Johannesburg - The youth feel sacrificed at the altar of freedom. Offered to deities of destitution - from a desk in an institution to an intersection.
The mortarboard and gown have come a long way. Graduation stages at traffic intersections - an air of melancholy lives around their black bodies.
Children of smoke, birthed by the fires that uprose Soweto when teargas canisters were falling down; like their black bodies, dropping, like flies.
Children of smoke, the phoenixes who gobbled ashes of servitude.
They take refuge under a shadow of the wings of a promise to escape the tyranny of this scale tipping economic freedom.
But the balance is upset, one side gains.
The harmony is agony, its a one sided-game.
The youth are at the top of the scale - one of the few instances when you are on top and you fail.
Children of the mirror, cracked to the core, yet they always remember that even broken glass reflects lights. But not all of them can see it at the end of the tunnel - their minds.
The will of their minds, swinging, like a pendulum out of its equilibrium.
Children of the mirror, they know the true worth of a reflection is better observed through an out of body experience. But they never look at themselves from other peoples eyes, they don’t like what you see - their windows are cold, curtains torn, passers-by can see their empty stomachs and souls.
A humble meal to the soul is seeing the grey filter over the seven colours in the rainbow of our nation - what a hope-shattering experience.
The youth have little to celebrate when graduates are advertising their services in the streets; when these young engineers are supposed to be servicing the streets.
When others protest lifting placards, clad in your cap and gown, you wield your CV and your pride on your sleeve.
The youth have little to celebrate when education is a gamble and a game of affordability for us. But a preference and a game of choice for them. They even piss on our laptops and books at Stellenbosch University.
While the inequality gap widens, Alexandra is moving ever closer to Sandton.
The benefits of economic growth in townships remain far below expectations.
The widening gap between the rich and poor is perpetuated by rising unemployment of the youth.
We, humans in the shadow of a promise, are still fighting for the liberation of the mind.
The promise was a lie; the shadow was of fleeting clouds, its wings were crafted by Icarus - wax on, wax off when the sun burns.
There are still too many people struggling to get into tertiary institutions. After spending years studying, getting into the job market is near impossible, sometimes depressing, other times overwhelming, like the rooms at the back of our house, overflowing with black bodies, overflowing with empty bellies.
Bellies that could have been fed by your university tuition - you lost the gamble. You feel sacrificed at the altar of freedom. Offered to deities of destitution - from a desk in an institution to an intersection.