KILLED ALIVE
Religion breastfeeds us with fear
Stopping us to see clear.
It’s true the gods know why suffer
I guess they too scream kaffir,
Our deaths give birth to our graves
From birth to the tombs as slaves.
We are kids from broken homes,
Fruits of our mothers’ barren wombs
Our tears stand still on our swollen
faces
While our history rings with a
distressed echo
We pace back and forth in the forsaken
circle
Preachers manipulate our imaginations
with chapters and verses
Blinding us with promises of riches
and places.
They say Noah the drunkard cursed our
semen,
So only have we a right to say amen.
Dead we are,
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