Their hands no longer occupied by books,
Pens and thoughts of hypotheses.
Now bricks and fire destroy, their angered looks
Their minds racing with empty promises.
Their shouts cry out in the night #feesmustfall
Like echoes down empty halls
Desolate, scorched earth become their battleground
With clicks, hisses and flashing calls,
The media like hyenas abound
“We demand to be heard”, angrily protest
Against our government that they so detest.
Where are the promises? only broken dreams
Replaced by violence and frustrated screams.
For in the end, who will fall…silence fades,
Rubber bullets, pierce the air, stun grenades
Trigger-happy bravado only displayed
The air, left smouldering burning down
“Down, down, down to the ground”
Where will it end?
When a political tyrant, with their diplomatic rhetoric tries to mend?
Down the barrel of a gun like karma
Our memories flock to scenes of Marikana
Or ’76, the struggle songs, where heroes fought
They fall, we fall, we all fall, so spare a thought