CYCLE OF CHAOS...

IN MY MOTHERLAND…

In my motherland, young children are snatched from their parents to be made soldiers,

They brutally slaughter those who raised them.

Violence is the only induction to manhood,

As politics ambush the innocence of childhood.

It is the burning sensation of hatred and war, and it has happened before,

The Jews in the ovens- ‘purification of a nation’ they said.

In my motherland, I have heard the whisper of a Priest saying:

[ashes to ashes, dust to dust], As ruthless rebels were dancing on corpses’ ashes

They were done and dusted.

In my motherland, young girls are trading their innocence for silver,

A mother weeps as her daughter is violated by vicious men,

 A father groans and grimaces as he watches helplessly, the assault on

His wife and children.

I have seen our sisters being victims of their own loyalty and compassion.

In my motherland, the beauty in black is no longer embraced,

Old and young women have been brain-white-washed,

Like the poor Maggie, they see horror in the mirror, 
Because they're being haunted by the colonial ghost.
But we never mind cause we're used to living amongst these 
cultural zombies.

In my motherland, churches are led by charlatans,

 The youth is devoured by the ever hungry lion of passion,

In my motherland, you can judge a book by its cover,

For the looks in their faces are an open book of what they’re feeling inside.

In my motherland, the natives are relentlessly fighting for their land,

And they are using the ‘masters’ tools to demolish

His own house

The land is soaked in blood and tears,

It is always a struggle to overcome OUR fears,

In my motherland

Chaos runs the land. . .and you just wish you could be

Young again- be a baby; and enjoy the peace on

Your mother’s lap. . .

Copyright  ©   2019            Ntokozo Mdluli         ‘The Conductor’