TROUBLED DREAMS

My eyes wide open I sleep.
This happens in most times and I weep.

Maybe I was born in the wrong time in this troubled place.
Enough blame I directed to my forefathers, for displacement.
Beheading another human soul maybe an ill we inherited from slave masters.
How would you cure an ill passed from generation to generation, in the web of veins.
Veins that represent a tedious world of spiders.

For their much hated carnivorous characteristics: has become the order of the day.
Yes I agree that it might be your child who beheaded someone’s child.
Let me also agree to swallow a sour pill that this unknown murdered
child must have been yours , your cousin, relative brother or
who knows the son who came through your womb.

Ancestor, which world you wanted your children to inherit if you turned into being a migrant labor?
My father, what it would be if you never conceived me if I am going to live like this?
Or the question should be why should you give birth if the death is without peace?
As we all squabble for the piece of Land, South Africa.
A Piece that my fore fathers sacrificed for.

Of the land that their grand children never inherited.
Instead they were trained to brutalize one another, in the jungle of Hunger.
Let the solution come from the victims not the victimizers who suffer and make us suffer.
I will only visit the cousin of death when I hear peace.
Yes I have given up the hope of getting a piece.
But my own children must atleast get the piece of my mind.

I sigh.