VUYISILE MSILA

I’m the soldier

i’m the soldier
who has crossed the namib
and the sahara,
who has cheated limpet mines
in angola
ethiopia
and biafra,
i’m that soldier
who has crept in the night
on a mission to free freedom
as i carried hopes in a fist
sustained by a song and commitment,

i’m the soldier
who has wrestled crocodiles in the limpopo
played hide and seek with the lions
while comrades tore my heart
with nostalgic songs
singing a song that shook the soil:
siyaya epitoli, siyay epitoli!
i clenched my fist fighting bck tears,

i’m that soldier
who refused to die
when metal rains destroyed
my sisters in kwalanga
my brothers in new brighton,
i could not appreciate the sights
and sounds
of the hadedas and the eagle,
they were free
while my people squirmed
in the townships
as bullets riddled
day and night,

i’m the soldier
who refused to eat
in their jails,
escaped the soaps in their 
shower rooms,
but my sobs also made me remember
their strife
when biko died
when they whisked mohapi away
and when the great soldier mbuyisa disappeared
i could not sing
when throngs gathered
to give praise
to the spirit of bambatha
the courage of hintsa
the bravery of skhukhune,

i’m the soldier
who travelled with mahlangu
from the bush to the townships
rummaging freedom in tall cold towers,
i’ve seen women on the streets begging
for mercy
from the boots of the sbs,
i’ve seen children looking for their
mamas in mounds of the departed
in congo
in rhodesia
in soweto
i’m that soldier

i’m the soldier
whose tears have traversed
down my bosom
unattended
unseen
as i cuddled the old ak
embracing my dark fist
looking for freedom
amidst the puddles
of township blood
and the confusion
of police cells,

i’m the soldier
who has heard them cry:
senzeni na? senzeni na?
i’ve heard them sing:
sizol’ithol’ilizwe lethu
i’ve heard them shout:
amandla!
i joined them
i joined them
as the cold night eyed me
i’ve joined them,
when cold boots
seared their lips,
i’ve seen them cry and shout:
lizobuya, lizobuya,
i’m that soldier,

i’m that soldier
you might not recognise me
my days might have disfigured me
my history altered me,
but sir please
i have come a long way
to vote,

i’m that soldier
who fought for this day
i have come to vote.

Man Must Live
(after zeke)

forgetting to erase the thin layers
of yesterday’s tear
he fakes a smile in the drizzle
hiding the crust of bread
beneath the bare fingers,
smiling at screeching tyres
waking up as he walks
haunted by the looks on the children’s
empty eyes
as they stood on the steps of the shack
staring at him,

he cannot forget the sobs
as the sign dares him
no vacancies: akukho msebenzi
in the eyes.
he rummages the cold bin
for loos victuals
competing with stray canines,
he growls at them
as they scamper for shelter.

he laughs deliriously
picking a dying cigarette,
he revives it with a gasp
carefully caressing his bundle
looking for new brighton,

even he
in his twisted thoughts knows that
man must live!

even now...

for even now
when bullet wounds struggle to heal
it is difficult to kill
the unsatiated anger
and bullet seedlings
that refused to be smothered
in the pulse,

for even now
i cannot halt her silent song
that refuses to subside
even in this peace.

newspaper vendor

along the smoking street
he clutches the bundle of sheet
never daring to peruse the contents
not caring to block the tide of wordy waves
that seep through his coin-hardened fingers,

hoists his head at every hooter
the irate driver does not care
what happens in iraq
does not care about the liasons
of some leaders
only thinks every other driver is a twit,
he hoots
the vendor smiles
this driver does not
his thoughts are miles away
in dreary boardrooms,

the sweaty hands cuddle the bundle
no idea of the dirt he fondles
his armpit buries porn
betrayals robbery
deaths,

he shouts
and the last paper goes.