Like The Sound Of Khoisan Clicks Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

There is a time when culture refuses, , that
You should talk back to your elders for to
answer back would do one in, and make you lose
The dignity of the pack called the clan.

There is also this feeling that gets you, when
The things being said are so irrelevant, that
You need the stamp of Miss Brown, my science
Teacher, for it taught us that the word irrelevant
Exists, and must be used both in talk and in writing.

I am trying to eliminate words, now that I know
That the lost of the earth are on the march,
Like Buffalo soldiers all the way from Scotland,
Marching on the road below our village, after
A Big Bend Sugar Mill Strike.

When the lost of the earth are on the march, their
Boots hit the ground and they march on in single
File, and you wonder why the road goes in one
Direction, for a whole pack in our house.

Like the sound of Khoisan clicks, the insults
Fall out one after another, and you know someone
Has ignited a fire, in the oven of a mouth, that
Eat all the meals. The words come out with
Expletives and splutter out, calling sand and stone
To grind and get the machine going, for we are all
Under attack.

My elder sister who always wanted to take control
Of things, for her style was to be boss begins talking,
And starts her usual stint of pushing everyone of
Us, around like rag dolls as she tells us how things
Will be done.

I dared to speak to all with dignity, and ignored
The insults as I told them, that being a first-born
Did not come with any privilege, and love for us
And our mother should not be treated as if we found
Ourselves inside a bag of lucky packets.

I told them that our love is special, and should
Be treated as such for the time we have together,
Is not waiting as we thrown words around. It will
Disappear and we will look for it, and it will be
No more, like our mother whom we cannot go and buy,
Like a pack of Simba chips now that she is gone.

For now that I stand alone speaking these truths,
And feel the insults like that come out like Khoisan
Clans at work, are dying down I know I did right to speak up,
For even if my talk is crowned by insults, that rang
out the clicks are no longer ringing, as strong for
There are things one can not change about the truth.
Sometimes it hurts but it should be spoken to, no
Matter who the opponent is. Like a bitter medicine
It can be forced down and it does heal.