Our children have nomadic eyes

a poem by Sinaso Pamela Mxakaza, South Africa

Dont look at me like im poetry climbing through the jaws of a lion, from the flesh of prey devoured
I am a small heaven of sins between the nicks of time
I am silence.
I am poor. The sky covers shelters i live in like a roof. With a head stuck inbetween the winds breath
Dont look at my sad eyes dripping with tears like its raining on the sun
i am not a state of global warming
Just scandals of our nature we remain tip lipped about
Dont look at my broken like bleeding wounds on bodies wrapped in deaths loving and cold arms
i am a human taming the wild hanging on our breaths
we had given up the hunter gatherer life for safaris and kakis
our children are born with nomadic eyes and feet chasing the soils embrace, with pores like buckets collecting rainwater
though our tongues arent sharp as our forefathers and we are governed in languages of those stripped Africa bare
we are no common thing
we now know how to tell ourselves and every authority
that we werent born to be slaves
Dont look at us like prison cells and heavy chains trapping our own children
we are labourers cheated by time
Dont look at us like life did us any favours
we fill church pews united in song and prayer silencing the chims of gods our ancestors say are dancing on our wrists and ankles
But God knows we are a nation crying for mercy from all these burdens so much so we have forgiven him for the cruel joke he played on us

come home to yourself
Our children have nomadic eyes

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