Archive for February 25, 2018

The Cost of Revolution

The Cost of Revolution …

(in memory of the June 16th 1976 student uprising in South Africa)

You hurled rocks, stones,
Molotov Cocktails,
Sling-shots against the brutality of racial oppression.

You fell on the streets of Soweto,
So many more I cannot begin to mention.

Tasting the acrid stench of tear-gas,

Feeling the flesh ripped off your bones by their dogs,

Drenched by water-cannons,
Stung by rubber-bullets,
Whipped by sjamboks,
Shot in the head by bullets,
Paid for by your country’s gold.

You stood trial for Treason,
Facing the hangman’s noose,

You stood firm, you did not break,
Even though,
You had wives, sons, daughters, lovers, brothers, sisters, and friends to lose.

The revolutionary dream burned bright,
In all your hearts,

Even as the jackboot of Apartheid,

Fractured your bones and tore your families into broken and splintered parts.

You left your brothers,
Comrades and friends,

Seeking out foreign lands,
With only the ammunition that you held in your hearts, your minds and in your never-wavering hands.

The enemy did not waver either,

Tyranny didn’t cease.

2 AM knocks on doors around this land,
Meant to stifle, to intimidate,

You took a stand.

lost far away from home, pining for freedom and your loved ones,

You stood firm,
You fought on,

“Release Mandela and all Political Prisoners” was your cry,
In capitals of far-off lands,

You feared not the bayonet in the enemy’s hands,

The revolution was burning bright,

Even as the dawn of Freedom was in sight.

Finally on a February day,
They released him and the joy was palpable, nothing stood now in the revolution’s way.

All the while,
The enemy consolidated its power,

Paying off traitors,

Seeding violence,

Orchestrating mayhem to taint the noble cause,

And still you took the tyrant’s rifles and clenched their muzzles in-between your brave jaws.

Never standing down,
Backing away,
Retreating to safe space,
The fire of revolution burned,
Spreading through the plateaus and valleys and townships and cities and villages in this pained land,

And still,

You held that Kalashnikov in your hand.

And when that day of freedom came,

You felt the stirrings of joy and pain and yes,
Of shame.

You felt the shame of leaving those you left behind,

You tasted again the pain,
Of economic hardships,
Of capitalism and its illusory promise,
Of a revolution left incomplete,

Every man, woman and child has enough to eat.

A revolution still incomplete,
Where hunger stalks the night,
Where mercy,
And comradely solidarity,
Left last night on a first-class flight.

You stand tall still,
Working as you always have,

Polishing the metal chariots of those you once bled for,

Still feeling the injustice,
Of not having the two cents more,

That deprives you of your daily bread,

And you try hard to remember,

Whether this is the revolution,

For which so many died,

The countless whose names remain unsaid,

The brothers and sister,
Mothers and fathers,
Lovers and friends,

Who lie cold and dead.

(dedicated to all South Africans who sacrificed their lives, their families, in pursuit of the revolutionary dream. A dream that remains a dream to many, and a dream that will continue to be dreamed)

before the deluge,

greying clouds congregate – rumble and roll,

casual, merciless, oblivious,

self assured of sprinkling hope,

over us all …

if we are willing,
to be able to endure,

though besieged by the torrents of fate,

assaulted as time idly shambles past,

skewering the memories once betrayed,

destined to eternally last,

while drowning,


going under,

diving deep beneath,

the tides of mishmashed grumbles,

lost in a numbed haze,

of unfinished mumbles,

all promising cascades,

of dazzling hues,

amidst strawberry shades,

while wills crumble,

and all resolve fades …

there shall not be peace …

as hunger rumbles,

desolation stalks,

poverty numbs,

apathy dumbs,

there shall be no peace,

until hungry mouths are fed,

till poverty slithers away,

back into the coffers that prey,

the greedy upon the needy,

this is how it has always been.

is this how it shall always be?

sandpapered, raw emotions, 

sentiments, wounds cutting to the core,

afloat in cellophane dreams.

Fantastical flights, asphyxiating me in these hollow nights,

sealed on dotted lines,

signed away,

the simple freedom of hoping for a gentler way.

For now cellophane dreams are stacked with a shovel,

thrust down souls inured,

left emaciated in the dirt to grovel,

lost in the blur of today’s lies.

Tempus fugit, they say,

shedding some pain as time continually flies,

to a nearby space,

trapped within my bruised face,

so hear me when I say,

that i am also human.

I am also,

a part of your human race …

he searched in places damp and dreary, he sought the truth, or an idea, a concept, of the whys of this conscious life, the kernel of picking the lock, peering inside the anarchic infinity, finally understanding, the whys, strands filaments strings, binding us, you and i, us all, together, somehow, as he searched for meaning in pain, pings in the dark deep night, he searched for the whys, smashing into dead-end lies, finding alleyways webbing outwards in infinite embroidery.

the future:

alive with hope …

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