Sometime, in the history of black people
we are going to explain to our children
how we dodged bullets and screamed for our lives.

Sometime, in the history of black people
we are going to present and compile
in history books how we fought amongst ourselves.

As clean as a whistle, never had I imagined
the streets of Hillbrow would be immaculate and spotless,
not with all those spazas and street kids on every corner.

As quiet as a mouse, where one would hear a needle drop,
as whites would say, never had I imagined
I would hear my footsteps as I walk.

The hatred in my people’s eyes shook and shivered my body,
it caused my heart to intensely break into minute pieces.

Black against black,
fighting endlessly and tirelessly for whoever
sat across those ‘open boarders’ table.

Throwing swords at each other, spitting blood
and burying our fellows, black against black.

How long?
How long are we going to wait until justice is served?

How long are we going to live in the fear of our own shadows,
not knowing where the next attack might come from?
Black against black

Who is going to hear our loudest cry,
as we shed tears over and over again,
Who is going to put an end to such brutality
Who is going to provide security as we walk in the streets of big cities?
Black against black

Sometime, in the history of black people,
we are going to look back and wish
we had done things differently.

Black against black.

We are going to look back and wish we could re-write history.