By: Fanyana Mazibuko


In silence they have laboured,
Even to the bowels of the earth,
Where the wealth of Africa lies.
Black craggy hands
Scooping out the glittering wealth
To pour it into white satchels,
Whose mouths are snapped shut
By avaricious Midasses,
For a black eye never to see.
Three hundred years of silent toil,
With not a scrap of reward,
Beyond sustentation to keep on toiling.
Slave-driven to mop up all the effluent
Flowing from sordid affluence;
Gorged full of Black sweat.
Ebony physiques toiling in silence
For a stomach full of lead for a wage.
The ire pressure builds up
Like super-heated steam
In a flimsy tin boiler,
Strained to its limit of endurance,
Without a warning or a safety valve –
Doomed only to explode.