Editor, thanks for the poets’ column.

I'm still here, a young man and no poet;

I carry the milkpail to arm-ringed celebrities;

clubs are at hand but I fight with lightning.

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column,

I'm here, still alive and no poet,

but pay heed to my words:

silence implies consent.

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column,

we can't sit silent, the country's rotten:

if I exposed the state of the country

the Christians’ jaws would drop.

Silence implies consent!

White eyes sear us on entering a church,

but we're free to worship someplace else:

it's no fun to pray looking over your shoulder.

The laws outnumber those of Moses!

They dish out your portion if you sit silent:

it's the tracks of a leopard across your yard.

If you sit silent they say you agree.

Don't smother the truth,

mouthing Christ sitting silent:

He uttered one word then held his peace,

for the hosts of heaven were ranged behind him.

Silence implies consent!

Elijah learnt that in the desert:

when invited he couldn't move,

like a river dammed with debris.

Browsing Elephant hemmed in by fences,

Africa, speak while your people yet live.

If whites have a fit, well then let them die:

they thought you a low-yielding cow.

Bless you, Africa, calf of our herd,

source of dowry for bachelors

who bask on their backs while crocs bask on their bellies,

but just wait till the sun goes down!

Laws outnumbering those of Moses

have hobbled us in bemusement:

all dusty sheep may look alike

but the shepherds can tell them apart.

Dark One of Africa, don't sit in silence,

quell your foes with a roar of defiance!

This gospel of theirs, designed to deceive us,

stands as tall as I do down on my knees.

Heed its word and heaven's lost:

it's a spear that wheels to stab us.

The hypocritical cant of the white man's gospel

turns Phalo's land on its head.