It’s scary isn’t it?
Stuck on this ever-expanding mezzanine
The clock on the wall is existential
Each stroke of the hand writes “Wasted Potential
“ Songs of The Struggle still echo in these halls
Ghost voices, ghost footsteps, ghost eyes stare through the walls
Their blood cries for the Liberation’s liberated
While the Liberation liberators wallow in poverty, inebriated.
The mouse tries to run up the clock
But its starved body caves in and to the ground it drops
The sound is sickening
DEATH swoops in, silver sickle glistening
Their embrace is swift, body and soul torn
All this I observe from this damned platform.
Held in place between Hell’s heaven and Heaven’s hell
The revolution as prophesied by George Orwell
Where there is no victor, both sides defeated
The leaders won’t say it, they’re much too conceited
Death the only loss left to concede
But even that is a victory for the pain recedes.
Smash the clock, break it before we all rot
Freeze time, assess this blood clot
Still standing on this elevated cursed rock
The white faces below are hateful and menacing
Snarling, “Nigger! Kaffir! Your Independence is fantasy”
I clench my fists and shiver
I look up, the glass ceiling shows me my future
Nothing but black
No hope, no chance, just poverty in a shack
The results of self-implosion
Results of The Struggle that lost its notion
So i cross my legs and on this mezzanine I remain
Can’t even say the name without disdain.
Name : Simbarashe Knox Kaneunyenye
About The Artist :
We die twice in our lives. We die the day we stop breathing and we also die the day our names are breathed last. Art is my way of making sure my ideas, my experiences, my feelings and my expressions never die. I write because I want to live forever.