For Our Marikana Brothers Poem by Marukgwane Moremogolo

These men, blankets, sticks and hearts
chasing the dust
dancing to the breeze
hopeful to the magic of the rainbow
of Tutu and Madiba
but the colour-change of the nyala
changed not the beast in blue

These brothers of the underground
grasping the confused early spring air
as the slight August wind cries
killing hope to blossom
singing for justice in harmony (not the mine)
in, around, at the koppie a sanctuary
yet the colour-changed of the nyala
changed not the killer in blue

These men, these men on the hill
pooped eyes, solemn song
in mourning  of their eight brothers plus two
waiting patiently for their fate
as they blue death, hoovers  the hill

These men, are our brothers
their blood, runs to our consciousness
Their spirit, hangs our souls to a bare minimum
Their memories embarrasses of chants