Compiled by Tshiamo Malatji

Edited by Thuthukani Ndlovu

This book was published by South African Youth Poetry and www.radioactivetuts.blogpsot.com

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

or by any electronic, photographic or mechanical means, which includes photocopying and recording on

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retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publishers. All the contributors to this book

retain ownership of their work.

Copyright © 1976 – 40 Years On

Contents

Message from compilers 4

That day - by Poetiologist 6

1976 - by Musa Gift Masombuka 7

Not Black Nor White - by God‟s Art 8

What does 17 look like - by Tshiamo Malatji 9

What does Youth Day mean to you? 10

Born free - by Rebecca Mqamelo 11

I am young - by Neo 12

Education - by Kgothatso Malope 13

Ignorance is bliss - by Common 14

Thank you note 15

Message from the compilers

40 years ago, today, youth fought against a

government of injustice and a system of segregation.

They fought so that youth that followed would be

educated freely. Importantly, they fought for youth

then and now. 40 years on, we have the unique

opportunity to commemorate these youth but to

also to reflect on what we do to strengthen the

freedom they fought for.

The anthology is a platform for such reflection, but

more importantly, an opportunity for youth

expression. It is through these opportunities that

youth can have influence, have a voice and be

heard. Poetry itself is a powerful tool which

continues to emit layers of different ideas and

feeling which become living representations of our

struggles or dreams.

In compiling this anthology, we wanted to call upon

that power. In naming this anthology, we want to

emphasise the present. We want to express what

progress has occurred or what still must be done.

More importantly, we wish to allow young poets of

today to comment on how they view the world

today. As you read through the expressions of these

young poets, remember 1976 but also reflect on

where we are 40 years on.

Tshiamo Malatji

(Curator of South African Youth Poetry)

Greetings dear reader. I‟m pleased to have

been given the opportunity to work with a

profound poet on this next publication. On

this same note, I was not inspired to

venture into co-publishing this anthology

by him only, but also by Tatamkhulu

Afrika‟s poem “Nothing‟s Changed”. 1976

is a year that will not be forgotten, and as

we celebrate Youth Day each year, it‟s of

my best wish that we do not only reminisce

on the past, but that we also evaluate what

has changed/improved, and how we can

fully achieve what the Youth fought for in

the Soweto Uprising. Thuthukani Ndlovu

Greetings dear reader. I‟m pleased to have

been given the opportunity to work with a

profound South African poet on this next

publication. On this same note, I was not

inspired to venture into co-publishing this

anthology by him only, but also by

Tatamkhulu Afrika‟s poem “Nothing‟s

Changed”. 1976 is a year that will not be

forgotten, and as we celebrate Youth Day

each year, it‟s of my best wish that we do

not only reminisce on the past, but that we

also evaluate what has changed/improved,

and how we can fully achieve what the

Youth fought for in the Soweto Uprising.

Thuthukani Ndlovu

(Curator of Radioactive Blog)

That day

Our parents, the students of yesterday

Those that survived a great battle and still have the scars/marks from that day

Your hearts oozed a great deal of pain from the unfair treatment

Since baboons where our ancestors all they knew was to be bosses

But that day black leaders bled their hearts out

You wrote on paper and chalkboards with blood

Thirsty and hungry for justice there began the Uprise

Foretelling the future singing "Get ready mama prepare for your freedom, freedom is

coming tomorrow "

With their fists of wisdom held up high with an aim to eradicate all the misery they endured

But that day black leaders bled their hearts out

They stood brave while calling bullet as they knew education was worth it all

Some walked tall with shiny shoes torn underneath

But.....look at our peer/students making front-page glories/stories

Filling up domes, parties and prisons

To some 16 is meaningless yes June 16 is meaningless

But that day black leaders bled their hearts out

Come back lost generation repent

Since pen and paper is our legacy

I said repent and take a stand to be the mood menders and love erecters

For that day hero's and heroine's where born

But that day black leaders bled their hearts out

© Poetiologist (Clementine Mkhatshwa)

1976. Never shall I

Forget this year.

Never shall I

Forfeit this memory.

In my mind it hiss

Irresistible for a mind to miss.

It was a point to prove

and uselessly improve.

They, Boers were killing

Not even thrilling

Not afraid to kill

A corpse to them was a toy.

Many lives they have claimed,

like scavengers had got prey to eat.

Shoot! Kill! Whip!

That was their profession.

Oh our grandparents had gone,

The land of Soweto had become a burial ground.

Our students are gone…

They gone fighting,

Fighting for FREEDOM.

Oh freedom,

A word that makes a Boer to spit.

This word meant nothing to them.

It was just like an exhausted ahem.

