deepundergroundpoetry.com
Heroes Are Made Not Born
The Truth is I am more disabled than him
When the world hears the name Mak Manaka
His work speaks for itself
When the world hears the name Simphiwe Mhlongo
There is silence in the room
Nobody knows who he is
Sometimes his own mother forgets that he’s even around
As she hears those footsteps she fears an unwelcome intruder
Only to realise that her son is the unfortunate surprise
Whose entrance into her space brings panic and sudden worry
It is a glaring reminder of a distance covered but whose end
May never be reached
The story of a book written
With the last page left empty
As a Continuance in its conclusion
When the world hears the name Mak Manaka
His work speaks for itself
When the world hears the name Simphiwe Mhlongo
There is silence in the room
Nobody knows who he is
Sometimes his own mother forgets that he’s even around
As she hears those footsteps she fears an unwelcome intruder
Only to realise that her son is the unfortunate surprise
Whose entrance into her space brings panic and sudden worry
It is a glaring reminder of a distance covered but whose end
May never be reached
The story of a book written
With the last page left empty
As a Continuance in its conclusion
Published 19th Jun 2022
Author's Note
As a resident, citizen and native of this weird, complex and sacrificial martyrdom whose existence can be a source of inspiration and exasperation.
I can only look on at the work displayed on the canvass of consistent excellence.
I can only look on at the work displayed on the canvass of consistent excellence.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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