By Vusumzi Toto Matomane on Thursday, January 6, 2011 at 3:18pm
(South Africa; Mthatha)
[Tribute Magazine-- March 2000 issue]
Malusi, my son,
be proud of me
because
ndisekhona...
Like a branch of a tree:
battling against
raging winds,
Swaying
and oft kissed the ground--
so was I...
Three hundred years passed
tardily like a tortoise
my back beaten by batons;
but still:
ndisekhona...
My back void of a carapace
the protector of my spine
the crucial cord in me;
but still:
ndisekhona...
They thought I would cease
like morn dewdrops
fighting 'gainst
sun rays of the rising sun;
but still:
ndisekhona.
Copyright © Vusumzi Matomane 2000
[Tribute Magazine-- March 2000 issue]
Malusi, my son,
be proud of me
because
ndisekhona...
Like a branch of a tree:
battling against
raging winds,
Swaying
and oft kissed the ground--
so was I...
Three hundred years passed
tardily like a tortoise
my back beaten by batons;
but still:
ndisekhona...
My back void of a carapace
the protector of my spine
the crucial cord in me;
but still:
ndisekhona...
They thought I would cease
like morn dewdrops
fighting 'gainst
sun rays of the rising sun;
but still:
ndisekhona.
Copyright © Vusumzi Matomane 2000
...and the man was me telling his story, seated on a wheeled-chair: turned out he was active in the struggle for the liberation of the 'then-oppressed' South Africa.
ReplyDeleteI think this poem can comment 'on its own'...if one has read it (that is to say).