Bring to mind the days of our fathers:

they used grass skirts when they couldn't go out,

but you herded them like David

on the mountain slopes of Gilead.

A long time ago the word reached Ntsikana.

I lost the thread: who doesn't know?

We shunned our customs, accusing Africa,

and turned into long-tailed birds.

Think about it!

“Timbilili!” says the sleeper,

suddenly wakened.

“Timbilili!” says the marsh bird,

drenched in rain.

Hawulele! Mvabaza,

the blanket of Congress

has often been rolled up;

today it's unfurled again.

Mvabaza, I've long had my eye on you,

cow yielding dribbles of milk

lacking the strength

to reach the milksack.

Hawulele! Hule!

Abantu-Batho,

you thought you'd retain

the title of guardian.

Umteteli wa Bantu

saw right through you:

you're a sack without water

left to breed tadpoles.

Our people are spent,

urged over the edge,

lacking healers

to administer cures.

The woman poet joined you?

Where did we talk?

In that paper of yours

I'd be torn in the jaws of a lion.

I know you well, Mvabaza:

you shun the day,

prefering the moon

as travelling companion.

Reader, take note!

The woman poet joined you?

Mvabaza, plain Xhosa eludes you:

please reread my poem

on the split within Congress:

“Tramps’ ancestors

are no match for mine.”

Just what do you think

I meant by those words?

You tremble, Mvabaza, like jelly

served on a plate;

a Joburg Johnny-come-lately,

an overnight leader.

You're no leader, Mvabaza,

and you never will be,

all you can claim

is the status of shopkeeper.

Leave Reverend Maxeke alone:

It was God who founded that paper

seeing our people wasted,

urged over the edge.

When did you win

election to rule?

We still have our chiefs

established by God.

Mvabaza, you're blind

to God's creation,

wanting me woman poet

of your Abantu-Batho.

You brag that you brought

the woman poet from Peddie

to earn your bread

in Johannesburg!

That'll be the day!

We stumbled in starting.

We seek a ford.

Our people are wasted,

urged over the edge.

Hawuleleh! Huleh! From Jeppe

they urge us over the edge,

they egg on the troops

but stay home themselves.

How come these leaders

never get killed?

They send to their deaths

God's people and chiefs.

They're Bailey's agents.

In urging us over the edge

they're sinking Africa.

I chant this dancing

near my father's grave.

Hawuhule!

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column.

I'm here, still alive and no poet;

I carry the milkpail across the Orange;

I look old with a beard like Hili.

Thus the small voice of Lamentations

saying “Jehovah, can you hear?”

Jehovah says in response:

“I've been quiet for days, until yesterday.

You've been weighed and found to be wanting.”

The Ancient Creator's voice struck home.

The fingers’ inscription proclaims

your kingdom's been taken, handed to others.

Go back to where you came from,

to Ntsikana's final words.

Don't bargain with the truth:

this cash led us astray.

Christians, where are your bibles today?

I'd better stop, so I don't lose control.

Maqoma said so, and they called him mad

for spurning the madness of surrender.

What must we make of these marriages?

Wed and split in a day: where's this from?

We sit on the fence, won't take a stand,

the walking dead unfamiliar to God.

We make a big thing of this schooling:

and this culture we eagerly hound.

We pinned our hopes on a miracle:

some died with nothing to show for it.

We bear envy and blame one another;

God leaves as we claw at each other.

Today, we've lost ourselves,

our leaders all sit mum.

All our customs were lost to the whites,

we took separate paths to the cells.

The old voice said, “You're dying, Africa.”

The gainsayers countered: “How can she die?”

All our thieves are in school,

all our witches in school,

all our liars in school:

which is the One on High to believe?

Will the Reds ever be Christian?

We pose as just, so they waver.

And what then of our parents?

We just left them shut in their homes.

We gave up polygamy; today we take lovers;

we gave up ochre, but now we're all drunk.

Hear what I say, Greybeard of ours,

those are the headings in our discussion.

