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Call me no longer
to your reunions
I no longer
subscribe
to that School of thought
All I remember
Is your concrete pretensions
Those structures
That cordone me off
That make me harbour
Feeling of superiority
Over vernacular mortals
I am still undoing
Those twisted knots
I am now glad
My hair has
Outgrown
The discipline
Of plaits
and ribbons
The factory line
of morning assembly
The raps
on my knuckles
The red grades
of lesser human
my report sported
each year
The hand-me-down
Shoes
Patched and sewn
They pointed at
and mocked
The class within a prison
Of four walls
The teachers’ classes within a book
Bound by rigid covers
The class of sycophants
That chanted praises
Or curses
at her instigation
I’ve bade my byes
and buried them
by the laphu makhong
with my laiphadibi
with an appropriate funeral

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