Poetry

 
Strike

My school is burning, chokes Mandla with his dirty uncombed locks
Therefore, I have to just stay at home, good thing though not having to bath
No water you see all cut off, copper pipes sold off to the man down there
Mama also sits by the fire, no food today, cannot go to work the buses burned down
and the madam said no work no pay, so she sits minding the lonely house
Why the tears in your eyes boy? I asked, he looked aside and pointed in the dark room
Grandma has not moved at all today, no medicine you see, clinic burned down
No grave can be dug, we all on strike.


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Frank
2012-08-04 @09:25

Sien my kommentaar by die vorige gedig. Die selfde opmerking geld hier.
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