The word of God's the very truth

but we've treated it inconsistently.

We perish for lack of diviners

as if every home housed a witch.

Mercy!!

In South Africa the buffalo roused,

whose goring's feared before it gores;

the late riser misses everything,

misses the python uncoiling.

What does Daniel the prophet say

to King Nebuchadnezzar?

Read from Chapter Two

through to Chapter Six.

Jehovah removes kings

setting others in their place

with no thought of worth:

wondrous His works.

Thus Daniel the prophet,

and in this I concur:

kings ruling over us go,

others take their place.

This is it: God in Heaven controls

royalty in every nation,

grants it to whom he likes,

even to casual passers-by.

He alone created all,

asking no one's leave:

our low station's of his making,

he raised up those at the top.

Kings ruling over us go,

others take their place;

and Africa, you will meet him,

return to times you cry for.

Note the motion of sun and moon,

the bonds once foretold by Ntsikana,

oppression that crawled on its knees,

casting spells right to the Mpondo.

Oppression was touted by glittering scriptures

that taught us to cast off our blankets,

intent on unloading on us an elephant

that devours our king's domains.

Wake up, Africa! Come together!

Only a fool wrings his hands.

Mutton Gluttons sleep with open eyes.

Timber! Yellowwood forests tumble.

God alone is worth remembering.

Something twisted can't be straightened:

this new regime holds nothing new,

the present's no change from the past.

We yielded sovereignty to no purpose,

embraced the new, and lost our own:

our homes and our kingship were plundered.

Our eyes beheld, our ears perceived.

Nongqawuse, Mhlakaza's daughter,

you said: “Keep your eyes on the ocean,

you'll hear the bellowing bulls.”

Our fathers’ possessions crumbled to dust.

There Joshua's telling us:

spurn strange gods on pain of death.

We toyed with God while whites looked on:

today our country's affliction itself.

Agreed!

Ah, the sorrow that siezes your land, Nontsizi,

all the things that bring us grief,

recalling our old Mgqwetho kin

wrapped in blankets of skin.

Agree!

Let yesterday's customs perish:

those gods ripped out our hearts,

and so we don't know who we are

and all our chiefs sit mum.

Agreed!

Today droves of black people

have long abandoned their customs:

they banished them from their homes

in the heat of the summer sun.

Agreed!

You see, my people, we're old,

truth threw us long ago;

my people, we need to be planted and watered

to bring forth the spirit of nationhood.

Agreed!

Agree, herders of Sandile's cattle,

of Mshweshwe and Langalibalele,

mimosas that twisted in falling!

That rising sun made me think of Shaka.

Peace, Africa, strife-torn land!

There's little indeed we can take for the truth.

Nitpicking poets, I say,

ignore the grain that pecks the chicken.

All of you know what's going on:

you're patently ringed by lies.

Let's seek the truth from those above,

who died both here and in the water.

There is Joshua telling us

to spurn strange gods on pain of death.

Where are the customs of our land,

transmitted to us through the ages?

Agree with me, men! Peace to you, ladies,

and let those who feel bad for you hang themselves.

Oh, we're covered with chaff from the threshing-floor!

We cast off our customs, went in search of a wife.

Let's remember the days of our fathers,

seal Tshiwo's deserted villages,

which sprawled up the hillside slopes

like the flocks on Mount Hermon.

So back, my people, and watch.

All creatures will come out to bask in the sun.

Agree with me! Yes, in truth we agree.

And You, who scolds the thundering skies.

Agree indeed!

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column!

I'm still here, a young man and no poet;

I carry the milkpail across the Orange,

clubs are at hand but I fight with lightning.

The earthquake spoke, spoke in broad daylight,

it spoke while we played, revealing its hand,

it spoke and left the white people stunned,

it left the Coolies wringing their hands.

The earthquake spoke with an eerie wail

while people's pleasure raised a racket.

The world's given to pleasure, ancient temptress,

recalling the world in days gone by.

