To us Who were Of necessary birth For the earths hard And thankless toil Silence has no meaning There is never a feeling Of tranquility Or mere quietness Never a moment Of soundless calm From within or without Our troubled selves How can the clamor Of sounds be stilled? There is no void where Noises can collect And be made mute How indeed Can there be silence When our hearts beat out A sonorous beat Meeting the beating drums Of an African past When our eyes shed Solid tears of iron blood That falls on concrete ground Inside our ears Are the many wailing cries Of misery Inside our bodies The internal bleeding Of volcanoes Inside our heads The wrapped in thoughts Of rebellion How can there be calm When the storm is yet to come? This unending silence Taut, impervious, unbending Not lending an ear To the most delicate of sounds Awaits the blast of bombs Which man will explode To break this silent bond To (?) To the use to create Hills of soft obedience Where sweet-clothed sounds Can rebound And their echoes glide Like a carefree bird In rhythmic calm To a mellow Pure, silent space