I am not human

I am five
I'm sent to get a stamp and post a letter
But in the Post Office sense that something's wrong
As grown-ups fall silent, part to let me through
The lady behind the counter sends me out
And  down the steps, around the rail and up
The other side into an empty room
The same lady comes to serve me at this counter
For years I keep the memory of strangeness
Wonder why

I'm in Matric
Students at the other school don't go
They throw stones and we can't cycle now
I see this is a point that should be made
Protested, but the media call it riots
Others have no rights while I have all
I ask myself if this is how it felt
To be a normal person under Hitler
I hold a sad bewildered helplessness
I write Matric

I am not human, I am merely white
Real humanity is poor, oppressed
Living fearful, angry under might
While I am cosseted and privileged
Confused and uninformed yet knowing wrong
Is being done, and sensing somewhere right
Is waiting to be be freed from tyranny
Remake us, carry us into the light


I delight to I exercise my new-found right
To vote as human, not as merely white

I'm a parent
Watch my child run races at her school
Children of all races on the field
I find I cannot see for tears of joy
The change has come and I am deeply thankful
I am living what I thought could never be
I sit with other parents all together
The strangeness and the sad confusion gone
I lift my face, am unashamed to be
I rejoice

I am human, and not merely white
I wonder and I live in new delight


But now I find this has not changed the plight
Of most who lived in misery before
The children still go hungry every night
The schools are still not teaching as they should
People are sick and still go unattended
They live in fear as murder stalks the night
I am still privileged, warm and safe, well-fed
I'm still not human, I'm still merely white

My ancestors colonised
My forebears oppressed
My kindred exploited
I benefit
I'm still not human

Thea McKenzie
July 2017

Khoi Clan Leader

I smoke my dagga, sitting on my rock,
The sea and storms have brought the strangest clan:
Our space can’t hold their cattle and our stock
And we will fade as they will seize our land.

Now I have almost lived my life’s full span
And look out over sea and shore; take stock
Of future for my tribe while I still can
By smoking dagga, sitting on this rock.

Remembering those floating caves unlock,
Disgorging Khoi-like people on our sand.
Men build earth-caves and stay past season’s clock.
The sea and storm had brought the strangest clan.

Some Khoi ingratiate themselves and pan-der
To the world-weird men. I see they mock
Our ancient ways; they steal our herds and scan
Our space to hold their cattle, not our stock.

Negotiate? Deny our laws and shock
Us; hedge us out to execute greed’s plan.
So, one day, decimated by their pox,
We Khoi-khoi fade, and they will seize our land.

I smoke my dagga.

The Lynching of Truth

Outrageous in the loveliness of dawn
The truth hangs lifeless from the sky
The sickle moon grins taunting from her eye
The menstrual blood still dripping from her form.
With monstrous murderous mocking cries of scorn
The carrion birds triumphant as they fly
In passing scythe her flesh to sate the lie
And summon darkness in a thickening storm.

But in the patch of blood a glint of morn-
-ing Light reveals the embryo of truth unseen
To be stumbled on by small ones asking why
Who incubate her, growing to defy
The untruth. So the sunrise blossoms keen
Through beautiful transparent truth reborn.