Written by Leo Serra
Oh, how distraught the tired ones are.
How they stoop so low to call us names they would not call their mother
their daughters, their sons.
Standing upon their tyranny so high in their buildings, their homes, their streets, to them only, their luminescent areas.
Shackling of our flowing bodies through their country, once ours.
Bars of tracks separating the filth they call us; the filth they make us.
They try ever so to be humane, to be Godly, calling it ours, our Homelands, yet they walk through the streets they deem ours with their batons and their vile, happy grins.
Eyes corked
Sadistic teeth bared
Comfortable to sit in your Casspir, is it not?
Screw you and your ideologies! Screw you and your hate! Screw your metallic machinery moulding, magnifying your malignant, malicious manners of mortar.
They conform us to their Black Spots, encaging us outside their urbanity, rolling us through the dirt like the ungainly creatures one serves to pigs.
Restriction their name and their game, freedom is ours if we carry what they deem.
Give it to me foul beast, maggot of lowly sorrow!
Each time we hand it, each time we surrender the dompas of what they call accurate, so that we may traverse as a human should.
But we are not humans, we are the foul stench they force upon us, feeding their hate within them on us, our situation their outlet.
To raise the baton and strike!
To kill the child in the street!
To kick the poor searching for a purpose!
And we gather
gather
gather
Singing sweet symphonies of solace, striving, smouldering our seething strength
Telling others of the wickedness they feed us
Meeting where we may enter, a few slums and lonely houses reeked with poverty and violence, not of our own
Not against our people
Violence always is taken by the white hand of hate, and malice, of phycological torture, its only to purpose to beat us into unknowing servitude.
But we know
We see
Through the white eyes contrasted against our proud black livery no longer to be shameful
And so, we gather
gather
gather
Lies of what they deemed us no longer hit the skin on our backs like it did for our brothers and sisters long ago
These tracks and highways will no longer hold us!
Those flames and rubber piercing our skin no more!
Passes will be kicked to the ground and lit to a flame!
And from those ashes, like the phoenix we will rise
Cleansing the names and animals upon us
Casspirs wrecked, batons discarded like we once were
Metals will be split on the cold dark tarmac where we stand like the trees once uprooted
Veins of refuging resistances rallied wrought with righteous rectitude once wrongfully reduced
Fleeing from the goats no longer
The fiery end is nigh for the white hand of tyranny, segregation shall crumble into its fiery tomb
And we, shall rise from the ashes of shackles
Reborn
Text © Leo Serra
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How the tide turns. From oppressors to the oppressed.
A nation built on hatred.
Waiting for the youth to extinguish the cycle of suffocating hatred.
Interesting reading and thought provoking for a person who has lived through both sides of the coin.