Why have they had to do that?

For a lesson they said.

Oh! Yes, a lesson we learned.

That is to just hate them more.

Never shall they find,

a place in my heart which forgives.

If only they are to reverse the clock

And bring back our loved ones.

© Musa Gift Masombuka

Not Black Nor White

My fingertips start to dance my black pen on the white paper dance floor

to the music of my bewildered thoughts of the rattling guns and to

the rhythm of the marches of those who were imprisoned for liberty

I listen closer

as those who died in captivity cry in their graves

„so this is what our blood was shed for..‟ they say

They cry because even though Nelson Mandela fought for unity

South Africa still remains a divided society.

Only if uTata knew that his dreams about a rainbow nation will one day

be nothing more than a fantasy.

Come to my township and watch a black kid's dream drown in ecstasy

while success for a white kid is not a journey but more of a destiny

Come to my township and see abortions pamphlets colonize the streets

'Nkosi sikelela iAfrica' - Oh! what a bitter sweet melody

We sing our national anthem of five languages loudly

But once the songs stops we treat each other badly

They cry because we respect more a rich man we don‟t know more

than our single mothers at home, then we ask ourselves

Will uTata's dream ever be made whole?

WHEN WILL WE EVER AUTO CORRECT CRIME?

Does it take someone's death for us to act in time?

I cannot assure my little sister a safe walk to the park

The police? ….ha! we can no longer spot the difference between a police officer and

thief

Wow! .... South Africa The Brave, but still fears each other.

They cry because once we are employed by the government

We Serve people who know nothing about struggling

And forget we were ever battling

We walk pass those who beg in the streets with hardened hearts

and blocked eardrums

Leaving the wheel of poverty amongst us forever turning

They cry because those fought in the struggle , have a RDP house as a nobel peace

prize?

40 years later , still stuck in a four room house

but you can still see hope in their eyes.

Hope that South Africa will one day not be black nor white.

© God‟s Art (Fanelesibonge Mbuyazi)

What does Youth Day mean to you? It is a reminder of the struggle for all black students to have

equivalent education with white and also for us to unleash our

literature beast which teaches through story telling . Poetiologist

The courage and desires of our youth that paid in the past that

serves as good education for the future. Common

It means that we as youth we must unite and build a nation.

Musa Gift Masombuka

Youth Day is when we commemorate the past, appreciate the

present and show hope for the future. Rebecca Mqamelo

Youth Day for South Africa is day that we remember the

sacrifices that people before us(mainly youth, both famous and

not famous youth) made in order for South Africa to be a

liberated country , then ask ourselves if we are using that

liberation in a right way . After having done the two , on this

day we wake up and correct the mistakes we've been doing all

year(ie. racism , gender stereotype). We got out with washed

hearts and eyes by the amount of blood shed for this country

and do good to everyone we meet , whether in organised

gatherings or even in the streets . Youth Day is a restoration

day for SA , restoration of love and hope that we might have

lost while misusing our liberty. God‟s Art

What does 17 look like?

I think it looks like a whisper without a source, looking for a place to fit in but not wanting to

return from where it's already travelled. A flower trying to grow without its roots in attempt to

prove that it knows just as much as soil.

It looks like a raindrop with no knowledge of its plummet as it enjoys the wind blowing it

forward among a group of other drops. 17 looks like a broken umbrella more confident than

the person holding it as it valiantly attempts to catch all the opportunities it sees coming its way.

It looks like a garden of roses too precious to pick, too beautiful to stop looking at but too vast

and complicated to navigate.

It looks like a path edged in beach-sand before high-tide, desperate to prove its worth before it

loses it, not knowing that the inevitable result of following it is failure or knowing that but still

wanting to try anyway. It's the first sip of a second bottle when you promised to only take one,

it's the daring adventure into a jungle with buildings that all look the same but have different

stories to tell.

It's the following of trends that will exist for shorter than you are interested in them. The

climbing of trees with branches that try their best to make you fall. 17 doesn't have facial

features but it looks like someone desperately trying to cover them in the hopes that no one

notices the faults. 17 doesn't have a size or shape. Its dimensions are as expansive as the

imagination of the people who occupy it. It's the vagueness between childhood memory and

responsibility.

It's the steady line between parts of an animation. It's a boundary that never finds its purpose. A

field that's never planted. A journey that's never taken. A door that's never opened. It's a book

with unread pages trying hard to turn themselves to find the end of their own story. It's where

boys decide that they're actually girls and where maturity meets new friends. 17 is not an age. It

is a short but remembered period.

