SANDILE NGIDI

Chameleon Song
(for Khotso Seathlolo and countless unsung young souls of Amandla)

The winks of chameleons have weakened our helm
now alien waters reign on our frail knees
we have been at this shallow river before
with our wild dances
throughout the night
we have earned even the envy of baboons
we have mastered the craft of the crocodile
our venom shames the wrath of the mamba
today’s act is another self-indulgent fair
another black and bleak epic sham
we scratch and indulge our wooden skulls
share in the convenient spoils of deserted memory
then flatly return to the slumber of fools
grape tears grace the ready river of red mud
here we bury multitudes before they wink their last
our plot thickens the bathing hour with goodbye kisses
mourning is a festival of articulate tongues
now orators shepherd the bereaved to sleep
chameleon song is a lullaby anthem

But Nations Love Their Poets

Poet the writing is on the wall
you have been relieved of your duties
yesterday’s nightmare is now a dated dance

freedom has come my friend
you are now truly free
to write and sing as your heart pleases
now pursue art for art’s sake

be a true artist now
tell no lies
well
not that we had asked you to before
perhaps
in the name of the revolution
you might have slipped
with your eloquent verse
the revolution dared not hinder your artistic license

you sang so many songs we long battled to enunciate
in fact without you such songs would have been lost 
salute poet friend
it’s that age for your rage to be tamed
your tongue can do with some English manners
we no longer need your song friend
your slogans have no place in freedom square
Bach and Handel go down well at state banquets
freedom is the liberty to choose new gods
the chalice of freedom is one’s discerning taste
discard nostalgic fantasies about beloved Africa
now the future is oily bright and as shiny as gold

not my friend, no shouting now
for God’s sake be reasonable now
no! you can’t jump the queue
send me a proposal first
but my hands are tied, you know
there is the tender board
the family and friends of the tender board
if I recall,  none have any poetic inclinations whatsoever

eish! Poet you only studied art!
not even Economics 1?
not even Marketing?
eish! Don’t call us we will my poetic friend

Patriarch of Our Poetic Dreams
(For Mazisi Kunene)

Whose name shall we sing for our solace at the dreaded hour?
Whose name shall warm up to our cries at the hour of loss?
What shall we tell our ancestors
when they return to enjoy our ritual feasts?
We know they scoff at those whose misfortunes
are the offspring of vanity.

Patriarch of our poetic dreams, our wrongs lie bare
We are the ones who slaughtered our finest breasts for one-eyed gods.
So deep are the scars of our regret, disgrace trips our festering toes
Even the ground craves to hide our beaten and ugly heads
When the sun turns her back on us,
Who shall lead our passage to a patient tomorrow?

Now counting our blind ways, would be so silly a deed
For counting the feet of the millipede is the fancy of children.

Our generation carries the burden of monumental guilt
How shall we tell our forefathers of our blind disobedience?
Of our refusal to listen to the mood of our gods
at the formation of clouds?
Why was it us who brought a curse on our crops by ploughing the soil
when our women were mourning those who died
with fire whilst singing freedom songs?

We are now eager to play midwife when the harvest season dawns
We want to lead the rain songs when the fruits
of redemption fall on our shores
Author of our imaginative dreams, may your anthems sing loud
in our reborn beings.