Safa, safa yimfazwe!
We die, we died because of this war
A great many moons ago we marched into the open to meet a better - and instead
We met a bitter end; for with bullets they opened us
We were fighting for our people, ourselves included
You, children, too
Now today we are remembered
The days we died on have been given
For rest
Our names were never meant to be spoken
But our cause has been forgotten
We fought for less but lost so much
Safa, we are no longer here
We do not speak to you
Only speak to God as we had done
We cannot tell you what we cannot see
Our flesh knew metal and ammunition
Yours will only know plastic and silver tubes
but the deed will remain the same
Suffer- you must for it is known that man does not live forever
But be the man who knows his Creator
We birthed you but did not know you untill we saw you
Safa, we died
There is a greater war to suffer
Turn to God.
YOU ARE READING
My country, the prostitute
PoetryWill you immerse yourself with hate untill you die? Wil you doom yourself when you were made to sustain life? If life was made in you then why are you raising death as if you gave birth to it? It is no longer them only at fault but you. My country...
