CRIES FROM SOWETO

Ashes to ashes
dust to dust.

I
Narrator:
when shall we stop ubieting our bald sons?
or we cease nursing our uglified rape victims?
songs of sorrow have escaped our bruised lips
dirge sobs strong with salty fluids from heavy eyes
cries became our antiphon before the open earth

we are bruised by sharp boots and crisp whips
thundered by white lightning and brown khakis
sortied by the sons of bitches who snogged us
carbine-armed nitwits marched down on our villages

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