KOKOSI (Cemetery Of My Youth)

Newshounds and prophets name this place SHALL-NEVER, rightly

Proclaiming that the unbridled rebel-spawned energies of its vile youths

Will forever remain an indelible mark of an undying revolt against change.

Be it at their custom insurrections about exploded transformers and

Racist garbage dumps set closest to black homesteads, the youth here

Always embrace braziers, mimicking sacrificial lambs upon which

Nations are vindicated for altering souls to slaves.

Kokosi - no better locale for socializing a generation to constant negation of Climate Change with uninformed politicking in cesspool beer-halls after dark.

Here, youth spits in shrunken face of exploited migrant laborers, while craving Mineral wealth mined through radioactive shafts tucked behind shrubby hills.

Brimming with dreams once deferred, these youths are building squatter camps,

In wait with crosses made unwisely in times swiftly passed like a dirty joke.

In this, my home, desperate scrambles for municipal posts and plumbing stints

With benefits, has led to sorcerous feuds between families and neighbors.

And the more foreign tongued you are, closest to mob justice your morbidly Unfortunate personage is, while wails of widows from far away lands still haunt 11 deep holes industrialized for profit beneath a watchful eye of Danie Theron.

In this place of soap-opera drivel re-enacted in dilapidated RDP houses, here

Bread and butter politics entail millennial girls wishing for at least 3 children

To score enough social grants for retail therapy and after-tears and Sangomas.

Out here, we find nestled between mine-dumps and contaminated farms, a Generation rubbing sands of “farm-worker parent syndromes” from their eyes.

A generation of loafers and gowns at noon; young men roused by bus hooters

At midnight to flock towards the drudgery of pounding steel on rock.

This cluster of horrid shacks and faded houses, is but a township retarded

By pensioners vying for death, but thinking of 7 motherless grandchildren and

Vagabond sons just five days returned from prison stints.

A people of a somber reputations and juvenile gangs wielding pangas at Grandfathers, where liquor bottles smashed against clinic fences in celebratory Throes after botched soccer matches or expensive electioneering campaigns.