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MEGA POET<br />
Issue no: 03<br />
Sad Songs Of The South<br />
Uhuru, an undiscovered dream<br />
There are young<br />
Raging revolutions of spoken words<br />
Revolving on my tongue<br />
Rituals of truth<br />
Performed by mockingbird<br />
Captured in tears<br />
Falling down the eyes of a man with<br />
uncertain footsteps<br />
Stick in hand, walking down town<br />
Wearing torn brown gown, faith shaking<br />
in voice<br />
Singing sad songs of the south<br />
Of how each one eat one in a place<br />
called home<br />
Where parents teach children how lie low<br />
Down on their back, throw their bleeding<br />
eyes into the blue skies<br />
To see where time flies, in disguise<br />
They watch September crumbling down<br />
into eleven pieces<br />
Seven rainbow colours, the moon, the<br />
sun, blood and the gun<br />
Bullets are not for you to keep<br />
But each shot you take leaves with us<br />
mothers of struggle chains<br />
Cold blooded fathers, bottle slaves<br />
Sisters who mastered the art of digging<br />
shallow graves<br />
And building tombs out of wombs<br />
Cocoons of sleeping giants, us, silent<br />
suicidal sons<br />
Rising with heavy guns in the midst of<br />
foreign lands<br />
Where history repeats sad tunes for fire<br />
wood children to dance<br />
Children whose mothers cannot afford to<br />
glance<br />
At the blood spread all over the hands of<br />
time<br />
Instead, our mothers sing sad songs of<br />
the south<br />
As of a bird with a broken wing<br />
They sing of homemade broken bones<br />
Unfortunate descendants of fallen souls<br />
Stabbed wounds, terminated smiles<br />
Shut eyes, swallowed tears, lost souls<br />
Meandering into a direction of no<br />
liberation<br />
To a place called home<br />
With no walks in the park<br />
Where no one walks down the isle<br />
Just a pile of breathless bodies and<br />
homeless homies<br />
Blood, a divine stream flowing out of a<br />
torn heart<br />
Into a red sea where one can only see a<br />
reflection<br />
Of nothing but a dead nation walking in<br />
silence<br />
Freedom is nothing but a dream<br />
undiscovered<br />
When you grow to see lives perish at an<br />
infant age<br />
Freedom is nothing but a dream<br />
undiscovered<br />
When a place you called home smells of<br />
blood<br />
Freedom is nothing but a dream<br />
undiscovered<br />
When our mothers know nothing of sleep<br />
but to weep<br />
In a silent voice singing sad songs to a<br />
lost generation<br />
About how we lost generations in pursuit<br />
of freedom<br />
For more information contact details:<br />
Mobile: +2771 256 7031<br />
Email Address: sellochokoe@yahoo.com<br />
Twitter: @Poetic_Lion<br />
Facebook: Sello Alpheus Chokoe<br />
Facebook Page:Poetic-Lion<br />
Instagram: poetic_lion1<br />
www.megaartists.co.za FEB - MAR 2015<br />
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