Black And African Poem by xolisa stuurman

I’m heart broken and in pain
The future lies in vain.
Certain of where I’m going,
Where I come from remain a wonder.

The drums of our forefathers exist in past.
The hymns of our fellows glued in hearts.
No room for comprehension of the beats.
Just acceptation of paper intact in covers.

I’m broken and in pain.
Am I Black or African?
What does it mean to me?

I s it coming from the rural, township and villages?
Walking dusty dry sands with peeling heels under my feet.
Heavy buckets placed on heads fetched far in rivers drenched with thirst.
Maybe it’s fashion statements, languages and roots.

Is it to slaughter whilst covering our eyes?
Afraid for the life of poor sheep
Answering callings that are senseless today,
Yet practiced before ships conquered our African soil.
Maybe it’s to bow before God, yet ashamed of whom we are.
Worshiping angles never seen with a naked eye, yet still we believe.



I’m broken and in pain.
Am I African or Black?
What does it mean to you?

Is it to hail from the rural, townships or suburbs?
Strolling tarred roads with high heels under my feet, nails painted in red.
Heavy parcels pinching hands brought from far malls engulfed in fumes.
Expressing foreign languages in rhythm and blues.
Enhancing superiority through dictionaries.

Hear all you can.
Receive all you get.
Believe what you preserve a truth,
But take time to think,
For following trends and labels is what we seem to know best.
Mountains, oh mountains of things.


For we never seek for origin, never ask needful question.
Though information lays scattered in books.
Wisdom dies unhidden in mouths that lived through tales.

Have we forgotten who we are?
Confused we shall remain,
Whether we are black or African…