We have gathered here today in this stolen vehicle speeding down on a collision course.
The needle on our moral compass has rusted. We are struggling to find honour among ourselves.
It seems we thieves have lost that needle too.
In this car we live by the gun.
In this car we are travellers to nowhere, on a journey to self-discovery with no destination.
Along the way, there they are; our brothers, clad in inadequate body armour for what comes next.
The motive is detonation.
They are collateral. This relationship is explosive.
They brace for the first impact. We will ram them off the road.
Before our airbags implode we all silently recite a verse from the book of Collins Chauke.
We have visited a sangoma who said grace for our guns.
It is time to eat, or be eaten.
They are matadors, their armoured vehicle is a red cloak and we the bulls are always ready to charge.
See how banknotes fly in the air when that immovable red cloak meets our unstoppable horns and we discharge.
When these notes fly, they do not reminisce of autumn winds blowing their dried-up siblings to the ground.
When sound waves are cracking, that boom isn’t synonymous to a thunderstorm breaking branches, then leaves scatter about.
We always convince ourselves that matadors will survive if they co-operate.
Life has thrown them bitter fruits. Let’s pray today they will make lemonade.
After all, lightning-damaged trees do not burn to the ground.
But money isn’t the root of anything. It is not related to trees.
It has more in common with our clothes than any plant.
That paper is made of cotton pulp rather than wood.
Humanity, more than money, is the root of all evil.
Think of the heart. Imagine how it pumps more than 7000 litres of blood in a minute.
Imagine what flows in every single drop of those thousands of litres.
Do you see the hate?
Do you see how hearts pump wrath? How it pumps greed?
How each of the two chambers on this organ disperses abomination upon obscenity.
Hearts thirst for more blood. Even if it is someone else’s, just to satisfy your own need.
I have bought my daughter a bicycle for her birthday with rand I toiled for.
When she looked at me with those big eyes, black as night, in her smile I could see endless bouquets of daffodils.
The aroma, nothing smelt foul here.
No evil lives here.
Half of Cyril Ramaphosa’s presidential salary will be a donation.
The fund will be managed by the Nelson Mandela Foundation.
There is no evil attached to that paper too until the heart pumps greed-laced blood through a corrupt official's arteries.
We have stopped shaking this moral compass.
The stolen vehicle is all the needle we need.
Magnetic north is any cash-in-transit vehicle.
In this car we count bullets in our high-powered weapons from foreign arms dealers.
In the red cloak they count blessings.
They do so knowing the extreme lengths our kind is willing to surpass to lay our hands on the money.
Besides, blessings are easier to count than burning skin cells.
We don’t need the four security guards who were burnt alive in the 2006 Villa Nora heist to confirm this.
Let’s pray we find ourselves in this journey to self-discovery with no destination.
@Rabbie_Wrote