Sixteen June

 

 

            “Sawubona mfowethu"

So where to?

Lapha ngiseholidini,

A national, international

Day of celebration on this -

June sixteen.

 

 

            But what can ‘We’

Celebrate when crying I saw

Him bleeding, his sister close,

Screaming for his life.

 

 

            So where to mfowethu?

The cemetery where many,

Were seized from days of living,

The bullets and the beatings

Stealing township citizens in

Darkest days of the Apartheid?

 

 

            The cemetery belittles

The sacrifice they made,

Schoolchildren with home made

Clothes and bags to carry books

Considered unlawful by the Boer.”

 

 

            “Baba, come with me!

This march sings sad songs to

Celebrate the passing of the child,

And tonight, we’ll stay by twilight

            And sing the songs of

Freedom for now, we are no longer

Homeless, this" at last our land.

 

 

            They are not dead!

But there within the twilight

Gathered under roof of stars,

     ‘looky see!’

Hector Petersen with all

His friends having long

Been taught the barrel and the

Double tap cannot deny the peoples

Love.

 

 

 

            A love of land and country

That long ago, endured plight of

Battle that never scattered peoples hope,

Hector Petersen is there, is here

Within my heart and everywhere

I stare;

            Looking at the people,

Glad his courage dared.”

 

 

            “Did we do it mfowethu?

Do we now teach?

Do we keep our land,

Is it placed in hands Biko

Would have shook?

            Are we free from tyranny?

I ask as only now, the child I see

Sits upon the drum, bangs a simple

Beat reminiscent of a calling

By a warring nation under rule?”

 

 

            “Baba, tis a warning to the

Soul from Petersen himself;

Not to linger too defiantly upon

His tragic death but dance,

Celebrate the day now passing by

And cry, let the mourning turn

To days of joy for here upon the night,

I state, he was more than just a boy,

A casualty of war that forged alliances

From Earth that came knocking at the

Open chasm that once hung

A sculpted door, our door,

And though, the bloodletting did

Neither stop or clot, we sit today

In victory, in peace, our children reading

Books once burned a million moons away.”

 

 

            “Mfowethu!

So where to this pride

That cannot hide these tears?”

 

 

            “Sowetu my brother,

Sowetu!”

 

 

Michael J Waite 16^th June 2009