The Shadows Of Stephen Poem by Frank Bana

You can run alongside but he's out of your hands
He stumbles in the sad and stony road
He has the bible but they have the land
You can touch his side as the slickness of sky
Sends its twisted messages among you

And can you hear your windy cry, that plea
For release against the soldiers of the creed
Of the still-born revolution, hateful energy
On which your authorities feed?

Pray as you may, on your Sabbath of decay
That he will live among the poorly-fed
To be rumoured and remembered
In the dark and centurion years ahead
Write poems for the beauty of his skin
Washed in the blood of your love for him
For which you will be exiles, and pray
He will not drive in limousines
His words will be obscenity
If men are still obscene

They mock his blackness harder than his dreams

Hear his song conciliation, see his eyes
They bind him with passivity, they ride
Beside him through the throng
His hands are open now in theirs'.
Soon they will be shattering his palms.

In the shadows of Stephen
Men will take to arms.


For Stephen Biko
December 1977