"joburg" poems
Are we chicks with curves
who bounce in tight jeans,
curves cutting concrete corners,
chunky gold cracking our necks
and boiling the sun?
No. We clasp hope in our hands,
like rope
it slices our palms
we slurp the blood to redden our lips
which shimmer in the Joburg sun.
This anger -
hunger
took our fathers places
where fathers died young,
tied our mothers to places
where mothers grew old..
Copyright ©2016, Dimakatso A. Sedite, adapted in 2017
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 7:55 AM UTC
Her sky covers the tall monuments of man , she holds secrets that we are to afraid to tell , she speaks of stories of days when gold was pulled from her roots.
Her name , her place all in the mits of beauty , she is a world class city whos streets are still yet to be touched by my feet.
I've seen her at sun rise and at sun set when the fires of the people blaze in uproar as they beg for more.
She is my home , she is home to thousands.
But she cries , she cries at 3am when the blood of a father is spilt for the paper in the leather bound casing , she breaks when mothers abandon their mistakes on her rail roads , she screams when the young and innocent venture to her deep dark parts in search to ruin their lives for fun , she feels the pain of the women and children who are fouled by men with no soul. I see her beauty in the torture as I drive through her heart and I break knowing her words are unspoken she has been violated , she feel cursed , she is our home but we have broken our walls.
She waits for the day her people see her pain and change for her happiness and I wait for the day the sun shines and I know my home is safe.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC