Thamsanqa Ncube
    My Son…
            --Thamsanqa Ncube

In the middle of the cacophony and drivel that is my present;
A sparkling diamond continuously shines…
In the shadows of the dubious circumstances of my being,
Unperturbed by the acrimonious rumblings of my recent past,
Charging forward into the uncertain waters of my future,
Unto me a Son is born…

You are my Son,
Because I have stood, mouth agape, and witnessed you come forth from your mother’s womb,
Chasing away the spirits of the early morning with your first scream,
Casting a bright hue upon the darkest hour of this land…
Opening your eyes to the indifference of a desperate, lost and disappearing people,
Listening intently to them fighting like hyenas in the savannah;
Over the remaining crumbs of your inheritance…

I am your Father,
Because I have held you in my arms,
A song of joy unbridled springing forth from my lips,
My whole body shaking in disbelief,
A seed of hope eternal planted in my soul…
A new dawn…
A new day…
A new beginning…

You are a Son of the soil,
A descendant of great chiefs,
A Ncube
A descendent of Tinago,
Of Shoko
Of Mzilankhatha,
Of Mlotshwa,
Of Mkhabela
Of Ntini ye Goba

I am your Father,
And I am a Son of the Soil;
I am a product of this Land,
From whence I have been driven,
By a tyranny so intense, it defies logic,
Driven to cold, dry, foreign lands,
Far from the graves of my Fathers,
From the breasts of the great dames of my ancestral lands,
From whence I suckled the milk of human kindness

You are my Son,
Because together we shall count the moons before we go home,
To pay homage to the spirits of our Land,
Of Mzilikazi ka Matshobana,
Of Nehanda and Kaguvi,
Of Joshua Mqabuko Nkomo and Amai Sally Mugabe,
Of the Rain Queen at Njelele and the silent ones in the Vumba Mountains …

I am your Father,
Because together we shall wait here,
We shall wait for our Land to come back to us,
For the monsters to vacate our daily dreams,
For the tyrant to bless us with his demise,
And together, you and I,
Father and Son,
We shall collect our baggage of years,
And singing, hoping and praying,
We shall re-enter Canaan ...
Mayibuye iAfrika
IAfrika Mayibuye...



    How do they…?
              --Thamsanqa Ncube

In the middle of the screams of our starving offspring;
How do they count their trillions?
On the backs of our emaciated brothers and sisters,
How do they take tours around their humongous, unused, wasted farms?
In the fading light that is our economy,
How do they admire their grotesque mansions?

How do they smell the pungent perfumes of their whoring wives?
In the sanctity of the never-ending prayers of our mothers?
And how do they put on their Italian suits, in the stinking mess of their corrupt ways?
How much money is deemed enough, and how many Zurich accounts is enough?
How big a farm can one old man have?
How deep are the pockets of some; and how many more mansions can the Malaysians build?
How many more newspaper offices must be burnt down,
And reporters arrested, detained and imprisoned without trial?

In the middle of the wailing screams of our raped mothers and sisters,
Presented with the evidence of our abused and beaten down fathers and brother,
How can the world continue to watch?
On the crumbling back of a once proud people,
How can such evil continue to prosper?
On the face of the lessons that history has taught the world,
How can one man’s tyrannical, megalomaniac dreams be allowed to prosper,
How can you, I and the world look at ourselves in the mirror every morning, knowing all this?

How?


      The Long Walk to Freedom
                             --Thamsanqa Ncube


There is no Robben Island in this land,
Yet our prisons are bursting at the seams, with prisoners of this mad time,

There is no Tutu in this land,
Yet the power of the most high is being invoked in every nook, cranny and corner of this land, every
minute of every day…

Nelson Mandela has not walked on our streets,
Yet thousands have been on this long walk to for so long;

It’s been a long walk to freedom,
A walk of hope and despair,
Of deprivation for some and plenty for others,
Of anger, pain and regret…

And yet, one step after another, the long walk continues…
The long walk to freedom…




Thamsanqa Ncube is the author of the poetry collection Mureza. He is an accountant based in South
Africa. This is his second appearance in Munyori Poetry Journal. You can read his interview here.