Going about my business every day,
Responding positively to the opportunity of laughter and dance,
My chest light amidst the opportunities I seem to enjoy,
I’m angry at the people that cry with me,
I’m angry at the people who seem to carefree,
I’m angry to the noise and the silence of the surrounding,
Everything I feel is hidden within me,
My exterior view camouflage my inside,
Real and hidden,
Stirring undercover, muzzled sound,
I hear, me alone,
Rainy days deceptively long,
I needed nothing for I live in the marsh of wealth,
Covered up to the neck, my view obstructed,
Couldn’t care less about the opposite,
Though I hear the sound of cry,
And couldn’t imagine the end of summer on the Equator,
Grey signs of winter encroaching,
But as faint as weak threats,
Suddenly, I realised the threat is real,
Winter has arrived,
No rain no gain,
The curse of the security forces,
Who have lost the war,
But too proud to admit,
Apartheid hegemony no longer on the driving seat,
The bus is full of Africans, whips in control of direction and pace,
Heart sore, loss of commander-ship of history and future sure,
Like winter the signs were visible,
Ignored perilously,
Comfort zone too cosy, no need to educate for tomorrow,
Summer time, summer time here to stay!
Winter outside the laager,
Forever ignoramus,
1652 racial edifice, to withstand all the odds of change,
Big army, abundant artillery,
Effective in the restoration of racial subjugation,
Weak in the protection of autocracy,
Freedom fighters marching on,
In the vortex of the winds of change,
Summer privilege turned grey, unpalatable and sour,
I have not sold out; the dividing wall is no more
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem