the wailing taps
here taps
wail
without weeping
just air seeping
for days
& a stink
of toilets
that cannot swallow
grows
in the township
it’s midday
teenage mothers
roam
the streets
with wobbling breasts
in soiled nighties
kwamazakhele
some are scratching
& screeching
itching
crotches
cockroaches
caressing dirty dishes
on kitchen tables
dozens of toddlers
soaked in dust
& licked
by the stubborn sun
the war for water has begun
the streets are now cliffs of infernos
the residents are now tired
of drinking
from a calabash
of dead political slogans
ezakheni is burning
and there is no water
to kill the fire
amandla…
blues for an illegal miner
it is darkness
that knows the rhythm
of your fear
it is dust
that knows the landscape
of your skin
when you face
death
straight in the eye
it is the bowels
of the earth
that know your hunger