Breath taking
tunes,
Soulless bodies
in queues
On the African
vast dusty stages,
Is where demise
dance once took place & still, rage’s
Cross firing
notes,
To escape the
rhythm there was no chance, as systemically still is.
Sons of god
over sons of soil,
Misunderstanding
led to blood shedding.
Sons of soil
over sons of god,
Evils feasting
resulted to life divorce &
Engagement of
the nation to death wedding
The father wept
while Mother nature was crying
For misdeed of
their sons
hopeful smiles,
were then made
by rising of freedom sun,
Where black
& white were able to rub their cold shoulders,
Showing
crocodile smiles
Not for long
walking on liberty miles,
joy turn to bitter
smiles
For freedom was
individualised
for black agent
swine’s
that were not
only freed to self-indulge
but to flaw the
sacred African ground
now this day, is & time that we repent &
resent more
than guitars of death.
Guitars of
death are instruments of the west,
That were meant
to rob us of wealth, health & strength
So to slave
& bow on them sons of god
As time folds
this nation tend to be cold,
Not of the west
scold
but of our man
who sold us for a life of gold
now this day, is & time that we repent &
resent more than guitars of death.
Writer: Bongo Flepu
