Hyenas Of The Soil Poem by Okello Baloyi

No oceans were crossed for this modern siege,
Yet the cries of the people find no reprieve.
The 'Liberals' dine in glass towers of light,
Blind to the ghosts of the liberation fight.

The future our parents bought with their breath,
Is traded for gold and a slow, hungry death.
Children still wade through the river's cold bite,
Chasing a 'learning' that yields them no might;
Degrees held like shields in a war with no pay,
As the value of knowledge is drained by the day.
The continent leans on a Western-made cane,
While our minerals bleed through a corporate vein.

We've ceased to look out at the ships on the coast,
For the 'Theft' is a ghost of a different host.
The terror wears suits; it shares our own name,
A partnership built on a high-stakes game.
State and Syndicate, locked in a dance,
Leaving the nation to ruin and chance.

The skilled walk the earth with their hands open wide,
While borders are breached by the desperate tide.
Neighbour fights neighbour for scraps from the floor,
While the architects watch from the highest floor.
Our votes are but ink on a fraudulent page,
While poverty anchors our place on the stage.

We have no captains to steer through the gale,
Only rules for a market that's built to make us fail.
Our culture is bartered, our purpose is sold,
By leaders who trade our black stars for their gold.