Twenty two young lives gone

in youth month, twenty twenty two.

As parents, senzeni naa,

as a community, senzeni naa,

as a nation, if there’s any,

senzeni naa?

“We fear this youth,”

we say.

How can a mother, father,

fear their young?

they have rights, this youth;

who made these rights?

We watch them, coldly

and gossip

as they wallow in frustration

and despair,

then thank God they aren’t ours.

We’ve burned the grass

they ought be grazing on.

There is nothing there,

not a thread of freedom.

We killed them,

the youngest at thirteen;

not even bothered

to know the name