We’ve found ourselves in a series of death
The assistance heads slowly
Paving an opportunity for more tragic events.
Our children. Our mothers.
To think we gave birth to the entire generation,
We are wiped away making weekly bulletins.
The strong is weakened.
Our “Mbokodo” title is breaking.
Tell the sleuths to have mercy on our souls,
The men see us as trouts.
What we’ve become – “Things with no purpose”
We’re dying and it’s turned into a circus.
Who to hear this cry? Our cry?
What’s to become of us?
Of children to raise themselves
Because their mother was slaughtered?
What’s to become of our mothers
When they are burying their only hope?
It is business as usual.
The uproar of our mothers is taken lightly.
We have mothered a nation that ends us unapologetically.
When their speeches are read,
You can tell in each line their emotions slip away.
I’m sickened by reading about these deaths everyday.
Why are we supposed to live in fear?
This is not how we’re supposed to die.
Give us the freedom we deserve
The title we have earned.
Really, this can’t be the society we birthed.