Xenophobia

In light of the Xenophobic attacks. I have since wondered if calling killing a phobia is acceptable. Inactive language is a stab to our consciousness and very humanity. What good will the word Xenophobia, or Afrophobia do in awakening dead men. deaths by the dead… the dead black man kills

dogs, dark days, destruction till dawn

blacks, black bodies burning in flames here in our broken republic

night, a navy night.. a dark cloud has opened, billowing over,

as slippery hands hold, swinging on jungle gyms to catch a breath

grappling with life, begging to breathe. Apprehensive,

breathing and fringly moving… and then breathing-breathing again

 

chains, charges, things circled around necks,

helpless cries, the bodies blaze contentiously in battle with

the hopeful soul

petrol power is put on tyres, setting alight fury flames

the fire rests on cheeks, on chests and churning stomachs

on knuckles on knees,

till ‘their’ bodies and bellies, bellow and bawl

till ‘their’ spirits scream and cry out in thirst

 

scars, scabs and sullen skin

deaths by the dead… the dead black man kills

he no longer feels, deceived by the words of wolves we call priests

who call our brothers “others?”

branding ‘them’ as witches and

butchering ‘them’ as wolves

 

mother even you… having felt the pang and pain

the excruciating contractions of carrying and conceiving,

in all your nurture there you stand

you watch the torture of an’other’ woman’s nightmare

her life.. her son, you put to the sword

your ‘alien’ falls from flames,

thawing into dust and you cheer and stare

you slay the fatherless and the foreigner

you slay the squirrel and the widow all alike

 

screams, screeches, muzzles,

black bodies held hostage in a burning tyre, wrestling, locked in

while you jubilantly cheer in praise of a heinous crime you cherish

whose victory, whose victory at whose cost

whose child, whose son, whose father is now lost

as you loot and loathe and laugh at their souls

lamb like slaughtering your very own

 

king goodwill, the blood of our brothers will cry from the ground

your proclamations of madness

have served an’other’

wave of deception and endless violence

fueling feuds, ravenous revolts, oiling angered attacks

the blood of the sons of the soil is on your hands,

it will cry from the ground up

because you see justice as a line

measured on scales

that favor your sons while denying your brothers

-Sihle Isipho Nontshokweni

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