Fourteen years with little change,nThey look for in whom to place the blame,nFade is the post upheaval bliss and the majority still live in shit.nnDeliberate attempts to misdirect has them reaching for foreign necks,nThe anger that this inveighs placates dissent so it stays,nWe watch even though we have all seen it before,nWe watch the violence still,nLeaves us in it in turn covers what's at heart,nOf what caused the violence at the start.nnMarauding hordes tear through the camps,nMalawian were given little chancenWith flames to light and rocks to crush,nThey leave the people dying in the dust.nnThe hysterical contagion is let loose as they carry on,nIt's complicated,nWhy are we hated like a sickness?nThe more blood that spills inspires more to start to kill.nnThe Ramaphosa bears the brunt of the poverty-based human hunt,nThe squatter begins to flee as the drive is made for purity,nThe question one is forced to ask:nWhat happens when this land is pure at last?