For my people by Nkateko Tshabalala

Nkateko Tshabalala | Jun 2nd, 2019 | poetry | No Comments


Weary, weary
Words rise from sawed tongues to cast incantations on deaf thoughts
I too cry with my people
With joyful tears in the presence of the spirits
a new light is born without weary thoughts and haunting depressions
Hungry for the foods my people are starved
Eyes that could not cry
Ears that could not hear
His legend was the face of their faith
The pain of a bruised wound
The mocking of a shunned dream
The pride of a lion spirited warrior.

Weary, weary

His knowledge was nurtured under the scornful watch of withering restraints
I too sing with my people
The soothing gospel harmonies
Peculiar in song
Words flirting with emotions
Dreams in his destiny
Nearest and dearest in his heart spontaneous utterances
To see his people smile under the gloomy veiled heavens.

Gay as the sun when it mates with the moon in dark vibrations
The discontent eyes of vanity look upon him with disarrayed faces
Spreading his arms in the wind infested with his power
A sigh of his breath crashed into his people’s faces
A melancholy of discarded ivory rose in the song of ebony.

Free ebony,
Satisfy my soul,
Free ebony,
Satisfy my soul.

Poet Bio

Self published author of Poetic Flair, Amazon (2018)

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