Marikana! Rhapsodies of Blood
It came to me in a wild dream
Eyes bursting gleaming fire
Raging dead
Laughing in its fresh death
Dancing in a visceral frenzy
Intoxicated by being dead chanting melodies suddenly broken into severe incoherencies of the soul
It was a green dream dressed in the blanket of night
Spirits whirling swerving eddying in invisible vortexes of blood
In the burning heights of
Marikana!
Wild eyes still gleaming raging
Thirty -four pairs of eyes staring at death their death
In a welter of sounds of glee
“Hit! Hit! I got -one -more -than –you- hit!”
Eyes staring in anger at falling stocks in the stock exchange
Eyes watching diminishing returns
“I am now worth less than him!”
Death wishes in the eyes
Caught in nightmares in green blankets staring
At the sole of the night of vampires of greed
Eyes fighting the memories of the days they too
Stood in front of guns
Of days when mine bosses hurled bullets of denial
To pierce their hungry stomachs to silence
The groans of their loved ones hunger pains
Caught in titanic wars of forgetting
A sculpture rises in the centre
Of miners staring straight at the eyes of shareholders counting dividends
On computer screens
A sculpture that draws the eyes of the people to turn their minds inward
To see the putrid dreams of our nation
To wander along the contours of art
To read the betrayal of our silences as we die
A sculpture unfolds with all our faces
Our eyes staring inside the womb of our betrayed dreams
As we by our eloquent silences betray the memories of those
Who died so that you and I may speak truth to power!
There will be a poem that will write itself in the tender
Membranes of our minds and
Recalcitrant memories that will
Lacerate our entrails with razor sharp images flashing
Across screens of our dreams turning them into nightmares
We shall hear loud and clear the pounding hoofs of rhinos
With horns of gold marauding the dreams of our children
Piercing the eerie nights
Wrenching blood vessels
Rupturing hearts
Strangling lungs as
Retributions for our focused silences
As our people die trapped like wild animals
Under the shadow of the mountain of destiny in
Marikana! Marikana!
Yes! I have lived in agonizing fields
Within cauldrons of methane gas in the dead stomach of repression
We have died many deaths as massacres unfolded
Dreaming of a time when our people can walk and smile
Raise their concerns without fear
Not fearing death for we died for them already
In Sharpeville Nyanga Langa Sebokeng Gugulethu Soweto
We died to live a moment of peace in our land
Those whose dreams guard their ill-gotten wealth
March under the police uniforms
To silence our dreams
I carry echoes in the womb of my ear
I carry in the nightscapes of my dreams
Memories of lessons learned in my journeys through death grounds;
I know that molten lava under the seas rises
Compels the waves to stage an uprising
Tsunamis are born
Naturally!
I know also that molten lava expands in the centre of the earth
Seeks an escape route
Explodes onto the surface of the earth
A volcanic eruption ensues
Naturally!
I know for sure that discontent under the surface of society
Swells like molten lava
Explodes onto the surface of society
A social revolution ensues
Naturally!
It’s a matter of Time! Time!
It came to me in a wild raging dream eyes gleaming flames
Raging consuming dead deadening
Luridly laughing in its fresh death
Dancing in a visceral frenzy
Death intoxicated
Chanting melodies suddenly broken into severe incoherencies of the soul
I am caught in vicious nightmare
Here in the bleeding land of my dreams!
There are flames in the retina of my eye
My eye refuses to catch glimpses of our future
Burning glimpses of Fate or Destiny!
I begin to feel the slight movement of shriveled fetuses
Of poems and sculptures stretch
My soul fearing the power of my hands
I fear for my vision
I cast my eyes to the stars
The moon circles galaxies of demon ridden dreams
Constellations circle the womb of destructive creations
I vacillate between Being Unbeing and Becoming!
The soul within my soul voices defiance at the beasts that seek to silence our dreams and compel them to kneel at the bleeding altar of convenience!
2.
Now demons of power ride rough shod over our destinies
Now the wound in our soul our minds our hearts in our eyes
Flows into the myriad streams of humanity across the globe
Marks the monstrosity of time
God has broken the stars in the skies
Splinters pierce our vision in the dismal nights where women hold vigils
For their dearly departed under the gaze of
Mpondo and Mpondombili
Empty portfolios in the sky
Retreat into zones of fear of ‘suicidal miners’ who only want
To live without hunger pains gnawing at the tender entrails of their beloved
Night on the Marikana Mountain paid me a visit
Last night without stars only the ricocheting sounds of bullets
The triumphant bellowing of bellicose police laughter
The terrified cries and last screams of the executed populated my night
I hear terrifying echoes invaded spaces of sad memories
“Riotous Assemblies Act, Common Purpose , State of Emergency “
Nothing about live bullets!
They came shame faced to the window of my soul
One by one heads bowed in shame
Hiding centenary flags:
O R Tambo!
Robert Sobukwe!
Steve Biko!
Lilian Ngoyi!
The Mqxenges!
Riberos!
Barai!
Gomomo!!
The mural dome sky layered with oils in coagulated reds yellows black dark Menacing greys textured souls peering from heaven waving flags
Of previous massacres in our bleeding land
A sudden wind blew uprooting trees
Leaves shout names of each soul that died in prison
in massacres cross border raids parcel bombed poisoned strangled slipped on bars of soap
Run over by speeding cars
Stabbed in the dark by askaris or at high noon
In the dusty streets of our land
I know the army of the dead will rise in the souls of the leaving
Do I dream or am I awake?
It is time yes time when poets must rise and speak
Pierce the silences of the soul
When another night gathers its darknesses
With more bleeding hands dripping!
I saw them drag a man tied to the back of a police van
Kicking screaming begging upholders of justice
Not to orphan his children and widow his wife
How can a poet be silent then?
I hear poignant echoes of Mattera’s
“ If their lies must survive the poet must die!”
@ Pitika