Muzi Khumalo, Welkom:

I write to you from the heart of a Goldfields town that once breathed with life but now echoes only with the whispers of the wind.

The streets, once filled with voices and laughter, are empty.

Windows stare blankly like the hollow eyes of abandoned homes. Dust settles where footsteps once hurried, and the rusting swings creak in the lonely embrace of the breeze.

In the boardroom at the Welkom city’s heart, the leaders remain locked in battle .

Not with swords or guns, but with words sharpened into weapons. They argue over policies, over power, over their own reflections in the polished table. The room is alive with their voices, but out here, beyond their walls, silence reigns.

The people have left, weary of waiting.

The markets are barren, the schoolyard is silent, and the church bells have forgotten their purpose. Even the stray dogs seem to sense the absence of life, their paws tracing circles in the dust as if searching for something lost.

I wonder if the leaders know what they are fighting for. Do they see Welkom crumbling around them? Or are they too busy winning battles while losing the war?

Perhaps one day, they will step outside and see what remains: Not a town to govern, not a people to lead, but only the bones of what once was.

Until then, I remain – a witness to the silence.

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