Villages And Malls

We by the river singing sad songs
Funeral hymns can put a tingle in your backbone
Right, wrong ain’t the issue when people got sold
?? Their fist waiting for the pastor
To come give the signal to lay the pasture
And plant bigger trees over them that passed on
It is life, the never-ending cycle
Can’t stop, one more born, another one gone
And forever my mom mourns
Raised a son through bad weather and light storms
So, fight on to keep your light on
That day and night, that ray of a light piece of ??
After all the singing and alcohol
The grief-stricken widow is left to a life alone
It’s ironic, the more dad’s gone in memory
The more I seem to be taking dad’s form
I fell asleep, saw the memories of relatives
Envelop me, burning trees and effigies trembling
The ceramic pot with screams, reverie and energy
And then the chief speaks in greek, what they telling me?
Whatever I say, whatever is intended here
Will soon dissipate, buried in the sentences
Of terror and hate, the legacy and genesis of apartheid
The language of a nemesis
I find no comfort in the crevices
Penning this rhetoric intense but I’m tentative
‘Cause essentially, the flows just rented shit
From those that had owners for centuries
I loved it for what their poems had meant to me
But suddenly I’m thrown into the depth of me
It altered me, pretended to develop me
I ran into a ??, he sang but regrettably
So what’s an African to do now?
Get up out the zoo, still living with a tumour
Out the ghetto for a few months
New style, new car gear shifts into new trial
Ain’t no purpose this rural
But when this talk need to walk, you need a shoe size
The Puma fat cat is on whose side?
Not sure so we settle for the Zuma