It is a flash of thousands of images that don't last long enough for us to decide which one we

believe in. It moves too quickly for us to forget to how to walk or dream or run. It is a constant

reminder of our future and past as we slowly start to give way to new memories, new people,

new lives, new identities. 17 is a string attached to itself still indecisive on what to hang onto. 17

is a description of the new path that we all choose to take in a long journey that ends with us

hearing a whisper and knowing its source.

© Tshiamo Malatji

Born free Meet Bornfree.

Forgive her.

Forgive her for not knowing why she is free

or who to thank for an achievement she does not see.

Forgive her for contemplating whether her times are not worse

as he writhes in the shackles of her forefathers‟ curse

She is dancing around flames

of a lifetime of pain.

She is out in the streets

screaming to the beat

of frustration, of hurt, of loss, of guilt.

She tears down the monuments

her predecessors built.

For 22 years Bornfree was fed

on a diet of democracy and daily bread

But the promises have run dry

and the dreams are all broken;

Hear her cry

for she is just a token

We call her “Rainbow”

We call her “Nation”

But that technicolour dreamcoat

slid off with alarming acceleration

When we burned men alive

in a township with shacks

On a remote, dusty koppie

We shot them in their backs

Did we think she could not see?

She saw it all -

and could not believe!

that she was “free”

but the rainbow was a wreck

that she was “free”

with an albatross round her neck

Meet Bornfree

alas,

she is dead.

©Rebecca Mqamelo

I Am Young

I am a young a blood & young student coming from a different perspective

I wasn‟t present at that moment but i can feel the pain and struggle that was experienced

during that time.

At that time i don‟t know what they went through but i could say, I must face the

consequences because I am part of this youth, we are one as the nation.

What was done to them, I can feel the wounds the pain they went through immediately I felt it

And till now, the wounds have not healed.

We try to make it better,

But the hurt, the bitterness, runs so deep.

Sometimes it feels like we‟re fighting a losing battle.

It is an undeserved part that we play

In trying to undo the injustice.

It is a burden, a sorrowful load

That we never asked to carry on our shoulders.

As the youth of the democracy

We do not have the experience, the memories

To guide or to prove what happened but imaginary

We see the world through untainted eyes

And yet we feel it, we feel it every day.

We sense the anger and the pain.

The blood spilt has dyed society,

It is a dark shadow, always in the back of our minds.

And yet, there is hope;

A light shines that cannot be put out.

It has burned throughout the dark night of the past,

And continues to give courage to the youth today,

Because to those who are brave enough,

To those who know that they must stand up and fight,

The journey will not be an easy one,

Its nature is such that it will not be over quickly.

Together we stand, together we can be victorious.

We find strength in our shared humanity.

As much as we try to be selfish not to celebrate this day we need to think again because they

strived and carried the burden for the coming youth so lets try to put ourselves in their shoes

and imagine if we could‟ve survived what they survived.

The future has been handed to us

And it is a bright one so lets not shake our hands or turn our back, let‟s take it to a better and

bright place

© Neo

Education Ink

Hands

Rotating upon the stiffest of paper

My brains never signed up for this

The last time I checked I was born to live not to live for my parents

Science is too hard

But I have to study it

Eradicate the feeling of stupidity

The inborn psychology of skin deep

Poverty's too steep

It's existence just seizes to exist

Avoiding it is the only way

Future of riches

Most vivid laws of physics

Einstein is a critic

He always looked down on us

Syllables of us

Were designated to be

Residues of red dust

Rust

Written in lust

Past laws promised us free education

And 22 years later

We still stand screaming

Fees must fall

We breathe and hold

Sleeves with bold hands

They give us places

With trees and all but it's not free

It's sold to poor South African

Families

Us

Forced to study courses we can't afford

Forced out of our lands

With sand storms

Yet they still pamper us with a holiday

Freedom day

Yet freedom is fake

Freedom will never be free.

© Kgothatso Malope

Ignorance is bliss

If you stay in comfort too long

you will not know

the weight of a struggle

on a willing youth

You will forget

the weight of the efforts behind the struggle on a hungry society

whose soul cries within

stabbed by a blade

and dying from the inside

Sure, if you stay in comfort too long

you will not know the pain

of youth's tears with no one seeing and helping

You will forget

the thirst, the cracked dusty hearts

of the youth living in an imperfect country

on their way to freedom who seems to be not there

You will forget

the pouring pain of a voiceful youth with loads on their backs

if you stay in comfort for long

You will forget

the sounds in the streets

of an ambitious youth

losing their dreams and power

You will forget

the dreams and desires

of our on-going youth struggles

If you stay in comfort too long

you will forget about the transformation

of our own future in our youth's hands.

© Common (Thapelo Nkomo)

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