Still So Strange by Tulile Siguca

Tulile Siguca | January 29th, 2016 | a poem a day challenge, poetry | No Comments


Strange fruit no longer hang from the poplar tree

A new harvest, shoot, shot up, already dead at the root

The blood on the leaves now flows on the streets on white sheets

Black blood as gloves on white hands has always been the in look

In looking from the outside, white lives, black admires

White eats all, the strange fruit, black gets the whips gets the kicks

Wallowing and drowning in bliss
White reaps what black sows
White rips out black souls
They drink while we pour

Not even a flinch when we roar
Tame in their eyes

Fair game to their lies
Who is to blame for black lives
What a shame it is for black to be alive

Black pride in the dark alive, rise black child rise

Poet Bio

Tulile Siguca is a Durban based spoken word artist who currently chairs the Nowadays Poetry Organisation.

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