My Feelings...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Remembering the evils of apartheid.

Submitted: January 17, 2012

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Submitted: January 17, 2012

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My feelings….

 

How does it feel when you`re made just like me?

When you`ve hands that can feel, and eyes that can see.

You `re  part of the Universe, the world walking tall,

Yet you are a no-one...worth nothing at all?

 

How does it feel when you shiver with cold,

Barefoot and homeless, on the pavements of gold.

After hours in the queue, and you hear the man say

"Sorry Dlamini, there`s no work today."

 

Yes how does it feel when your kids roam the street,

When they ransack the garbage for something to eat.

When their bellies distend, and their eyes just turn wild,

And you don`t  recognise, him or her as your child.

 

How does it feel for a mother of five,

To be raped and be left, more dead than alive,

When the ordeal is over, her lips may be sealed,

Another soul tortured, and a wound never healed.

 

How does it feel for the child going to school,

Another black looney.....another black fool?

What chances a black child in this world of high tech,

When the shirt that he wears is too small for his neck?

 

How does it feel to be old and decayed,

When your back just wont straighten, you are blind and afraid?

Do you walk, do you crawl, to the hospital bed?

Or do you just lie there, and wish you were dead?

 

How does it feel to be shunned, scorned and pitied,

A social outcast,  outlawed and outwitted.

When the brain that God gave you, just doesn`t think right,

And the colour He made you was black and not white?

 

What does it feel like? Yes I`ll tell you my friend,

And although I `m a white-man, I won`t  try to pretend

That I know all the answers, but I`m willing to tell,

That being a black man must be bloody Hell.

 

Geoffrey Kennell.

 

 


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