Race Poem by Shawn Greyling

Race



I never yelled amandla
and shook my fist at the gate,
I never gave a how's a hoot,
I never shot my shoots.
A pardigm setting of this noose
around my neck for things I never
knew one could do,
a lifeless race between the colour of ones face.

A tell tale hail of white and black
and black and white,
shots and ribs and soup kitchens
are replacements for
words and begs and borrows and
private cement.

No sentiment sent and no stone unturned
but the milk in our mothers breast
has been spilt, never to refresh
the proverbial flower of the mind again.

We are generations lost by
what was never yours or mine.
We are marked and baptized with gal and wine.

So place your hand on mine
and we can make,
we can make this Africa ours.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Mugano Paul 29 January 2009

O man! Help me undress the mystery. It really is a hard knock. I cannot get in on this poem but I am sure it is EGOLI. Help. Greeting from Uganda. Kunjani.

0 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success