It Tear Me Apart
Whenever I set my eyes, on that sport field.
It sours my soul so bitter, when see teenager’s,
Youth makes sport field lover’s check point.
It makes me so angry, whenever bi see my Kasi people,
Young and older excercises their grievinces by throwing stones,
On our public roads and burning tyers.
I just hate that 1976 style of protesting.
In our new South African leadership.
I couldn’t bare my tears after seeing my Kasi kid,
Early in the morning at the scrap yard gate.
Really it worries me, when I see pile of mountain rubbish
pilled at my Kasi corner streets and right at unoccupied fileds.
It concerns me, when see watse manangement track of municipality.
Goes around my filty Kasi.
I couldn’t even imagine right at our spaza shops, having bugger, Hobo’s at my kasi.
Wondering where is the spirit of makoya kasi.
The spirit of caring, giving without being asked, and the motto of your child is my child.
Where does the attitude of “bheka iindaba zakho” coming from.
Those traditional healers who filled my kasi without any solution you give me doubts.
In the imperfection of ikasi.
That is known of being jealousy, poor, promiscuity and gossip.
Right in my kasi extensions, zones, sections, and skwata camp.
Never the less, ikasi painted me with a smile.
When I walk on my kasi small dusty streets.
Seeing kasi boys and girls crowded at that same street.
Making soccer ball unrested.
With the dribbling South Africa soccer styles.
The culture of “umshishi”, “shibobo”,”spite too…laduma”.
Afte that you will hear the crowed blowing laughter.
It ignites my happiness when see that my kasi still claim tht exciting moments of diski culture.
It Tear Me Apart