Look at us.
We call ourselves Zulu, Tsonga, Ndebele, Pedi, Venda—
names stacked so high they block the view of who we are.
The more we divide ourselves,
the more lost we become.
Black child, what happened to you?
What poison did you eat
that makes you smile while murdering your own reflection?
You kill because a tongue is different,
because a name sounds foreign.
Tell me—do you truly believe
killing each other is victory?
Look at those who watch us.
Their skin pale as winter mist,
their laughter loud
when we burn our own homes,
when we die by accident,
when a gun enters a pub
and everyone inside becomes a statistic.
Do you think it pleases them
when you finish your own kind?
Black child, they told you
your Jesus is more beautiful than gold.
You believed them.
You let them take the gold from the ground
and gave them your faith in return.
They promised you riches in heaven.
But what if you arrive there and ask,
“Where is my gold?”
And Jesus answers,
“I left it beneath your feet.
I left you standing on it.”
What will you say then?
BLACK CHILD, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?
We call ourselves Zulu, Tsonga, Ndebele, Pedi, Venda—
names piled so high they block the truth of who we are.
The more we divide ourselves,
the more lost we become.
Black child, what happened to you?
What poison did you eat
that makes you celebrate the murder of your own reflection?
You kill over language,
over names,
over differences planted to keep you blind.
Tell me—do you truly believe
killing your own kind is power?
Look at those who watch us.
Skin pale like winter mist.
They laugh when we destroy ourselves,
when we die by accident,
when a gun enters a pub
and everyone inside becomes a number.
Do you think it is wisdom
to finish your own people
while others sit back and count the profit?
Black child, they told you
your Jesus is more beautiful than gold.
You believed them.
You surrendered the gold beneath your feet
and accepted promises of heaven instead.
They said your reward would come later.
But what if you arrive there and ask,
“Where is my gold?”
And Jesus answers,
“I left it under the ground.
I left you standing on it.”
What will you say then?
THEMBA T TWALA III
0 Comments