it was a wai-ling voice in the night
the cry of the sufferer
haunting me, wai-ling in the dark
these tears, enough to fill my eyes
but not enough to cry
there are not enough tears
to wash away the pain
my ancestors saw what they saw
went through what they went through
these feelings, enough to twist my soul
but not enough to speak
there are not enough words
to tell a story so gory
my ancestors saw what they saw
went through what they went through
these thoughts, enough to scar me on the inside
but not enough to display
there is not enough time
to unwind the reel of memory
my ancestors saw what they saw
went through what they went through
my heart cries, eyes stay dry
it was a wai-ling voice in the night
the cry of the sufferer
haunting the air, wai-ling in the dark
the untold story, blotted out in the inky darkness
writers have written, even spiters have spoken
of a primitive, uncivilised, dark continent
black magic, witchdoctors, savages and cannibals
oo-oh! it was a long cold dark night
the grandmothers and grandfathers
survived the night to see the grand sunrise
rising of a new dawn, new day
jagged sunrays reach out into the conscience
the downtrodden, refuse to be forgotten
the earth holds stories, told in bones
tongues keep wagging, their careless tales�
they don’t know why the sea tastes bitter
chewed up by the waves, and swallowed by the depths
down at the bottom of the sea
the earth holds stories, told in bones
the only surviving witness, surviving testimony
ingrained in the sand, engraved on a rock
carved in riverbeds, etched in the trees
melted in magma that flows under our world
inscribed on a snowflake, a raindrop
the blue sky and the clouds that decorate it
the dark sky and the stars that garnish it
it’s there in the frown of the moon
it was a wai-ling voice in the night
the cry of the sufferer
echoing in time, wai-ling in the dark
too long to remember, too strong to forget
fresh wounds of life, grew into scabs
and eventually matured into scars
scars on the backs, of tormented minds
victimised and institutionalised by the empire
can’t forget the role played by religion
can’t forget the role played by education
can’t forget the role played by legislation
abolition of the trade, but not of the practice
compensation, financially, to slave owners
and nothing, ultimately, for the slaves
good business sense, but no sense of justice
went through the eye of the storm
and emerged, as victims drifting through the earth
wearing nature’s gift, in this pigmentation
unofficial badge of inferiority, the poor identity
weary souls, struggling to keep the pace
for how were they to know
people are just people, there is no super race
eyes keep looking, they don’t know we are lost
they don’t know how we got here
how the journey went, from savage to slave
slave to subject, subject to status
status of turmoil, and still going
it was a wai-ling voice in the night
the cry of the sufferer
a haunting reminder, wai-ling in the dark
it’s not as it seems, all is not well
in the world today
it’s not as it seems, all is not well
there is one state in the world, where slavery still exists
the mental state
if you believe that you are inferior, because of your identity
that is slavery
if you believe that you are superior, because of your identity
that is slavery
if you believe that you are inferior, because of your beliefs
that is slavery
if you believe that you are superior, because of your beliefs
that is slavery
if you believe in the concept of a first and third world
that is slavery
ignorance in our minds, prejudice in our outlook
hatred in our hearts
that is slavery
awareness in our minds, tolerance in our outlook
more love in our hearts
we can abolish slavery
fairness still has a chance |
Tawona Sithole Biography
I am from Zimbabwe, one child out of a family of ten. My family has strong traditional roots and this helped me understand my own past, which history tries to disregard. My ancestral family Moyo Chirandu is my inspiration for my life and my art (playing mbira and writing/performing poetry). Mbira is a traditional music instrument of my ancestors. I live and work in Glasgow, my writing and music is done in my spare time, but I would love to do this full time. I co-founded ‘Seeds of Thought’ creative writers group (a non-funded group) that aims to promote sharing of cultures through creative writing and other forms of expression, such as music. I am driven by the need to share positive aspects of my homeland, rather than dwell on the negative, which pervades the information media. My ancestors deserve some dignity, and�I am a son of the soil that cannot be washed out. |
