double-helixed uBuntu.
these interwoven veins,
dna,
double-helixed,
microscopic,
binding us, all of us,
together, as one,
species, one race,
human,
me & you
us,
all,
through
this common
shared
truth:
‘I am because you are’*
all of us
together
as one
me & you = uBuntu*
* – uBuntu is an isiXhosa/isiZulu concept that espouses the “belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity”
Homo-Naledi at The Cradle of humankind*
shared hopes
on
bloodied earth
of
common dreams
winding along myriad streams
whose
source is here
beneath our multi-hued feet
flowing
into a shared humanity
this shawl that should encompass us all
by
binding us together
a species with blood that is red
always red
for
we are all
the children of Africa
branched off
spread wide
but
of this soil
and
of this earth
foreign to none
hewn as one
_______
*
Maropeng is a Setswana word meaning ‘returning to the place of our origins’
matters …
anaesthetised tongues,
wag,
numbed into complicit silence,
while all that matters,
slinks away,
mattering not,
not today …
The Shade of the Baobab …
the wandering soul rests,
a Baobab tree offering sanctuary,
the South African sun,
ablaze …
the wanderer gives thanks to the ancestors,
a moment of respite from the unending journey,
sifting through the dust,
divining the road ahead,
a time to reflect,
on all the miles lost to the sieve of time,
and,
on all the paths that have yet to be tread.
The African Rains …
Soaking,
the rains settle,
meandering over jagged faultlines of our memory.
Drenching,
the rains settle,
streaming through veins,
the thud-thudding of the heartbeat of Africa.
Absorbing,
the rains that settle,
within each of us,
herald rebirth.
And,
if you listen,
if you strain to hear,
while shedding the raucous noise of your inner turmoil.
If you listen,
the whispers of the ancestors,
speak to us all,
lending us warmth,
urging us to stand,
even though we may
stumble,
even though we may fall.
scribblerofverses@gmail.com
Rains over Jo’Burg…
The parched African earth soaks up the liquid offering from the heavens,
birds sing,
ululating,
a chorus of relieved catharsis flows through my barren heart,
the steady rain continues,
elevating just another day,
transforming a dry insipid moment,
into a cacophony of jubilant life,
life!
life flowing,
streaming down the desolate avenues,
dripping like perennial teardrops,
down the cheeks of this crazy,
maddening city of gold,
moments of undistilled supreme mirth,
heralds the arrival of a new season,
a triumphant rebirth,
jubilant,
relieved,
ecstatic,
as the Gods of Africa,
and the spirits of the Ancestors,
smile down,
on us,
we of flesh,
and of blood,
and of muscle,
and of bone,
soaking hardened hearts,
dead as cold stone,
infusing new life,
amidst the fragrant scent of rain on dry soil,
while the bronze sun retreats,
seeking respite behind the dark, hopeful clouds of charcoal grey,
while the rains shower their blessings,
banishing the winter chills,
and graciously beckoning spring to stay.
The rains over Jo’Burg caress the leaves on the trees,
cleansing the accumulated baggage that only yesterday so listlessly hung,
over the dryness in my soul,
scorched by a merciless winters’ sun,
Ah! But today,
today,
there are songs to be sung!
today,
I feel complete,
I am with the heavens,
no longer splintered,
into a thousand and three fragmented pieces,
at last I am whole,
at last,
I am one…
scribblerofverses@gmail.com
South Africa: Freedom Day April 27 2013
1.
On the 27th day of April in Nineteen Ninety-Four,
Freedom was won, at long last.
The battles were many, the foe brutal,
Apartheid tore our southern tip of the continent of Africa apart,
it’s notions of racial-superiority,
its religious fundamentalism,
its fascist tendencies,
its beastly nature,
ripped the flesh off the skin of our collective selves,
but resistance to tyranny has always been a basic human aspiration,
and so resistance flourished.
2.
Ordinary folk,
school-teachers and machinists,
nurses and poets,
labourers and engineers,
lawyers and students,
resisted!
We remember you today,
as a copper African sun shines bright this Saturday morning in April of Two-Thousand and Thirteen,
we honour you, who fought,
Comrades all –
Walter Sisulu,
Nelson Mandela,
Joe Slovo,
Ahmed Kathrada,
Bram Fischer,
Steve Biko,
Solomon Mahlangu,
Vuyisile Mini,
Denis Goldberg,
and many many more,
those we know and love,
and those whose bones have now settled in our rich African soil,
those who died,
those who were executed,
those who were shot,
those who were tortured,
those who were killed,
and the countless who are still tortured today by the swords of memory,
the emotional and psychological torture,
that still rains down on the valiant ones and their families.
Families!
Families fractured, broken and scattered throughout the world,
fragments of a sister’s laugh, a daughter’s smile,
bite as harshly into the soul as did Apartheid’s cruel lashes of violence.
So many died, too many died,
and I remember them,
Dulcie September – Assassinated in Paris
Steve Biko – Tortured and Murdered in South Africa
Solomon Mahlangu – Hanged by the Apartheid State
Ahmed Timol – Tortured and Murdered
Bram Fischer – Died in Prison
Hector Petersen – Shot in Soweto ’76
David Webster – Killed
and many many more,
their blood flowing into the soil of our ancestors,
our country, our South Africa,
for all South Africans,
Black and white and brown and all the shades of humanity’s mosaic.
3.
Now we reflect,
now we must dissect,
the fruits of freedom,
thus far,
much has been achieved,
yet,
the struggles continue,
for employment,
health-care for all,
shelter and housing for all,
and my compatriots have earned it,
they have stewed in the mines,
deep beneath the soil,
for shiny metals and glittering glass.
The revolution is a work-in-progress,
true liberation shall be economic liberation,
where each and every South African,
can walk the land of our ancestors,
truly free.
We SHALL overcome!
Amandla!
Mayibuye-i-Afrika!
The Struggles Continue, Comrades…
Soaking,
the rains settle,
meandering over jagged faultlines of our memory.
Drenching,
the rains settle,
streaming through veins,
the thud-thudding of the heartbeat of Africa.
Absorbing,
the rains that settle,
within each of us,
herald rebirth.
And,
if you listen,
if you strain to hear,
while shedding the raucous noise of your inner turmoil.
If you listen,
the whispers of the ancestors,
speak to us all,
lending us warmth,
urging us to stand,
even though we may
stumble,
even though we may fall
Scribbled Verse 