Break heart (crack open)! Leave your stubborn sunlit excuses and look, for once, At your black ashes! Tear those clothes of fear and shame and look deep, too deep for light to come alone, and break! Black heart, blacker than any black skin of blackened grapes or black township wars or black nights for human rights & darkening days for blacker sons & daughters Thula! Thula! Thula! Thula, mama! Thula! Ssshhh! Cry white tears quietly. You lost your moment to cry out loud and wail and mourn for the losses of others. Now break your heart! Break! and know that you are dust and that, for you, water must come from someone else's eyes. Wrap your arms around yourself and cry into your own white bossom! Let your sobs be heard by none other that your own heart and break it to pieces! Hold it in your arms, your broken heart, (see if you can) and see how it was dead all the time there inside you! A dead child wrapped in rags and still held tight by its panicking mother, held tight and carried and fed, lest anyone (incl. her) should notice that it was dead and throw it away. ... What use is a black-burned heart in all this sunshine? What use have we for our seared consciences while we're eating our braai meat? Why would we offer any sacrifices for our sins on our polite potjie fires? from 'Out' in Its Inside-out & Orange
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August 2024
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