
Fire was following me like I was petrol 
These flames are stronger than me 
I’ll continue writing this poem when I can its too painful to even pour out my thoughts here behind these bars! 
 
By Slashfire 
© Slashfire Poetry 2010-2013
All rights reserved

Copyright © Simiso Sokhela | Year Posted 2013