Buried in my Backyard

By Philani Tyson Nombika, South Africa:

We are known for our lightness

Sun absorbing skin we smile the loudest

Deafening pulse our hearts know these streets will never forgive us

For we have given the most tender parts of us

We have surrendered our souls to belong in these corners that tear holes in our pocket so they stay empty even when we fill them

We are gods who have been reduced to beggars to fuel this city we call home

Because our hearts find refuge this city on cold winter nights

We have been dying for as long as we have lived here

We have seen these dead end alleys bury our heroes, mothers, fathers and daughters yet we still call them home because it’s all we have ever known

Don’t fight, fall inline like the rest seems to be the routine we have adopted

Keep your head down for the nail that stands out gets the hammer

Are we pawns in a game?

Sacrificed at will to protect the queen who has not set foot in my home?

We have been falling for as long as we first knew how to stand

Begging ever since the first stomach growl

Our bellies have never been full yet we never cry, we have became wolves in our skin, we lick our wounds

Dead End

Our wrists are slit and bare, lines naked in readiness for suicide notes

Poetry was just another cry

Torn jeans were never just a style

Bracelets were fashionable just to hide the scars

Dreads locked because that’s just who we are