I call at your grave
Freedom does finally
Walk the land
Yes, stand tall Bra Mattera
To walk the long walk
To glimpse our utopian liberation
But sadly blatant racism
Sheer inequality
Stark poverty
Peer at overt institutionalised corruption
Do not yet contemplate to run away
And crumble to dust
Because none here is bliss
Your was just that
It was but a dream
Do not go to your grave…
this poem appears in our print quarterly number eight, Dear South Africa.
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