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Her Tears

 

By Sekantši Sitsane, Lesotho

There was a beautiful girl
Her innocence almost taken
But a warrior stood up for her
Through speech and spear
Again with words and swords
He protected her all he could

So when all the other lillies got
picked,
The roses whose petals were picked-
She remained…
Like an oasis in the midst of a desert.
Surrounded alround by sands
Which have been fumbled by
foreign winds.
She however retained her aura

A patch of peace amid a stretch of war
When the white man raped her fellow sisters
Murdered their men and boys,
All she could do was cry
A little help here and there was
all she could afford.
The whites did take her husband  and sons away
So she became unkempt and ugly
Lost her light and the bright self
So the streams on her cheeks broke out

Her calm and peace suffered erosion
The values she had held gave way for foreign ones.
The once respectable flower,
Became a horrid spectacle.
Care and selflessness of her people,
Came to be only heard of in tales,
Replaced by greed and selfishness.
The brother of peace has supposedly left HER with predators
Scavengers in actual fact
Or rather, vampires who are out for vengeance
They play a chess game called politics.
Her children made into pawns
The easiest bait!
So Lesotho cries

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