MAROPODI HLABIRWA MAPALAKANYE

Hi love,
Blood of my vein,
Soul of my heart!
How are you doing
Out there in the woods.

How are the fires,
How are the children,
How are the brothers
And sisters,
Our boulders,
How are the mothers
And fathers
Our shields,
How are you doing
Out there in the bush.

Remember
I left smoke luring
The wicked to the east,
Brilliant flames flaring
In the west, south,
North and centre,
I was feeling so good,
Very good indeed,
How are the fires today.

Love, trickery was beckoning
Our worker to corrosive waters,
Another trying to coil him
In slippery shares,
He was drowning
I was feeling so good,
Very good indeed.
How is the vigilance today?

Calabash 
Of my mother,
How are the animals
Out there in the countryside,
Animals that dodge bushes
These days and die
In the plains and quicksand.
I mean the animals,
You know which, the real.
Good!

Good bushes.
Very good retaliation.
How are the animals today?

Write
And tell me my pillar,
But use our padded language,
Straight language incarcerates,
Also,
Tell me lots of current news.

Here
There is no news at all.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Only death.
Physical death.

Cold steel.
Cold cement.
No grass.
Nor soil.
Nor child.
Only death.
Physical death.

Psychopaths,
Dogs,
Rats and pigs,
It can...
No wonder people go insane.

There’s
No life here.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.

Men everywhere.
No woman.
Nor child.
Women we see are all
Beelzebub’s daughters,
Too weird to radiate any warmth.
Very cold.
Eager to lynch.
Anarchists.

There’s
No life here.
Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Our brothers try some bit,
Yet they too are a 
Quivering swarm,
Suppressed wrath.
Concealed face.
Yearning soul.
Wanting!!
There’s no life here.
Nothing.
We left unfinished work
Back home,
And are now manacled
Makonde Ngoma dancers.
Miners with no jumpers.
Scalpels without surgeons.
A motionless sea my love!!
Our comfort, ideas,
Mingle with memories
And fizzle into air,
Like a puff of smoke,
Long before the test.
They never get tested.
And how we curse each time
We recall our plans
And doomed to rot!

The security too!
Unnatural!
I’m bored with this protection,
I miss fear,
I miss it, I miss
Crossing electrified borders
Unlicensed,
Carrying unwanted material,
To activate my wits,
To blast...!

I miss you all at home,
My heart,
I miss so much out there,
Some things are trivial,
Yet,
I miss them too.

Last night I had a feeling,
Incite,
Who.
Botha can tell.

Yet.
Incite.
And raise swirling dust high
Into the blue skies,
And burn...!
I woke up missing the children,
The bubbling energy,
Swift gazelles teasing,
Zinja!

Then
Men in thick insulators
Chasing thin air,
Through ditchy alleys,
Running mad,
Aimlessly,
Hatefully.
Till they sweat!
And bleed!
And stink!
And snarl “moer”.
In pain.
Defeat.
Good!!

I 
Miss
So much
Out there
My heart!

I miss my cold beer
In a reckless shebeen,
And listening to men with guts,
Skilful hunters animating beasts
To pray to moons,
And stars,
And skies,
At a mere swing of the catapult.

How I miss the next move!
I want to party!
I want to party!

I miss laughter too,
You know,
Bursting at hearing how
A spoilt brat thudded in Hillbrow,
Cause he flung himself onto the pavement,
Cause his vintage was doing a Khayalami

Very high.
Piloted by our reasonable car dealer.

How I miss the shocks that tackle
A teller’s face,
You know,
Tackle it and leave her
Flushing red before
Ebony face,
Ebony face acting true story,
“Die ou Karroo” thriller,
Flashbacks of how his rands
Were seized from a hairy farmer
Who since blasted his family,
And overdosed himself,

Praise the Lord!!!
Amen.
Love,
I miss loitering
In a quiet suburb,
With no intent at all,
Yet,
Keep itchy fingers on the trigger,
And keep them there with their
Sinister white fears,
Then take you home after
Your overtime duty,
In the midnight.

How I miss my sadism,
You know,
Injecting it into our youth,
To poison them to
Encircle liberal feasts
With droopy eyes,
For the filthy conscience to
Offer a morsel,
To shed off its dirt,
For the child to snub,
To teach the samaritan
We were never meant for spittles,
Never.
Never my love.

