Prince Alfred Street, Grahamstown:
Ploughmen may not always hear the forsaken cries—
Deferred dreams are spread-eagled under the official
Scalpel. It was tyre smoke earthed our minds.So,
Don’t let’s sing only sweet songs: how fly
When the sun balks at embracing our wings?
Neighbourliness policy frolics with the rainbow
Police. The laughing minister detonates his
Bacchanal seat as that child-killing Herod.
Shoot, shoot, shoot, then aim. The innocents
Live beyond the pain. Leaders, numerate,
No longer reel off the gradual deaths of nations.
Dark will not always remind us there is light.
These fists in the air are such another annunciation:
Skin colour-a gift as earth is- galls, still, the constellations
Of the mind. Abiku never stays his dedication
To Mother Earth. While our fates rattle amidst classrooms,
Elsewhere they smoulder between warders and ravaged
Bodies—where eyes are opened to a brutal incandescence.