IN THE CIRCLE OF FIRE

Business

south AfricaThe lips part, the tongue twirls
Like a stone once out of the hand
No more adheres the dictates of its master.
The word is the mightiest weapon of all. Like a thunderclap before a storm
It heralded the father of savage storms.
Now once again Soweto dawns
The streets of Mother’s hearth
Drip with the hapless blood
Of her dazed children.
In a ghastly wave of malignant frenzy
Children yet in diapers are sitting ducks
To the merciless blow of ‘father’s’ onslaught.
Strapped to grumbling rubber rings
Their hopeless pleas for their little lives
Fell on the slant shoulders of indifference.
The hand of ‘father’ struck the match
And the bonfire flared up in outrage.
Turning and wriggling in raw agony
The fiery waves bit by bit engulfed them.
Sheer horror numbed their pleading mouths
As flesh and blood ground to slow flaming death.
And the gory stench of charred remains Fumigating the land and rising up to heavens,
In dark mournful accusing clouds.
The gleeful crowd barricading the kids
Consenting witnesses to the hideous crime.
Laura McDonald-Amurun
24/04/2015

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