Skin Deep
(11 October 2007)

He questions everything
From the tone of his skin
To the dime in his pocket
Why the birds soar up high
And he remains rooted
Circum-habitating where his ancestors lie
Why the rain falls on a summer afternoon
And why the sun shines on a wintry day
Yet he feels this cold choke his bones
He questions why God drew MAPS
On the human race, coloured one MAP
With a non-rainbow color that’s his own
“CURSED,” he says
I say to him don’t feed me with that nonsense
I am a beautiful, blessed, black babe
 not cursed
If I were to ask God for anything
I would ask him for a pair of wings
So that like the birds of the earth
I would drift towards my creator
And ask him why, not barrage another mortal being
With questions like his: a bird so I can soar up high
Look down upon my pain, my fears
And like the butterflies of the wild
I would kiss every beautiful flower
Float without care to where the wind takes me

Black is a curse?
No, black is the darkness that consumes
Even the white souls like a light switched off
at midnight and I am sure as hell that ain’t you or me..

Black, a curse?
Black is the heart conscious of colour
Conscious of “this divide” living in fear
Of being or not being.

The euphoria at Wembley a victory
Viva Mandela viva
Purging race supremacism
Come hither you kafferboetie
Abandon the naïve leftists
For we walk with those willing
To take our hands in theirs
Those who don’t look in our hearts
See darkness because we can’t,
We won’t speak their language:
Because we are not suit & tie
Turdy with Oxford mannerisms
Come, be the footstep besides our own.