‘your uncle is a hatcheti buried in my crotch on purpose.’ -Ashley Makue This is one of the lines from an anthology of poems entitled I know how to fix […]
When the next generation speaks for itself, we need to lend our ears
to encourage their voices.
“We are bringing you the remains of your promises
Buried in the same graves as our hopes and futures
We have exhumed them to pay our everlasting respect
Mass séances we hide under protests
Tombstones erected in our hearts bleed”
On Wednesday 21 October
the sheriff came but the poet
was on leave so instead of fur
niture the poems were attached
Somewhere in the core of my country | dwells a cancer – seeping deep into the crevices of our livelihoods | that won’t let the child learn without first having to burn tyres. | When the child could remedy the land of its wailing wounds
and forgo its inherited injustices. | Who could paint our story anew | on a blank canvas of boundless possibilities.
Why do our parents have to jump over the moon and back to send their children to a place of education? Why must there be blood scattered across our screens for the story to be heard?
Yesterday’s events highlighted many things but the most glaring thought is that our parents fought a very similar fight some 40 odd years ago. Except now we are united, solidified by a common a cause and powered by the notion of free education.
The same lashes our parents faced / We are now facing today / With police men dressed proudly in their uniform / Shooting rubber bullets confidently at students / #FeesMustFall is a cause we all need to be a part of…