Black Working Class Poem by Black Consciousness Poetry BCP

Believe me I know
how much It hurts
you to wear that musk.
With a thick red lipstick,
for a while your mouth
has been an ornament.
Heavy cotton business
Suit, you are still picking
cotton.

Mr and Miss worker
of the month, rewarded
certificates but never awarded
your due humanity.
with every make believe
smile, you bleed internal and
die thousand deaths.

Your unrest spirit lingers
the corridors of the ivory
towers while your empty
black shell takes a train
back to hell, south african
townships.

|Suss KaMzibeni|