I
Miss staring hard
Into a privileged load,
In a lift,
During lunch,

Yes,
Stare and turn their pork kebab bitter,
So they forfeit the lunch
To a zibi-can
And prosper with their
Weight-watching adventures.

How I miss maintaining
The stare wherever I go
In town,
To agitate the reluctant emigration,
To ensure the airport booming profits,
Assisting the ailing
European birth rate
In its recovery.

Pillar
Of my strength,
Daughter of my mother,
I miss you, too.

I miss your delicious dish,
Dish of hatred,
Hatred of the chauvinist
Who believed in myth
About a chosen few,
And lived the lie,
And reduced the earth
To rubble.

I miss your inflammatory music,
Melodious songs
Of the love of
Our people,
Love of our soil.
Of our land!
Of humanity!!

I miss your creative tinkles
My love,
Artful calls that excite
Mosquitoes and bats,
To break necks and limbs.

For sirens to pierce
The smouldering town with
Deafening wails,
Wails that never can cease
Wherever greed rules supreme,
Never,

Never my love.

I miss disco too.
You know,
Playing the sexy Brenda Fassie,
The nude Gwen Brisco,
The pretty Boy George,
Very loud at the Wits University,
To entice peace conferences,
And observe how the learned
Behave when feeling bitchy.

How
I miss my European manners,
You know,
Winking at,
And sticking out my tongue at
A Volk’s daughter,
To work on her family’s delicate nerves.
To aggravate their epileptic syndrome,
A prelude to heart attacks,
The price idiots wish to pay
To learn.

Calabash 
Of my mother,
Mother of my child,
I miss those widows widowed
By the Sharpeville massacre
And massacres.

Mothers
Whose dreams since vanished with
The stray-bullet of June ’76,
Embittered survivors,
Embittered
Wombs contorted by
Raids of destabilisation
Pummelling our neighbours,
Hardened souls.

Hardened
Souls,
Fed up hands weaving
Deadly snares in the 
Bullyboy’s backyard,
I want to party!
I want to party!

Love,

I miss stacking high empty drums,
One on top of the other,
Lots of them,
Right there in the centre
Of a busy highway,
To remind the monster settler
There can never be peace,
Nor friendship,
Comfort,
Nor security
In occupied Azania,
Never,
Never my love!!

How
I miss practising murder,
Gruesome murder with a panga,
In a weaponry shop
Full of marksmen,
Then slip out with my only
Valuable possession,
Long before panicky bullets
Break into diarrhoea.
Love,
I miss bending,
Stretching, twisting, wiggling
And whirling in the air,
At the door-step of a Calvinist Kerk
Right there in the Platteland,
So the predikant folds his
Morale-boosting sermon and
Dives for his R1.
Calabash
Of my mother,
Seed of my land,
I miss reclaiming the land of Zanj,
I miss exploring its vastness,
I miss laying foundations for tomorrow,
I miss sowing seeds of sanity.

I
Miss invading our stolen lands,
To squat in the “Free States”,
Yes,
Squat, then proceed on to enjoy
The citrus outspan in Sibitiela,
There taste each orchard
Till I ooze Vitamin C,
And smell orange all the way
To the Natal coast,

To settle for fish and sugar-cane
On the surf.

And chew sugar-cane till
My teeth ache all the way to the Cape,
To rinse my mouth
In the vines there,
Dare any foreigner,
Any wine-drinking foreigner
Obstruct my fun...

I’d 
Punish each obstruction with
Thorns and briars,
Put hooks on its jaws,
Drag it
And cover the mainland with its corpse,
It’s then all will believe
I mean business,
Serious business.

Love,
I miss wounding a coiled mamba,
And hiding in the woods,
Watch it,
Watch it rage,
Watch it exhaust itself,
Watch it crawl to relative peace,
Watch it,
Watch it listen to the pain,
Then strike again, and again,
And hide,
Watch it,
Watch it rage,
Watch it strike rocks
And vegetation,
Watch it bite itself to death,
Watch it die,
Then tell it
To respect people.

Some
Things are brutally illegal,
I hope to remember
When we meet again.

I
Hope to share them
After these years of
My death,

My soul,
Warmest
Revolutionary greetings
To all our brutalised people
At home,
And to all
The combatants throughout
Occupied Azania.

Love!!
Pagan.

IZWE LETHU !!!!!!