What I Know. Poem by Thabani Khumalo

SO SHARP ARE THE DEVILS’ HORNS
GOE’ING THROUGH THE TENSION’S THICK
OF AN OPHARNED CHILD; HIS DARK DELIGHT
HENCE SILENTLY LOUDY IS DRAWN WITHIN,
LISTEN CLOSE AND YOU SHALL HEAR THE CAUSE.

JUVELINES, HE’S CASTING FORTH
BUT CASTING FORTH TO HURT THE FUTURE
AND HURT THE CHILD TO FEED HIS SON
(WHOSE THIRST FOR BLOOD IS CRAVING MINE’S.)
MY EYES ARE RED OF MOURNING CHILD
WHO CALLS THIS HOME - LIKE HEL IS HOME.

I’VE GONE WAY PAST UTOPIA’S STOP
AND THE BAITERS’ GOLD, I KNOW IS MINE,
SO I WON’T TAKE IT FROM THE HUNTER’S SNARE –
THE BROOK IS HELL IN WHICH I LIVE
BUT, OUT IS THE POT AND THE GNASHING TEETH.

TAKE ME HOME WHERE SLAVES ARE SPOILT
AND KNOW NOT DIGGING BY THE FINGER NAILS
TO SUCH, A WOMAN’S TOUCH IS A FEATHER’S RUB.
MY FATHER SAYS THAT NOTHING IS SOLD THERE
BUT THE DEVILS SAY ALL THAT IS FALSE.