For My Soldiers

ACTION IS LOUDER,
WORDS ARE BUT FASHION.
THEY BREAK THE BONES, TEAR A SOUL,
THEY TAKE THE KIND TO THE WARZONE
AND LET THEM BURN THEIR OZONE,
WRECK THEIR FAITH AND SHRED LOVE,
AND WILL THEIR SOULS TRANSVERSE UNKIND
AS THE BUFFER-ZONE WOULD BE WARTORN.

I THINK THEY'RE BETTER LOVING
‘CAUSE THEY’RE BEST WHEN THEY ARE FIGHTING.
I HATE IT WHEN THEY ARE FIGHTING
‘CAUSE THEY'RE DIRTY AS A STREET CHILD;
PROBLEM CHILD WITH A NOTTY EDGE,
THEY’D BE JABBING WHILST THEY CURSING -
THEIR MOUTHS INGRINED SARCASTIC –
A COLOQUE OF ALL THE SINISTER SLURS

SO THEY’D HATE TO CURSE A RELATIVE,
THEY’D LOSE THE SOUL THEY WISH TO HOARD:
TO HOLD THEM TIGHT AND NOT LET GO,
TO INTERLOCK LIKE BLOOD AND VEIN.
THEY LONG TO SEE THEIR PEOPLE STAY,
STICK AROUND THAN DOES THEIR PAIN.
GAINING SOULS WOULD EASE THAT PANG
ALL BECAUSE OF THE LOVE THEY GAIN.

KINSHIP’S STRONG I’VE GROWN TO LEARN;
KINSHIP GAINS’ LIKE GAINING GOLD,
KEEP IT SAFE UNTIL YOU ARE OLD
AND ONE DAY GOLD WOULD KEEP YOU OLD.

by Thabani Khumalo

Other poems of KHUMALO (310)

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