para(dice)

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Sometimes my truth will sound like fallacy;
Sometimes it will taste like freedom;
The tightrope we walk between fiction and fundamentalism;
Is conquered only by our need to forge;
Human bonds with super human expectations;
Friendships with non-desirables, everyone but ourselves;
Impressing the same man we should sock it to;
Afraid of the same music we should be dancing to;
Silver and gold have I none, but what I do have I shall offer my people;
Protectors cutting us deep;
Watching us bleed;
Gambling with our lives before the eyes of our seed;
This city has sacrificed humanity and traded it for power;
Brute force, the fear of the badge meant to shield us;
Muting our voices, they yield us;
Pan-handled realities lay open at their feet;
Like dirty rags discarded in the street;
Will they choose to look?
Or refuse to see?

I wrote this poem in honour of Lunga Nono, the blind Cape Town busker who was the victim of police brutality on Monday 7th July 2013.

He was dragged, beaten and his guitar broken by metro police, all in full view of his wife and outraged onlookers who have long enjoyed his musical presence on the streets of Cape Town.

His only crime was waking up every morning to add music to the city and put food on his family’s table.

We hope to see him sharing his gift again soon.

ftp.

mj

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