In the mind there are fights that one never wins.
A quarrel between the body and soul,
A virtue and a goal far from reach.
A voice not heard, the voice leaves my throat.
Struggles and hindrances from success…
The force that leaves is better than dreams not ignored,
In a world of vultures and liars.
In mystery and distress.
And in wild busy streets of green pastures of the coast,
Opportunities missed by most.
In rough rural soils of gravel dried by lost hope,
One would swear God has sworn against.
To never cherish and nourish it for the people to enjoy.
In a place where people affectionate heart and play with them like a toy,
Where alcohol brings people temporal joy.
I still dream of a better place.
Where kings feast with servants,
And ants anticipate the bright future of their offspring.
Where dreams are dreamt and pragmatized into existence.
Where beggars beg for mercy instead of coins and food,
In a world where the sun shines bright for all of us.
Where the law laws for the blood of our sisters slaughtered like barbarian in combat,
A combat of hatred and disrespect.
A storm of gender based violence that violates the beauty of this world.
Indeed a long way to go is still crawling slowly, under our nose and above,
Where men abuse and murder the mothers of this sacred soil.
Their souls soiled with thoughts of evil and despair.
Partners don’t love each other mutually like a pair,
Life to our women is unfair.
These scars in a womb have been torn.
Before the life in a woman was born,
Mandela gave birth to freedom and riches,
Today this world is full of witches,
Waiting for an opportunity to lead the youth astray.
As a result black inferiority is reborn.
The black communities are again torn and tormented,
Impoverished and without.
Their dreams die within and with money they are without.
In bundles packed like sardines in those shacks they call home,
With the little they have to get by….
In debt of loan sharks that scoop those salaries unruly.
With hope they live.
In a dream I dream three times a day as the fourth might be my last..
In a day and a night to come I might die and never leave to tell the tale,
A tale of my sorrows as I watch the destruction of my people,
A cry of an infant South Africa , legless in shame of its doings.
The judge justice for all and more,
The extant of law that is Armstrong and cruel to the perpetrators in place,
An eye for an eye, where the poor pour their sorrows in confidence of free will,
Where my vote goes longer than T shirts and food parcels.
Where my education is recognised like the tax of my forefathers,
I dream of a place where my daughters and sons will be free thinkers .
Thinkers and movers of societal pillars of entrepreneurship.
Sailors and captains of not e sinking ship,
Classic men who enjoy great wine in sip.
I still have plenty….
An anthology of gaols, a mystery of ideas and more,
A peaceful place I can proudly call home…..
A motherly country born into perfection by its people.
An essence of great moral and ethics.
Where everyone is a policeman of his actions and a conscious of his thinking,
A blissful forest and an ecosystem of mutual understanding and more…..
Or neither have I said more………………..
S.YENGE (FREE STATE)