Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Dion Nkomo

My citizenry

What kind of a person am I really
When I do not know my citizenry
When I do not know my person-hood
When I do not know my history?
I am like a leaf dropped from a tree
Rotted, it cannot be traced to its mother bow
A person was not defecated by a bird,
He must know himself, the kind that he is.

My heart is pained by this matter
It is wounded, it is red with blood!
It bleeds excessively
When my grandfather relates this tale.
I do not know how the creator approved of this event
That one group of humanity
Will lord it over another group
Rise and sit on its head
Excrete on it and get away with it!
Insult it about its colour, call it baboon!
Insult it as being dirty on the skin and in the heart!
The creation by God it calls that of Satan
Because the group happens to respect its father and mother
Has acknowledged them even after their death.
This settler group
Says it started the whole enterprise of civilisation
In primitive black Africa.

What manner of human am I
When I do not know my personality
I have been made to throw away all my weapons
My bravery is dismissed and un-acknowledged
Because suddenly a hero is now a sinner, an unsettled animal
Who am I when I do not know a single cultural element
When I know not a single practice of my people
When I eventually use my language so badly
And I adopt a language that will not explain my being
I promote foreign citizenry
Picking up cultures and practices of my neighbours
Until I praise their heroes
Even those that killed our own people.

They do not ask for forgiveness, they acknowledge no crime
They stop Mfazomithiyo but claiming that we were animals
We were in the forest beholding darkness
We did not know history, that is what they say
All the relatives, friends and children of these beasts
Are enemies of the ancestors, our enemies too and enemies of all generations to come.
They survive on our blood and the tears of our people
The blood was spilt, the tears ran down our faces
But our blood they will not savour for eternity
The bitter tears did not fall down for nothing.

Ubuzwe bami

Ubuzwe bami

Kambe ngingumuntu bani-
Nxa ngingazazi ubuzwe bami,
Nxa ngingazazi ubuntu bami,
Nxa ngingayazi lembali yami?
Sekungathi ngilihlamvu elakhithika esihlahleni
Labola lingasakhanyi lakuthi ngelesihlahla bani.
Umuntu kanyiwanga yinyoni,
Kufanele azazi, akhanye ukuthi ngumuntu bani.

Inhliziyo yami ibuhlungu ngale indaba
Imanxebanxeba ibomvu gebhu!
Iyopha ivova umophelo
Nxa ukhulu eyilanda le indaba;
Angazi lomdali wayivuma njani
Ukuthi enye inzalo yomunye umuntu
Izikhweze phakathi kwenye
Iqonge iyeyihlala ekhanda
Inyele khona kungabi landaba zalutho!
Iyithuke ngebala, iyithuke ngemfene!
Iyithuke ngokungcola phandle lemoyeni!
Indalo kaSomandla iyithi ngekaSathane
Ngoba ihlonipha uyise lonina
Yamazisa, yambukeza esetshone lalapha ethulini.
Leyonzalo yokuza
Yathi yona iyingqalasiziba sempucuko
Ezweni elimnyama lezinsaleli.

Kambe ngingumuntu bani mina;
Nxa ngingasazi ubuntu bami,
Ngalahliswa zonke izikhali zami?
Ubuqhawe bathukwa abahlonitshwa
Ngoba iqhawe ngumoni, yinyamazana engelakuthula!
Ngingubani nxa ngingasazi lelilodwa isiko lami,
Ngingasananzi ngitsho lamunye umkhuba wakwethu,
Ngize ngikilize olwami ulimi
Ngiqome olungangichaziyo bonke ubuyimi;
Ngikhulise ubuzwe engingabaziyo
Ngidobhe amasiko lemikhuba yakomakhelwane
Ngize ngibonge lamaqhawe akhona
Lalawo awabulala labakithi!

