THE VOICE

            THE VOICE

When the architect of your foundation

Sought for help,

 He was signing a bond

On which the posterity was to rejoice,

 In his efforts ecstasy.

   I still cry and clamour

  For the tears we shed for the pain

   Inflicted on you,

 So we shed for the pain you inflict unto us

 This unending weep is for you South Africa,

   The once oppressed a people, quickly you forget the frontlines

   Ecstatically it was when you claimed victory

    Over the infamous apartheid animosity,

     Castigating the swine-like Botha.

  How shameful it is then,

  That ‘You can lower a white statue of a dead man,

 But never can slap a live one’ (Robert Mugabe)

But angrily inflict pain on your next door neighbours-Africans,

For they are foreigners.

When my eyes see,

 I see his ghost in protest,

 Never to be consoled,

  For the ladder to justice

  Is thrown away.

 You, have deprived the mother-Africa,

 Of its posterity.

  How unhappy is the spirit that binds us,

 Oh mama Africa.

 Africa rise

From the high altitudes and plains of Kilimanjaro,

 To the rich North Africa,

 From Blantyre to Casablanca.

 Same but apart by frontiers

  I refuse to be consoled

 For as long as the African

Is a target of the infamous and unspeakable

 Xenophobia.

 As long as the African is a foreigner in his mother Africa

 With stranger a legitimate citizen.

 I refuse to be consoled,

 As long as long as the African still suffers unspeakable horrows of dislike at his premise,

And regarded a second class citizen.

 How quickly you forget,

For the once oppressed has washed hands crystal to sit on the table

  With his once oppressors,

Tormenting his once liberator.

I refuse to be consoled,

For it is not yet uhuru
                                Rurekyera Geofrey