The pain in my Father’s eyes
Rumbles like a school bell
In the morning.
Weeping at my rebellion
Questioning
Why did I miss his sermons

His sermons scribble sacred songs
On my dry bones

Songs I would have packed
In the pockets of my skin
Choking my screaming silence.

Choking my screaming silence
Until black gods breathe revolution
Into my history shoes

Gods who wrestle like Zulu warriors
Marching to battle
With burning spears
Preaching

‘Khumbul’ ekhaya’
‘Khumbul’ ekhaya’