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glass of my heart overflows
cocktail of emotions,
how do we mourn
this heart breaking celebration?
rugby world cup trophy
smeared with dube’s blood,
out of tune are drums of africa.
the country is on its feet
stepping and sprinting in pace
with the springboks –
hier kommie die bokke; hier kommie die bokke,
all united behind green blood,
a single bracelet can’t jungle.
his car was like a butchery,
warm bullet-wounds that turned cold
in the eyes of his children,
stolen is the soil that earthed reggae
with soul bearing melody,
humble dube, victim of the situation.
now that cats and dogs have forgiven each other,
now that we are together as one,
why don’t tears pardon us, grant us a rest?
lubricated prophet losses life for piece of metal,
crime’s wish is our country’s command,
necks are trapped between glittering blades,
safety is the hymn of every concerned citizen.
dudu! duduzekani bha ka dube!
death does not trumpet its arrival,
we would have spared tears
in gallons and drums,
enough! enough with talk-shops,
statistics or no statistics; it cut no ice,
crime is bird of misery flying above our heads.
mr president, having no millions costing security fence
nor bodyguards when we walk down the streets,
having no surveillance cameras
nor emergency buttons installed on our bodies,
how can we afford to celebrate this grieve?
David wa Maahlamela
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