Compiled by Tshiamo Malatji Edited by Thuthukani Ndlovu
This book was published by South African Youth Poetry and www.radioactivetuts.blogpsot.com No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic, photographic or mechanical means, which includes photocopying and recording on tape/laser disc , on microfilm, via the internet, by email or by any other information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publishers. All the contributors to this book retain ownership of their work. Copyright Š 1976 – 40 Years On
Contents
Message from compilers That day - by Poetiologist 1976 - by Musa Gift Masombuka Not Black Nor White - by Godâ€&#x;s Art What does 17 look like - by Tshiamo Malatji What does Youth Day mean to you? Born free - by Rebecca Mqamelo I am young - by Neo Education - by Kgothatso Malope Ignorance is bliss - by Common Thank you note
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Message from the compilers 40 years ago, today, youth fought against a government of injustice and a system of segregation. They fought so that youth that followed would be educated freely. Importantly, they fought for youth then and now. 40 years on, we have the unique opportunity to commemorate these youth but to also to reflect on what we do to strengthen the freedom they fought for. The anthology is a platform for such reflection, but more importantly, an opportunity for youth expression. It is through these opportunities that youth can have influence, have a voice and be heard. Poetry itself is a powerful tool which continues to emit layers of different ideas and feeling which become living representations of our struggles or dreams. In compiling this anthology, we wanted to call upon that power. In naming this anthology, we want to emphasise the present. We want to express what progress has occurred or what still must be done. More importantly, we wish to allow young poets of today to comment on how they view the world today. As you read through the expressions of these young poets, remember 1976 but also reflect on where we are 40 years on.
Tshiamo Malatji (Curator of South African Youth Poetry)
Greetings dear reader. I‟m pleased to have been given the opportunity to work with a profound South African poet on this next publication. On this same note, I was not inspired to venture into co-publishing this anthology by him only, but also by Tatamkhulu Afrika‟s poem “Nothing‟s Changed”. 1976 is a year that will not be forgotten, and as we celebrate Youth Day each year, it‟s of my best wish that we do not only reminisce on the past, but that we also evaluate what has changed/improved, and how we can fully achieve what the Youth fought for in the Soweto Uprising.
Thuthukani Ndlovu (Curator of Radioactive Blog)
That day Our parents, the students of yesterday Those that survived a great battle and still have the scars/marks from that day Your hearts oozed a great deal of pain from the unfair treatment Since baboons where our ancestors all they knew was to be bosses But that day black leaders bled their hearts out You wrote on paper and chalkboards with blood Thirsty and hungry for justice there began the Uprise Foretelling the future singing "Get ready mama prepare for your freedom, freedom is coming tomorrow " With their fists of wisdom held up high with an aim to eradicate all the misery they endured But that day black leaders bled their hearts out They stood brave while calling bullet as they knew education was worth it all Some walked tall with shiny shoes torn underneath But.....look at our peer/students making front-page glories/stories Filling up domes, parties and prisons To some 16 is meaningless yes June 16 is meaningless But that day black leaders bled their hearts out Come back lost generation repent Since pen and paper is our legacy I said repent and take a stand to be the mood menders and love erecters For that day hero's and heroine's where born But that day black leaders bled their hearts out Š Poetiologist (Clementine Mkhatshwa)
1976. Never shall I Forget this year. Never shall I Forfeit this memory. In my mind it hiss Irresistible for a mind to miss. It was a point to prove and uselessly improve. They, Boers were killing Not even thrilling Not afraid to kill A corpse to them was a toy. Many lives they have claimed, like scavengers had got prey to eat. Shoot! Kill! Whip! That was their profession. Oh our grandparents had gone, The land of Soweto had become a burial ground. Our students are gone‌ They gone fighting, Fighting for FREEDOM. Oh freedom, A word that makes a Boer to spit. This word meant nothing to them. It was just like an exhausted ahem. Why have they had to do that? For a lesson they said. Oh! Yes, a lesson we learned. That is to just hate them more. Never shall they find, a place in my heart which forgives. If only they are to reverse the clock And bring back our loved ones.