The errant city surrendered to pleasure,

everyone sapped until their eyes popped.

Satan sings praises till his guts bust

at you Christians and us Reds.

The world's given to pleasure, a puzzling problem,

astonishing things happen here in Johannesburg,

rampant booze-ups and live-in lovers:

I've never seen booze so abused!!

Locusts are spreading among our youngsters,

gangsters are spreading throughout our land.

Look to this learning we boast about

and this culture we eagerly hound.

I slap your face to provoke discussion;

I fight with lightning, working magic.

Nothing's left. The thieves are there:

my words will kill if I expose you.

We live with God and Satan both:

which to take? The One Above.

We sit on the fence, won't take a stand,

the walking dead unfamiliar to God.

The dove of the marshes of Mara tells you:

today's like Sodom and Gomorrah again.

The mission stations of God lie waste,

abandoned by priests: we're bewitched.

You've been weighed and you're found wanting.

Look at the earthquake today. Stay awake!

All our customs were lost to the whites

when we turned our backs on the gods of our home.

Stop asking questions! Look at the earthquake!

Heathen habits are rampant.

Ah, black people, the land is sinking.

We're standing barren, bereft of dignity.

That being the case, my people,

let's return to our wonted ways

remembering Sodom and Gomorrah.

The dove of the marshes of Mara says so.

Peace!!

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column,

I'm still here, a young man and no poet;

I was born yesterday over the Orange,

I look old with a beard, like Hili.

The truth is there in the scriptures

and also within our blankets.

How do you live in constant strife,

in ignorance and conceit?

We bark for you, my people,

confronting those who pick us clean.

Unity's our only strength,

it alone can nourish us.

Isaiah says: “Come all of you,”

all the blacks are invited,

Zulu, Xhosa, Suthu, Mfengu,

all are the same despite distinctions.

Jehovah is not Ntsikana's alone,

Jehovah is not the Mfengu's alone.

Why do we act like Hottentots,

snoring their heads off, arse in the air?

Let's stop the commemorations:

their rifts rip out our hearts.

Inspire the country with your words.

Was ever her country in such a state?

Jehovah is not Ntsikana's alone,

Jehovah is not the Mfengu's alone.

We don't have time to fumble in fog.

Oh I blundered in going to whites!

This Unity's a shade-screened leopard

in all the Creator's sorrows as well,

all enemies will be crushed by it,

the mercies of heaven yield to it.

And so be one and sing one song

with your compatriot Die-As-One.

Isaiah says: “These are my words;

tell your people I'm the one talking.”

We split into factions, betray our own people,

and Africa leaves as we claw at each other.

We'd be all at sea if we ruled ourselves:

our cry for self-rule is vapid!

Peace, Africa, Army whose warriors stab one another!

They rip each other but reassemble.

Pulling in different directions,

these spans will smash their legs.

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column.

I'm still here, a young man and no poet;

I carry the milkpail to arm-ringed celebrities;

let all Christians glance behind them.

Editor, thanks for the poets’ column.

I'm here, still alive and no poet.

You'd better believe I'm still a Red:

tell your people I'm the one talking.

Christians call us heathens

but every home's unstable.

When the Word appeared we were together,

but you chased the whites to join them.

Ngqika himself broke away,

cheeks chafed from his lies.

Christians, because of your school education

you're Christians by day, hyenas by night.

Just like always, we Reds come together,

sitting here, swapping news.

We never enter your meetings,

where the mood is so hostile to Reds.

Here I sit, to be sure, just like always,

tell your people I'm the one talking.

I'm someone of consequence; I spoke at my birth:

in the courtyard princes stamped and frolicked.

We Reds have made a statement,

preferring charges against you;

today we've come, we'll do this for you,

for we were born at the setting sun.

I'll give you advice though I don't know much:

for a long time you claimed to know everything.

Your milk's all dried up, you've none for your coffee,

that's my opinion, a Red among Reds.

Celebration began before fighting ceased:

the sun gasped in amazement.

