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Exorcism 9: Black Light, the Merchant of Fright

April 10, 2015 at 11:27 am | Lifestyle

Daniel Sincuba

Daniel Sincuba

April 10, 2015 at 11:27 am | Lifestyle

Soweto Babies

Soweto babies are born in graves
Scorned and brave and mourned and shamed
I bleed these words honestly 

We are, 
in varying degrees what we are made to be

Black pride is rubble
It’s all a muddle
Now that hate is subtle
Welfare, workfare, and love don’t solve what dying might

Dynamite is the Average Black’s relation to hope
We forget what it means to succeed

Trapped
We resent responsibility for our broken bones
Black broken homes reduced to case studies

Like Sophiatown 

The rubble, trapped in pages and tears
Or under speculation 
Or the falsehood of reconciliation

Just look at history, his story
Just over there dissembling bits of Black pride
And smashing the pieces
Smashing to pieces peace and calm

Black pain is forbidden
Nightmares and politics invalidated 
Trapped under vicarious ramblings,
Ruins of old, neglected buildings, social rhetoric, 
Thoughtless discourses, uneven resources, bias’ sources,
Crumbling bricks and X.

X marks the spot
The demolition site is nothing to behold.

Whilst sticks and stones can break my bones
Words can also harm me

Hold up, wait, I said,

Ships and drones can break your homes
And legislation can also f*ck me

Anthropology and geopolitics collapse heavy on me like 9/11 towers

Terror!

Study it, stress, and rebuke

I study her story and our story as much as his story
iStory sabo angis’bhayi, amanga lawa 

All knowledge is formed in a political context for power
Kusal’ abanye ngaphandle Joe

Hopes torn down like Lwandle homes
What will we say to Diepsloot kids:
Dream big; or dreams dig
Holes of disappointment and wishful thinking

The socioeconomics of being Black bestow upon one doubts to cast
And disrupt hope like Bree bomb blasts
Or they huff, puf,f and blow your house down
We resent responsibility for our broken bones
And the ensuing instructions to run and not complain

I bleed these words honestly

Ships, drones, broken homes
Tip toes, unspoken moans

Black 

Our vexations were feet chained and locked in TRC
But “we are free”

Soweto’s babies are born in graves 
And scorned and brave and mourned and maimed.

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