We're All Dead ~ Siyabonga Dlamini

Welcome to our world 

we're all dead here

we spend each day breaking our own hearts

and shedding endless tears

The world of those holding on to broken promises

and endless heartache

Where the hidden sorrow is as real

as the smiles are fake

Welcome to our world

we're all dead here

Holding on to memories 

of those who have long forgotten us

but to us, they are still dear

Where we constantly contemplate

what was, what could have been and what is

Where we deeply hate ourselves

and find it hard to forgive

Welcome to our world

we're all dead here

where moving forward seems impossible

and is our greatest fear

where we always endlessly relive our past

with the lovers who are ours no more

and remind ourselves of how our actions

caused them to go

We constantly weep, grieve and lament

The suffering seems to know no end

Welcome to the land of the broken

Welcome to the land of endless tears

Welcome to our world

We're all dead here...

© Siyabonga Dlamini

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Class of 2016
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No One can Tell Our Stories ~ Siyabonga Dlamini

Broken and sorry

No one can tell our stories

We come in different sizes and shapes

With different bruises and scrapes

Some are still brave and bold

While others empty and cold

In a world of our own

We've all been abandoned and are alone

Broken and sorry

No one can tell our stories

With disfigured bodies and shattered hearts

We have been cursed to forever bear our past scars

Of broken trust and deadly deceit

From beloved parents

Right up to strangers we met on the street

Who took our lives in the blink of an eye

And left us wondering,"Why, oh why?"

Broken and sorry

No one can tell our stories

We constantly relive

The happy moments from our previous lives

Before the unimaginable pain and strife

Before we collided with the soil from which we came

When life was still only fun and games

When we could still rmember our names

Broken and sorry

No one can tell our stories

In old and filthy clothes

With knife slashes to our throats

Bullet holes and axe wounds to the head and chest

We were prematurely put to rest

Some with unspeakable scars too scary

The methods of murder really do vary

Broken and sorry

No one can tell our stories

Stuck in this desolate place

From all walks of life and age

Where days and time seem forever frozen

Yet the door for new residents, is always open

Some are yellow and green from horrible, tragic plagues

With sores all over and pass oozing from their face

Sad, forgotten and alone

No one can tell our stories

We are the deceased children stuck in purgatory...

©  Siyabonga Dlamini

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Class of 2016
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