For 50 years?
For 50 years we have been forced to smile
Celebrate they say, for fifty years of self rule
Bare yellow teeth that yearn for toothpaste
But which we cannot afford
For our pockets boast holes
Not of designs, but signatures of poverty.
Sing a new song, they say
Blow a golden trumpet
Let the vacant faces
Wear hope;
Why groan forever, when one black as you
Sits at the palace
Speaks your language, ploughs ugali
Just like you?
Do not remind me
Of bitter tears of yesterday
Of crocodile feasts, gun-totting smokers,
And priestesses of thieves!
Can these cracked lips conjure a song?
Can this broken heart solicit a prayer?
Where is this in-depend-ence
When all we do is posture for handouts? — written by Ron Muphuwa
For 50 years we have been forced to smile
Celebrate they say, for fifty years of self rule
Bare yellow teeth that yearn for toothpaste
But which we cannot afford
For our pockets boast holes
Not of designs, but signatures of poverty.
Sing a new song, they say
Blow a golden trumpet
Let the vacant faces
Wear hope;
Why groan forever, when one black as you
Sits at the palace
Speaks your language, ploughs ugali
Just like you?
Do not remind me
Of bitter tears of yesterday
Of crocodile feasts, gun-totting smokers,
And priestesses of thieves!
Can these cracked lips conjure a song?
Can this broken heart solicit a prayer?
Where is this in-depend-ence
When all we do is posture for handouts? — written by Ron Muphuwa
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