October 2011
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poem by Ingrid Jonker
The child who was shot dead by soldiers at Nyanga
The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Afrika ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart
The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Afrika ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled...
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“If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, then all possibility of life...”
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When a settled memory returns near a sensible meaning I call, in the sky, the light of a fine bird.
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