SONGEZIWE MAHLANGU

A Cold Night

we are lost in a cold night
roaming towards doom
calling for help
yet ignored by those who huddle around fire.

we walk as individuals
our might in our arms
quietly blamed for our want
with the cold stirring us to walk.

a few men we never see rule over us
making the law
telling us that there’s no free lunch
as we groan with hunger pains.

our teeth clatter in the cold
a young girl drops her skirt and bends
all for a little bit of money
a satisfied man wipes his mouth after ejaculating.

A Rand
	
from the sweat of goldmines
lives a country
black men with burnt faces
till the ground to give us our daily bread.

margaret’s curse
to be madam’s keeper
on her knees scrubbing the floor
feeds many a black child.

van riebeeck!
wherefore art thou?
lying in eternal bliss
as my hands grip an unclean rand.

Echoes of Blackness

echoes of blackness
cause me to hold my mouth and wonder
shake my head and realise history has been injured.

our children born into the emptiness of unemployment
with no sign of their fathers
and grandmothers again pick up the load.

we fizzle, carrying our families
in caving black houses
where a job is the new gold.

again, we raise our fists
looking to define ourselves
but who are our true leaders?

Empire

saw it on the tv
white skins and blue eyes the standard
felt the push of the invisible hand
as blacks played catch up.

smelt the air in the mountains
better spaces are occupied by whites
nodded to the unwritten reality
upward mobility is chasing the whites.

heard the sniggers in the classrooms
quality schools are mostly white
sensed the reasoning of the fathers
to be responsible is to send your children to the whites.

heard the white blue collar man
swear allegiance to the springboks
felt his reasoning descend
this rugby is a mark of our superiority.

Fire

the time burns like fire
consumes my heart and my mind
nobody is smiling
business got a crooked price tag.

you built a country on bloodshed
claimed most of the fertile land
left us with no option but to offer our bodies as labour
then cling to Christ when we demand what’s ours.

noise from the radio, tv and newspaper
dances and speaks of a corrupt black government
never to the root of a black Afrika
where black Afrikans define themselves.

the law killed hintsa, arrested maqoma and mhala
the law killed 34 miners in marikana
and the law won’t be brought to account
and then you speak of a country?

God’s Children

God’s children got something to say
though our voices are muted in this white house
more than shelter, food and resources
we have been stripped of our humanity because of white arrogance.

it is arrogance that established south Africa in 1910
it is arrogance that said I must call you baas
not a desire to monopolise resources
not a desire for efficient capitalism.

come our lies are ready to be read
the black mind is ours for the taking
in this story of black struggle
all the protagonists are white.

Revolution

millitant politicians seeing the futility of democracy, 
the slumber of neo-colonialism, realise a nation is won back 
only through warfare, they are expelled from political parties 
pacified by colonists, retreat to the outskirts, are protected 
by the peasants, police are attacked.

soon they realise
the revolution is in the pimps,
the prostitutes, the drug dealers,
the maids, the gardeners, the chronically unemployed,
we rally together and fight for our land.

Story

oh story, dear story
you are life
weaving the past to the present
giving the essence of meaning.

you carrier of dreams
inventing colours of the sun
it is you who defines a nation
with the triumph of the imagination.

you laugh at our naivety
don’t you people know your grandmothers were making you?
only i am in the hands of other nations
secretly setting the conversation. 

Tenants’ Meeting

our biggest fear is security
so we have rolled barbwire up the pipes
it doesn’t look so nice now
but what other choice do we have?

the caretaker stands with grey hair and a pale face
history cracks my skull
the tenants could not be bothered by the reason for the marauding black men
they fold their arms in a simmering potpourri of races.

the cleaners, where do you get them from?
one of them could not look me in the eye
when a person cannot look you in the eye
it means that they are guilty.

the blinding amnesia spills from the lips of a black Christian
he bows and calls the white tenants aunties and uncles
offers to chop the reeds where the black tsotsis hide
and i am left consumed by a country that calls for so much to write.

Underground Bound

we struggling to express ourselves
society is saying chase the money
the new blacks are shining in range rovers
freedom has arrived with sweet dollar signs
millions couldn’t be more bankrupt
shackled in shacks with no hope of getting out
we look to make a meaning of the new south Africa
the leaders of the economy still white and male
you are not selling us truth
your education entrenches the status quo
and so we write letters to each other in the underground.