Father of the nation

A Poem

By Kgabo Mohlamme

We plant a seed in the stomach of the nation, bound by turmoil.
We forget to mold communities, we breed savages.
We fail to pass the baton because we run the marathon with open arms, with no intent to win. Why run the race?

Sweaty mothers that turn soil is a clear expression of a failed man.
Young ones who argue to be aided with affidavits “i never saw my father…” is a true expression of a widowed pacemaker grating her knees to feed her deserted son.

The question is, who is the real father?
Is it those that ran with spades and shovels in the booby trapped gauteng and never returned?
or is it those that stayed whispering a promise of a returning father.
those that stayed in hope and shared all the memories,fears in tears, of the future that seems so lonely?

Mothers that turn soil is a clear expression of a failed man!
gentrification is social cancer but why not blame the consumer of pharmaceuticals.
is it fair to say men kill men so fathers kill fathers?

Now who can blame them for trying to find an escape by running away from the caves that holds so much bad memories,bad examples?
happy homes are a myth to some kids.