Abaceli xolo, abaziboni cala!
Bamise uMfazomithiyo bethi sasizinyamazana!
Siseguswini kumnyama lemehlweni!
Sasingakwazi lemuva, batsho njalo
Zonke izihlobo, abangane labantwana balezi zilo;
Yizitha zamadlozi, izitha zethu lalolonke usapho.
Balalama ngegazi lezinyembezi zabakwethu;
Lachitheka lelo gazi, zageleza lezinyembezi,
Kodwa aliyikunambitha laphakade lelo gazi,
Izinyembezi ezimunyu aziwelanga phansi.
Close

My citizenry

What kind of a person am I really
When I do not know my citizenry
When I do not know my person-hood
When I do not know my history?
I am like a leaf dropped from a tree
Rotted, it cannot be traced to its mother bow
A person was not defecated by a bird,
He must know himself, the kind that he is.

My heart is pained by this matter
It is wounded, it is red with blood!
It bleeds excessively
When my grandfather relates this tale.
I do not know how the creator approved of this event
That one group of humanity
Will lord it over another group
Rise and sit on its head
Excrete on it and get away with it!
Insult it about its colour, call it baboon!
Insult it as being dirty on the skin and in the heart!
The creation by God it calls that of Satan
Because the group happens to respect its father and mother
Has acknowledged them even after their death.
This settler group
Says it started the whole enterprise of civilisation
In primitive black Africa.

What manner of human am I
When I do not know my personality
I have been made to throw away all my weapons
My bravery is dismissed and un-acknowledged
Because suddenly a hero is now a sinner, an unsettled animal
Who am I when I do not know a single cultural element
When I know not a single practice of my people
When I eventually use my language so badly
And I adopt a language that will not explain my being
I promote foreign citizenry
Picking up cultures and practices of my neighbours
Until I praise their heroes
Even those that killed our own people.

They do not ask for forgiveness, they acknowledge no crime
They stop Mfazomithiyo but claiming that we were animals
We were in the forest beholding darkness
We did not know history, that is what they say
All the relatives, friends and children of these beasts
Are enemies of the ancestors, our enemies too and enemies of all generations to come.
They survive on our blood and the tears of our people
The blood was spilt, the tears ran down our faces
But our blood they will not savour for eternity
The bitter tears did not fall down for nothing.

My citizenry

What kind of a person am I really
When I do not know my citizenry
When I do not know my person-hood
When I do not know my history?
I am like a leaf dropped from a tree
Rotted, it cannot be traced to its mother bow
A person was not defecated by a bird,
He must know himself, the kind that he is.

My heart is pained by this matter
It is wounded, it is red with blood!
It bleeds excessively
When my grandfather relates this tale.
I do not know how the creator approved of this event
That one group of humanity
Will lord it over another group
Rise and sit on its head
Excrete on it and get away with it!
Insult it about its colour, call it baboon!
Insult it as being dirty on the skin and in the heart!
The creation by God it calls that of Satan
Because the group happens to respect its father and mother
Has acknowledged them even after their death.
This settler group
Says it started the whole enterprise of civilisation
In primitive black Africa.

What manner of human am I
When I do not know my personality
I have been made to throw away all my weapons
My bravery is dismissed and un-acknowledged
Because suddenly a hero is now a sinner, an unsettled animal
Who am I when I do not know a single cultural element
When I know not a single practice of my people
When I eventually use my language so badly
And I adopt a language that will not explain my being
I promote foreign citizenry
Picking up cultures and practices of my neighbours
Until I praise their heroes
Even those that killed our own people.

They do not ask for forgiveness, they acknowledge no crime
They stop Mfazomithiyo but claiming that we were animals
We were in the forest beholding darkness
We did not know history, that is what they say
All the relatives, friends and children of these beasts
Are enemies of the ancestors, our enemies too and enemies of all generations to come.
They survive on our blood and the tears of our people
The blood was spilt, the tears ran down our faces
But our blood they will not savour for eternity
The bitter tears did not fall down for nothing.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère