Broken stencils stand
Where broken pencils fell
Words began to slip into hell
This is when the swill
in our minds began to swell
Who could have foretold
that grey matter would grow
old and impotent in the new age
While seeking better Azania
we give worse
We have shrunk from hulking gods
to those skulking thoughts
of how to return “others” to the gods
Once we were the offspring of star crossed lovers who met across the skies
Mvelingqangi’s pride we were
Nomkhubulwane’s jewels
safe in love’s bossom
Our blood tied the stars in place
Once our feet pounded the skin at Afrika’s centre
Mali beat the drum as our dances built new Bantu homes
in Monomotapa, in Tanzania, in Ethopia Mapungubwe, in Zaire, in Azania
Once we were rocked by the same lullaby
Our prayers were said in red ochre
Glass beads channelled our Selahs
Once we were our parents children.
Once we were one.
Now broken stencils stand where
blunt pencils fell
Unable to art our fullest selves to life
Broken stencils stand on our brother’s graves and we are left without God.