BY Richard Farekaye
The ghetto is a story told in a genre of songs
People make art from what they know,
A kid never barks among goats.
Those who live in hell know it;
And that’s how they create beasts.
Born from struggle, the result is always brute
While those born bathed in rose water and milk
Will forever have a supple understanding,
Which feels vermin when infiltrated by those struggling.
Yet the solution is ever so easy.
Changing what people know, create new art.
A child born in a theatre is a symphony
And one born at the back of it, an untrained baritone.
Transform a community, transform a culture;
A Chimurenga song, an art born of a need,
Gone as need arrived, leaving but traces and pride.
Only to be replaced by the soothing Urban grooves
Sang by former rural boys until new knowledge of a struggling youth
Birthed from new knowledge, a knocking art
Now, Zimdancehall is born and still all the dusty ghettos truly own.
The ability to create art from what’s known