Yolanda Mbatha

My DNA dates back to the trees that planted
My identity.
Soils creep up to distress how the hairs on my head were made.
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Because i anwser to our children when you're nowhere to be found,
because i provide food with the scraps i was given;
I AM A WOMAN.
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As the darkness settles in and lights go out
As the city goes to sleep and the owls see light
I cradle my bundle of joy close to my heart
I am awakened by the smell of impurity both inside and out
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A walk down memory lane leads to screams of agony as I forcefully commemorate past tragedies. Life as a teen could be more difficult- that I know- but it could also be much easier...

The walls of my mind are engraved with the terror that is visible in my eyes, visible in my heart, yet hidden in my words, hidden in my stride- none attempts to look beyond what your tender eye wishes to see...
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censured for actions I was pressured into taking,
blamed for words erudite practitioners said to me...
labelled a murderer...
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Making my way down town
Fully aware of mams’s Bantu time
I see a man in black and brown
In my fears I started to drown
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Who am I to question
The red lipstick on your shirt
The scars on your back
The sweet scent on your tie
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Let’s be seraphic
Come hold my smooth hand
Come feel the rough sand
Come walk with me
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Feeding off dump sites
Government preaching about human rights
The minds hunger now difficult to fight
The authority’s pledge I’ve learnt to recite
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I created to love eternity
Destroyed to love unintentionally
I egocentrically murdered, lawfully, legally
A dual fatality, yes typically
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I got first row tickets to a show I’m still underage to view
Only I was not the offender but a victim that belonged to you
Put on stage, forced to improvise
“Put a smile on your face” one would advise
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