#PoeticLicence: Freedom begins when we shoot from the hip even though trigger warnings are the norm

Author and poet Rabbie Serumula. File image.

Author and poet Rabbie Serumula. File image.

Published May 1, 2022

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Johannesburg - Of course, we are entitled. That freedom was owed to us. Even though it was given back attached to an omen. No man is truly self-sufficient. Our government is a no man. His Metrorail veins are clogged. His mind fails to spark light. His body is fragile. Having the continent's largest stock exchange doesn't change that our economy is stagnant, stuck in a low-growth trap. It is outrageous.

His bones are creaking, crunching to the bend of any cartilage. Outages outrage us.

His heart, bless his poor heart, it beats at the rate of townships burning.

The majority is learning the layers laid above and below freedom. They are learning that freedom is not only subjective but that it is also a homonym. It means too many things; the basis of which are freedom from poverty, unemployment, and all the isms of society.

They are growing quite inquisitive. It is becoming harder and harder to convince them that they are free when they are constantly finding more and more to prove that there is less and less to celebrate. To prove that aluta continua.

I suppose the call of the drum, its hollow rumble, still wallows in bitter nostalgia in the eardrums of my people. This call is implanted like a code. Susceptible to any sort of trigger. Voices of lack in our heads constantly bicker; corruption has for almost 3 decades played one of the biggest roles in the nation collapsing.

An unnatural mystic lingers in the air. A robust mixture of tire smoke, it may sound like a song, but it's landlessness whimpering in their wailing and an unemployment rate that's too stubborn to climb down from its all-time high, like the crime rate. We are afraid of heights.

Government versus thieves. Cops and Robbers.

But too often government are thieves and cops rob us. We are afraid of the dark.

When days are night, Eskom lit houses are few.

Pit toilets are holding their own against storms in drowning our young.

The infrastructure is frustrated from playing tug of war with nature and cable thieves.

The blue and white doves from those free t-shirts in the 1990s; a symbol of peace, of a promise, balance, love, longevity and abundance floats at the speed of a falling maple leaf.

We have been falling for a make-believe economic freedom.

There is no bottom to this pit. This fall is merely a kick that wakes us from dreams. A conundrum to a feeble soul when our waking life is so horrid. With centuries of pain and turmoil, we still find the furthest places in our being to hoard it. This is why we ignite when confronted. Granted, the implanted code is cracking.

We all know that the government does not create jobs. Jobs are created by businesses. Businesses aren't hiring.

We are poor in money, resources, and even with an overload of information, we are poor in that too.

Freedom begins when we shoot from the hip even though trigger warnings are the norm.

The Saturday Star