When Thou Art Be Free Poem by Lutho Mbabala

When thou art be free, like pollen dispersed floating at sea
In winter the hills strive, whilst the flowers die
O, poor rose, thy red has turned to dust
Thy stalk has grown brittle

But, with that, you smile, ‘cause you’ll wake in a skimpy while
But now in a different land, on different sand
Whether in rock-icy mountains
Or in valleys

For in your spore, ye multiply seven-score
In your spore, you get your freedom
But yours more justified than Sodom
Pity you die in winter,
In summer you blossom.