Jabulani Mzinyathi

when you sing the sweet melodies
mine will be the discordant voice
hold you by the scruff of the neck
repeatedly shaking the conscience
...

there is a poet
embedded in every prophet

taste the caustic poetry
...

the village torn apart
incessant quarrels everywhere
the village head drunk
his wife picking quarrels
...

bits of betting cards
strewn on the floor
like confetti
bits of fractured dreams
...

hear the beautiful tapestry
woven from the consciousness
see the images of freedom
that undulating beat
...

in the trenches together yesterday
burying comrades in shallow graves
burying kith and kin in shallow graves
the tree of freedom by blood watered
...

thought we were in it together
thought we were our own liberators
thought you were driven by altruism
did not know of latent mercenary tendencies
...

bereft of dreams
dreams bashed by truncheons
dreams under the jackboots
jack boots of the philistines
...

a dry barren wind of graft
blowing across this continent

nations in turbulence
...

plunged again into melancholy
engulfed by giant waves of despair
still pursuing it with maniacal zeal
my shadow dogs me continually
...

and when the artist speaks
through the deft brush strokes
on the canvas
through the chipping chisel
...

in the slime and grime
in the grinding poverty
in the havens of deprivation
in the heart of desperation
...

you are brought before this court
you are charged with serious offences
multiple counts of not speaking
not speaking for the voiceless
...

where children are not robbed
robbed of their childhood

where the AK 47 is not a toy
...

when the goddess eros calls
no option but obey her decrees
i will be willing to be sweetly chained
for your charms are irresistible
...

the rousing welcome
that we still remember
we did welcome you
with all the bountiful smiles
...

after the storm
after the thunder
after the lightning bolts
after the downpour
...

the land between those rivers
the zambezi to the north
the limpopo to the south
the land of my birth
...

cast the first vote in the ballot box
the vote of your conscience
cast that in the ballot box of your mind
only then can we sit at the same table
...

mzwakhe
mzwakhe
mzwakhe
a cry for a home
...