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I knew him

I knew him
The black man playing a recorder
At a Boksburg street junction.
Every day
He played the tale of sun set blood
Of the fear of white rain gods
Of a hope of the train from Soweto
Might stop
Running over him ever since he was born
He never asked for money
Only the landscape that
Once belonged to him.
One day
He never came back.
His place trampled
By a new founded

Amitabh Mitra

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