Prison Journalism: My incarceration

For nine months of my life, I was free,
A period known as lying in my mother’s womb.
As for birth, it was a period lived without seeing the truth.
It would come to be, only incarcerated I found my truth.
I was lucky to find myself locked up as an adult rather than in my youth.

Firstly, stepping out of that van into a prison cell,
Up, down, squats, breath! As my mother did for my birth,
Now I do the same, for the most of it, it feels like hell!
Tagged with a number, and now I’m in the system.
Youths pulled in, given ranks, belonging,
Believe this is the truth, systems making use of any potential,
Don’t worry, given rhymes mentally mind-f***ing, a trip of the soul,
And it continues in the future, in-diverse ways,
The system can call me back, evil it is, whispering,
“You’re smart, you can’t be clever!”

None understands the truth of it all,
That the system’s be all lies, lies, the only truth is the pain,
Rebirth again!”

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DISCLAIMER: Submission published as received

RESTORE is an NGO based in Cape Town, South Africa, providing inmates at Pollsmoor Prison with restorative justice opportunities.

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This poem was written by Thabo Mthembu.