My Black Son Poem by Thabani Khumalo

My eyes are bloody red.
I shall surely cover my head in severe shame
For, such is the knowledge I possess and I have selfishly retained,
The knowledge of personal wariness and of transmutation.

Quite a retarded quaint that egotistic pride is
For it degrades even the structure of nature.
I have let you out on my healthier alimentary habits;
I have let you suckle from your mother for way too long.

I should, now, serve you the broth of my catch and when you grow a bit older
I will strip the bones of the meat in between and feed it to you with full wary that when
You grow as big as I am, I will teach you how to twine the net around your fingers
To pull out the fish you'd not have seen before.

When you eat from the your own catch like I, your father,
Only then, my son will you be proudly called a grown man.