Š Musa Gift Masombuka
Not Black Nor White My fingertips start to dance my black pen on the white paper dance floor to the music of my bewildered thoughts of the rattling guns and to the rhythm of the marches of those who were imprisoned for liberty I listen closer as those who died in captivity cry in their graves „so this is what our blood was shed for..‟ they say
They cry because even though Nelson Mandela fought for unity South Africa still remains a divided society. Only if uTata knew that his dreams about a rainbow nation will one day be nothing more than a fantasy. Come to my township and watch a black kid's dream drown in ecstasy while success for a white kid is not a journey but more of a destiny Come to my township and see abortions pamphlets colonize the streets 'Nkosi sikelela iAfrica' - Oh! what a bitter sweet melody We sing our national anthem of five languages loudly But once the songs stops we treat each other badly They cry because we respect more a rich man we don‟t know more than our single mothers at home, then we ask ourselves Will uTata's dream ever be made whole? WHEN WILL WE EVER AUTO CORRECT CRIME? Does it take someone's death for us to act in time? I cannot assure my little sister a safe walk to the park The police? ….ha! we can no longer spot the difference between a police officer and thief Wow! .... South Africa The Brave, but still fears each other. They cry because once we are employed by the government We Serve people who know nothing about struggling And forget we were ever battling We walk pass those who beg in the streets with hardened hearts and blocked eardrums Leaving the wheel of poverty amongst us forever turning They cry because those fought in the struggle , have a RDP house as a nobel peace prize? 40 years later , still stuck in a four room house but you can still see hope in their eyes. Hope that South Africa will one day not be black nor white. © God‟s Art (Fanelesibonge Mbuyazi)
What does Youth Day mean to you? It is a reminder of the struggle for all black students to have equivalent education with white and also for us to unleash our literature beast which teaches through story telling . Poetiologist The courage and desires of our youth that paid in the past that serves as good education for the future. Common It means that we as youth we must unite and build a nation.
Musa Gift Masombuka Youth Day is when we commemorate the past, appreciate the present and show hope for the future. Rebecca Mqamelo Youth Day for South Africa is day that we remember the sacrifices that people before us(mainly youth, both famous and not famous youth) made in order for South Africa to be a liberated country , then ask ourselves if we are using that liberation in a right way . After having done the two , on this day we wake up and correct the mistakes we've been doing all year(ie. racism , gender stereotype). We got out with washed hearts and eyes by the amount of blood shed for this country and do good to everyone we meet , whether in organised gatherings or even in the streets . Youth Day is a restoration day for SA , restoration of love and hope that we might have lost while misusing our liberty. Godâ€&#x;s Art
What does 17 look like? I think it looks like a whisper without a source, looking for a place to fit in but not wanting to return from where it's already travelled. A flower trying to grow without its roots in attempt to prove that it knows just as much as soil. It looks like a raindrop with no knowledge of its plummet as it enjoys the wind blowing it forward among a group of other drops. 17 looks like a broken umbrella more confident than the person holding it as it valiantly attempts to catch all the opportunities it sees coming its way. It looks like a garden of roses too precious to pick, too beautiful to stop looking at but too vast and complicated to navigate. It looks like a path edged in beach-sand before high-tide, desperate to prove its worth before it loses it, not knowing that the inevitable result of following it is failure or knowing that but still wanting to try anyway. It's the first sip of a second bottle when you promised to only take one, it's the daring adventure into a jungle with buildings that all look the same but have different stories to tell. It's the following of trends that will exist for shorter than you are interested in them. The climbing of trees with branches that try their best to make you fall. 17 doesn't have facial features but it looks like someone desperately trying to cover them in the hopes that no one notices the faults. 17 doesn't have a size or shape. Its dimensions are as expansive as the imagination of the people who occupy it. It's the vagueness between childhood memory and responsibility. It's the steady line between parts of an animation. It's a boundary that never finds its purpose. A field that's never planted. A journey that's never taken. A door that's never opened. It's a book with unread pages trying hard to turn themselves to find the end of their own story. It's where boys decide that they're actually girls and where maturity meets new friends. 17 is not an age. It is a short but remembered period. It is a flash of thousands of images that don't last long enough for us to decide which one we believe in. It moves too quickly for us to forget to how to walk or dream or run. It is a constant reminder of our future and past as we slowly start to give way to new memories, new people, new lives, new identities. 17 is a string attached to itself still indecisive on what to hang onto. 17 is a description of the new path that we all choose to take in a long journey that ends with us hearing a whisper and knowing its source. Š Tshiamo Malatji
Born free Meet Bornfree. Forgive her. Forgive her for not knowing why she is free or who to thank for an achievement she does not see. Forgive her for contemplating whether her times are not worse as he writhes in the shackles of her forefathers‟ curse She is dancing around flames of a lifetime of pain. She is out in the streets screaming to the beat of frustration, of hurt, of loss, of guilt. She tears down the monuments her predecessors built. For 22 years Bornfree was fed on a diet of democracy and daily bread But the promises have run dry and the dreams are all broken; Hear her cry for she is just a token We call her “Rainbow” We call her “Nation” But that technicolour dreamcoat slid off with alarming acceleration When we burned men alive in a township with shacks On a remote, dusty koppie We shot them in their backs Did we think she could not see? She saw it all and could not believe! that she was “free” but the rainbow was a wreck that she was “free” with an albatross round her neck Meet Bornfree alas, she is dead.
