A gang of pubescent boys in Johannesburg.
They made me feel uncanny and bizarre.
I tried to take with a grain of salt, but I couldn’t watch anymore.
I saw them not playing with a full deck.
Why am I the only one with rules and values?
They spoke with grown-up like a juvenile.
Juvenile in the slum.
How lucky am I, not to be in their nest.
They poisoned the city with their ignorance and nescience.
Only they need is someone to remind them their merit,
The merit that will make them composers of outstanding goodness.
They appeared with the devilish walk, throwing words like stones.
I tried to lie low, but they called me a dweeb.
How will have good riddance, knowing they are gone forever?
How will I rest under the light wind?
Wind that shoves grass to learn and whisper to each other,
Knowing that I have failed my brothers.
Poem by Celimpilo Ndebele