My Story (For Gcina Mhlophe on her 50th)
In between the blank
Spaces in the pages
Of history books
Lies the story
I deciphered
From the lullabies
Of love sung
In a blues beat
Sometimes hidden
In the melodic hymns
Overtly exalting
An imported colonial god
Covertly dedicated
To my ancestors
Stolen and caved
In museums and libraries
In far away lands
I the last one
Stand here to reclaim my gods
The stories I tell
Is our life-breath
Soul of my fore-bears
Poached out of the continent
Turned into collectors’ items
By thieves masquerading as connoisseurs
Now following my trails
Waiting for me to wink
Just for a moment
That they can steal my voice
& put copy and patent rights
On the stories of our people
That they may turn our
Heritage into a commodity
On the imperialist stock exchange
But I am the last one
Of my people
To learn our story
Through pain and struggle
Our children shall sing
Our stories in homes and streets
In public halls
On National TV & radio
On world stages
In their voices
On their own terms
For I am the last one
Nokungcina
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