©Rebecca Mqamelo
I Am Young I am a young a blood & young student coming from a different perspective I wasn‟t present at that moment but i can feel the pain and struggle that was experienced during that time. At that time i don‟t know what they went through but i could say, I must face the consequences because I am part of this youth, we are one as the nation. What was done to them, I can feel the wounds the pain they went through immediately I felt it And till now, the wounds have not healed. We try to make it better, But the hurt, the bitterness, runs so deep. Sometimes it feels like we‟re fighting a losing battle. It is an undeserved part that we play In trying to undo the injustice. It is a burden, a sorrowful load That we never asked to carry on our shoulders. As the youth of the democracy We do not have the experience, the memories To guide or to prove what happened but imaginary We see the world through untainted eyes And yet we feel it, we feel it every day. We sense the anger and the pain. The blood spilt has dyed society, It is a dark shadow, always in the back of our minds. And yet, there is hope; A light shines that cannot be put out. It has burned throughout the dark night of the past, And continues to give courage to the youth today, Because to those who are brave enough, To those who know that they must stand up and fight, The journey will not be an easy one, Its nature is such that it will not be over quickly. Together we stand, together we can be victorious. We find strength in our shared humanity. As much as we try to be selfish not to celebrate this day we need to think again because they strived and carried the burden for the coming youth so lets try to put ourselves in their shoes and imagine if we could‟ve survived what they survived. The future has been handed to us And it is a bright one so lets not shake our hands or turn our back, let‟s take it to a better and bright place © Neo
Education Ink Hands Rotating upon the stiffest of paper My brains never signed up for this The last time I checked I was born to live not to live for my parents Science is too hard But I have to study it Eradicate the feeling of stupidity The inborn psychology of skin deep Poverty's too steep It's existence just seizes to exist Avoiding it is the only way Future of riches Most vivid laws of physics Einstein is a critic He always looked down on us Syllables of us Were designated to be Residues of red dust Rust Written in lust Past laws promised us free education And 22 years later We still stand screaming Fees must fall We breathe and hold Sleeves with bold hands They give us places With trees and all but it's not free It's sold to poor South African Families Us Forced to study courses we can't afford Forced out of our lands With sand storms Yet they still pamper us with a holiday Freedom day Yet freedom is fake Freedom will never be free. Š Kgothatso Malope
Ignorance is bliss If you stay in comfort too long you will not know the weight of a struggle on a willing youth You will forget the weight of the efforts behind the struggle on a hungry society whose soul cries within stabbed by a blade and dying from the inside
Sure, if you stay in comfort too long you will not know the pain of youth's tears with no one seeing and helping You will forget the thirst, the cracked dusty hearts of the youth living in an imperfect country on their way to freedom who seems to be not there You will forget the pouring pain of a voiceful youth with loads on their backs if you stay in comfort for long
You will forget the sounds in the streets of an ambitious youth losing their dreams and power
You will forget the dreams and desires of our on-going youth struggles
If you stay in comfort too long you will forget about the transformation of our own future in our youth's hands. Š Common (Thapelo Nkomo)
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