Workers' lament

When I hear the bells' toll, I ariseI peer through the tiny windows of my bedroom and its timeThe clearness of the glowing is the end of my joyThe shiny rays of the dawn bring more worriesFor I know to whom the day belongsMore than a drop of my blood will be suckedMy sweat and toil bring more miseryMy sweat and toil enriches someone elseHowever, I am a workerI have no choiceI have nothing of my ownBut my labour to sell

Behold me working for someone elseWorking like a ticking clock in a clothing shop"Sale ngaphakathi sale" exclaims the poor worker"How much do you have my friend?" exclaims the shopkeeperThat is me selling my labour at no price, accepting any price tag put on meHowever, I am a workerI have no choiceI have nothing of my ownBut my labour to sell

Oh Lord! Hear me cryingHear me out of my patronageWhenever I ask for the best, "The gate is open," they sayWhenever I claim what is rightfully mine, "The gate is wide open," they sayI am a worker with no rightsI do not choose when to workI do not choose where to workI do not choose how to workI do not choose what to work forI do not choose the price of my labour"The gate is wide open," they sayhowever, I am a workerI have no choice

I have nothing of my own But my labour to sell

Melphin LametyiTembisa

Source

Numsa News