We know the facts,
Your sun rises in the East and rests in the West
Continually this happens uninterrupted even by the winds
Nature ever so beautifully colliding with the streams written in the stars
The earth boasting of it’s patterns as if mimicking the Universe.
There’s a flower for each star that shines in the absence of the sun
These flowers imitating the lives of your daughters.
Lives that vibrated with purpose
Lives that grew with direction
Lives whose development was compressed by fear
Clenched fists have smashed against their petals
Words have continually slashed their leaves
Their stems still attempting to stand tall
So tall that hopefully the light of today’s son can still notice them
Oh dear flower,
Even Genesis declared your dependency on the approval of the wisdom-less son who dims your beauty for the shine of his egotistic security
We wail “why?” with obscurity
Do we perish with inefficiency
Our knees scraped sufficiently
Our eyes continue to mirror the weight of our hearts
Every granule of soil recognised
Every absent breath draining hope from our heart
We get up
Having watered the soil with our tears Breathing life into yet another new seed
We hope would not wither in weed
A new flower emerges.
The sun will call it into light,
the son will tell the flower how beautiful it deserves to be and promise to look out for it when it comes around
Until the son tramples the flower when it begins to bloom for the moon
He will veil his actions with excuses about a past she knows nothing of.
He remains an active participant of his scars
Almost as if auditioning for a cult
Mother, your daughters no longer plan for the future
For they once shared plans with peers who now take up residency in your belly
They continue to fill your belly at the expense of their existence
They are captured, trialed, prosecuted and murdered by the very jury you’ve appointed to protect them
The jury that practices the privilege of a blind eye until the isolated incident hits home
We walk in fear of being too beautiful to attract danger
We walk in silence when our speech intimidates them
Do you love the look of the soil soaked in the remains of your daughters at the hands of your sons while the Universe conspires with you to make those capable of making a change blind to the pain
Is your belly not filled?
Mother, are you not tired of swallowing your daughters?
– Gabisile Ngele
