1496

Numbers do not lie

from 1964 the whites decided that

blacks where to close to them

sent them a little further from their families

draw borders thin as number one

while four or more tribes cultivated

it crops, pull the ground with bare hands

and created a town out of hope and hate

while nine to six main roads build instantly for commutes

fragmented by police vans and rebellious sporadic giants

hankering power oscillating on each side of the coin

this was not a peaceful place

the spy has been captured by the mob

the thieves torched in the taxi rank

the tornado stealing all the roofs off the nearest RDP houses

this wind has taken my friends away

stolen they hang like curtains

waiting to be used for transaction like speed point

this wind has turned my mother’s love

to a loss of a friend,

a lover, a child and a glimpse to the future

blurred by uncertainties 

this is where it all started

from the unbroken glass

shape shifting to a Casanova introverted to a splash

of resistance

that flash

of consistence

murmuring to the sound

of existence that doesn’t even last

so they pushed the ten businesses in circles

and left one library with no books

behind rivers of foam

first for the streams of drugs

killing every heart that visit its towering cave

admiring slaves

that doesn’t even know their masters

what a shame to be free but still enslaved desires

sooner or later the people will know

the people will learn from a metaphor

to a six feet character

after reaching its body to the edge of the sword

this is place of less heroes but more villains

portrayed as heroes who survived the blood spilling

its God given that all of this has not led to an earthquake

a natural disaster destined to wipe all of us out

but since number do not lie

14 of us are left in a ghost town

With a nothing but faith and prayer

96 are somewhere digging the immortal fires with their bare hands

Bringing this cloud of rainwater darkness

Tonight, we pray to the Almighty to bring back the moon again

Tonight, we pray he brings along the stars so that the night won’t be too dark for us again

This smoke is not reason we still fighting the eternal pain

With sincere intentions

As community we are capable of reaching far beyond that

Published by ziyaad poetry

Muslim spoken word artist poet from South Africa.

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