BIKO Born of Mathew and Alice Mamcete; brother to Bukelwa and Khaya and Nobandile, the lastborn. Death ambushed you on the road of your own Via Dolorosa: The way of suffering beyond Nongqawuse’s place of sorrow to where the surplus-city, Dimbaza, uncovered the secrets of evil. And on a good day you danced like a Joburg kleva from Ginsberg to Keiskammahoek and everyplace in-between to where, finally, the handcuffs of Pretoria bound you at a place just beyond Makana’s Kop. Biko our forever young, our courage when prophets sought shelter in the mansions of silence; our pride when the dirt of propaganda kissed deception, bowing our heads ‘neath the weight of shame. Biko, they killed your body. And we wept at the sight of your dark, bruised and beaten beauty. And now. All over this forsaken Azania, you, like resurrection hymns, like the promise of empty graves, like the sound of the marching poor – you come singing our forgotten songs ... © Michael Weeder, Sunday 14 September 2014
Posted on: Sun, 14 Sep 2014 13:05:54 +0000
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