| a poem by nublaccsoul x new-black-soul
Intruders forced through.
Strange grasses grew,
inside the hut, my heart the mud
by the fireplace at gran’s feet,
where Kei River made ash of chicken feet.
And so, they did away,
with the heads of men,
that their guns snuffed
and these bibles unroofed
grass-tops toppled off.
Urns of suns, gospel-choir hums,
church hymns for the hims,
torn at the herms,
who are these boyhood, childish,
churlish, and uncultured men?
- Capital punishment for capital-
For fifty-four thousand,
seven-hundred and fifty-three,
the San fought,
the Khoi fought
the pale faces at the fort.
Now I must look to my own heart,
that wants to beat Tutu’s forgiveness in nyaibow nyation nyolz rhythm.