Gold dust

They spat on us and retreated only when were soaked

The cracks under our feet severely deepened into hate

Heard was the sound of the breaking of our brother’s neck;

 …all for a morsel of bread.

They tossed the spades to us for the digging of our sister’s grave.

Severed by the white words of nothingness, reeking of a peculiar imbalance,

Hearts blistered with shame;

Dehydrated by an unlikely fate;

Hypnotized by will;

Tantalized by the scent of liberty

Living at the mercy of pain and fear

Eyes tainted by a blurred vision of what could be and what should have been

As we danced to the futuristic sound of the gun;

But we still remembered the drums, our roots…

Although turmoil churned up from our insides,

… it prepared us to tighten our grips on the spear

A battle for the nameless   

A fight for identity

The earth dislocated to our cause

Shifting the rear part of our solidarity into one

Running to stand still under the cold blanket of the stars, the sky, Africa

Don’t ask us where we were when:

They called upon the Jews on the Holocaust,

When Madiba extinguished the ablaze heart of Apartness,

Familiar birth pangs of impatience as

Infants wailed into the world, 

Spreading their tentacles of vibrancy, repugnant naiveté 

A song of innocence…

but unbeknownst to them,

They would be tomorrow’s feast on a silver platter.

Clinging onto the backs of their mothers, turbulence could not shake

Moved by a relentless quest to break the cage of inferiority

Compelled by the fire burning beneath us, concealed by our 

Theatrical yet primitive poise,

Our Motto was still a fantasy.

And tomorrow we would turn into gold dust

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