Apart from Love

His black skin lay wrinkled
trembled across a tired face 
The same face bearing 
the tides of oppression
Age even though unwelcome, intruded;
knocked on the door and
forced itself in…
Forcing him apart. 

A young black male, born 
’85, complains about apartheid
over his gaudy cell phone
Designer jeans reflecting 
spirit soul and a million bucks
born into a wealthy family.
Still babbling, complaining
…hating.
The word “kaffir” never defined
within his ostentatious mind

An old black man dies
years and years after
having been beaten by the
white farmer he worked for.
Never complaining, feeding his
six children, and seven wives.
Remembering oppression, and crying
whilst, staring at his shack’s tin roof.
His lifeless body then being gazed at,
whilst, slowly descending into 
the black crevasse that is grave,
Looked upon by only… 
… now… three children and two wives.

A white man stares into busy streets
noticing the ongoing traffic
and the concrete picture of
a thousand static buildings -
the same movie on repeat,
Still, staring, not seeing one single image,
nostalgically reminiscing and missing
the open fields and thousand trees,
the mielies and the wheat
Remembering…
…his two sons and wife.

The black killer’s eyes are bleeding
whilst staring at his moving feet
Each step carefully placed 
softly
so as to make him invisible.
approaching the farmhouse door
Knocking, panga in hand– 
fingers trembling at the ready
Nearing the justified kill;
Revenge for stealing his land
(the insatiable blood thirst’s excuse)
is but three deaths away
Blood drips from his eyes,
and onto the cold sharpened steel.
Remembering the white dictator's
bloodshot eyes.

A young man ponders about the tacit beauty
that is man
Made from flesh, blood and soul.
Fragile and frail.
Ready to die.
Made in Heaven.

Sacred

I'm a developer. Ohhh poetry... yeah... poetry is awesome

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