Poem: Digging.Into.The.Womb

By Mbali Matandela (@MbaliMatandela)

 

Dig.

Cut.

Bruise.

Deep.

 

The invisible hands of the economy dug into the womb of the black woman.

And put chains on her existence –

the black existence.

These hands dug life out of her womb and left concrete tombstones.

The mass occurrence of black bodies dropping to the ground is silenced.

Lonmin platinum has silenced universities and politicians using figures and interest rates that are only a fraction of their colonial gains.

With gunpowder, colonial greed interferes into black lives to civilize, fix, use, exploit –

repeat until dead.

 

The police shot, the politician shot but the hand that is unseen is the one that created the battle between black people.

The invisible hand belongs to the white collar, white face and white structured system.

The white man salivates, while he is full.

While the black female, who is both husband and female crawls into foetal position every night and she hopes that she will find a coin to feed herself.

The white system has emasculated black men, structured families on migrant labour systems , replaced them and thought about the pain of the black woman.

Capitalism has bruised stretch marks into the womb that carries the existence of black people.

And continued to dig.

Cut.

Bruise.

 

Deep bullet, gunpowder shots into black lives –

Marikana

Marikana weeps as she drinks her own blood again, while the ancestors watch the miners relive their lives as slaves.

The women of Marikana wept, mourned and died on their knees as parts of them were scraped out like the residues of a depreciated tool –

worthless.

 

The black womb will never recover from the 16th,

where the politician turned a blind-eye to the trauma of black widowhood because BEE benefits needed to be secured.

The black female is still being beaten to her knees by the chains of production, but the masochistic

And misogynistic politician watches his profits accumulating.

Rand – dollar, Rand – pound and Rand-Colonialists.

She is pounded into non-existence and she hardens for survival.

Survival is the only currency she has in a society that values life according to the JSE markets and white standards.

The market still digs into black lives to civilize, fix, use, exploit and produce the surplus for white supremacy.

Dig.

Cut.

Bruise.

Deep.

 

The miners had become ghosts before dying in the homes of Marikana.

The black woman had become a widow for a community of absent fathers’

With the hope of a single rand or a letter…

To know that the market and the mine had not stolen another life from her.

With gunpowder, the colonialists intervene into black lives to civilize, fix, use, exploit and repeat until dead.

The capitalist continues to dig into black lives to stifle protest and black voices.

Marikana –

the land of the unforgotten truths and treacherous deals.

The black women survives on the land that killed her vitality.

 

20 Comments
  1. I just want to say I’m newbie to blogging and certainly liked this web-site. Probably I’m likely to bookmark your website . You definitely have exceptional writings. Many thanks for sharing your website page.

  2. This line is powerful: “She is pounded into non-existence and she hardens for survival.” I felt the punch in that. Oppression withers a soul, and that is what colonialism did.

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