The word

The Brick

 

Many have written of the fist.

Closed armed with rage of the people; spitting the rage for freedom.

The fist that called all together to put the in words where the action is.

 I’m talking about the brick…

 

Before the fist was the brick; the brick that you undermine lying on the tar; half baked and mangled in red sand. 

This brick is the arrow that whooshed through the air; pushed by the lightning of the enslaved pit bulls; drooling with anger of the oppressed and the damned.

Well today, this brick gets a chance; this brick gets a face lift.

 Not because it’s a face brick but because it is unleashed through pure muscle of frustration.

It once held together a shack for a cosy family in poverty stricken Dabeka, Kwamashu, Dengezi.

It once held the foundation for gatherings of praise and thanks to the ancestors.

Through the years this brick has seen the birthing of children, held tight family secrets and hid forbidden lust.

So you ask why I speak of the brick; because before the fist was the brick; used to destroy and maim the enemy when guns were seen to be barbaric.

I have visions of the passionate youth, their feet stamping the ground, dust playing at their songs of freedom.

Their hunger for the release of their manhood so strong, that their sweat burnt the sand.

The throwing of the brick is the last action, the climax after a long struggle, holding back the beast, taming the senses, bowing to the master with shame, without identity.

When finally all hell breaks loose, the chains are yanked and the beast within calls;

the same beast that growled inside Shaka, the same beast that yelled when Biko picked up the pen, choking Ewok to write what he likes.

The same beast roars in me now as I trace the roots of the fist, brick, stone that was used to fight battles now not heard of.

Used to silence those who were different, used to release the pressure after a long bake in prison cells.

Used as a division of race, used to draw games in the street as we played “Ma ngilambile, ngifun’ ukudla”.

I salute the brick, the stones, that pave the way towards success and the future transforming “Kodwa abantu, bazothini” to double stories of pride for the nation.

Skyscrapers of dreams and hope for humanity; that rocket past the clouds and just about reach the heavens. Where the angels watch in envy as the human race hold hands and sing Peace.

 Drawing their destiny in blood ink, securing their freedom for generations to come.

 Hold your breath, the world just got better.

January 2008...