Those who weep go dry

😭✊Those Who Weep Go Dry😭✊

I Learned to stand up straight at an early age. 
As I grew taller, 
I met the spheres in my father's soul,
And to my suprise,
They leaned on crutches.
Crippled by poverty and Swazi societal catastrophes.
Poverty thought me to be a man when still a child.

My mother fed me, 
With her blood, sweat and tears.
She thought me, 
To stand and walk on my bones.
She thought me,
To look deep within to find the grain of hope and strength.
I learned while a child to face moments, 
Filled with pain and still manage to be kind.

I am a poor Swazi
Push and pulled apart by the Swazi Royal Suprimacy.
Who chose their heir before election even begins.
A poor Swazi
Tangled in the endless Swazi Royal chain of owning everything for one's own greed.

I'm born in a shadow of a political lie.
Raised by poverty in a dingy house full of crockroaches. 
Blessed by the Priest in the name of heaven.
I learned while a child, 
To think, overcome tradegies and survive hard times.

I don't have to be a poetical intellectual to write poems. 
I write my poems from a single grain of truth.
Each poem I write,
Is a bundle of accomplishment,
Put together with so much efforts and pain.
I make no claim until I make a claim.
I'm always satisfied until I'm not satisfied.
My secret weapon is NO secret weapon.
I learned while still a child, 
What this life is meant to be. 
I know it goes beyond myself. 
It is too much more than me.
I do not weep but I organise, 
Those who weep go dry.
I hustle like a pumpkin vine.