When we Reds stood slackjawed,

you didn't mark our threadbare blankets.

Today your voice is drowned in a whirlwind,

Christians, your learning's down in the dust,

all because of this pride of yours:

can a seasoned debater dispute this?

You're past any help; you make us puke:

you use us as kindling to warm yourselves.

That's what we say, we girls who smear ochre;

we'd rather die than dispute you.

Does no one remind you, Christian,

that you were made by the word?

While you're wasting time, Moses will come

to clear the path you still can't tread.

Peace!!

What now, Death, great python?

The One on High laid you low today;

through Adam we once were forsaken,

but today we're saved through Jesus.

Peace!!

So all of you come, come today!

Don't be timid, we're all invited.

The feast of grace is laid for us,

so come, let's eat, and live.

All races invited, no one barred:

Hosanna means all are welcome,

men and women, children, all:

the Lord invites every nation.

Come, you crushed by the weight of sin,

you poor, you frail, you blind and lame,

come and rest, you aimless tramps,

come let Jesus care for you.

Today, today, don't hesitate

over the Lord's invitation.

Hosanna to Him, heaven-mellowed.

Roar, angels with feathers of gold.

Hell can hang its head in shame:

a star has risen in battledress.

It's Jesus: honour him joyfully,

laud him with heartfelt songs.

Hosanna indeed!

Swell your hymns of praise,

thud your sounding drums,

see him with eyes of faith

and sink in awe to your knees.

Hosanna!

Rejoice today and sing in bliss,

heavenly messengers join in the chorus.

Rejoice, for Christ the Lord is born

to lift from us the load of the pass.

He's Melchizedek without beginning,

he's Melchizedek without end.

He mapped the country's corners

and he'll reign above all powers.

In September the wild beast bleated,

laid the corpses on the ground;

they departed for His home,

today our homes are filled with tears.

Peace to you all!

Let our wishes cleave the heavens

to reach you, Elephant browsing the tops,

don't let their deaths raid our hope,

draw us to them filled with hope.

Peace!

Who would know that greatness in you,

Maker of heaven and earth,

in you who made the stars and moon,

in you who made the sun and day?

In long ages past the earth was fashioned,

in long ages past were people created,

truly the maker of heaven and earth

existed for age upon age.

Today we should be terror-stricken

at all these horrors we encounter,

announcing the Creator's renown to men,

telling us always to keep God in mind.

Hosanna!!

Lord, you alone created all things,

you said let them be and they were;

earthquakes occur by your will,

you arrange their trembling;

mountains stand by your will

to crush us if we deny you.

Peace!

You rain floods on our dwellings,

scourge us with whirlwinds to bring us to know you.

Peace!

This earthquake's your sign of future destruction

if we don't repair our ways.

Listen, Joburg: if you deny me

you'll burn like paper in storm after storm.

Mercy!

Don't you see what this is, my people,

this thrashing quirt of an earthquake?

In this quake Jehovah addresses us,

distressed, a Creator abandoned.

Earthquake, slow in approach,

older than even the sun!

Earthquake, the voice of Jehovah,

urging return to virtue!

Earthquake, tumbling anthills;

oh! the nation's mountains turn to each other!

Earthquake, the voice of Jehovah,

releasing springs for you to drink,

cracking a whip when you spurn him:

you'll die like flies if you don't all come back to him!

Mercy!

Take care, Joburg, you will be consumed

by the rager like fire on the move.

Earthquake, a knock at your door,

condemning your sins to correct you.

Mercy!

Do you heed this earthquake here in Johannesburg?

It whips fear into those who know.

Joburg, watch out when its blow seals your fate:

your Sodom and Gomorrah sink as you throttle Jehovah.

Under the soil lie treasures:

white elders are quick to break contracts.

Peace!

Take care, Joburg: an earthquake buries you.

Peace, sturdy child of farflung Africa, can you hear this earthquake's

wailing?

Take care, Joburg, there it is:

a quake with a black club threatens you,

a wild beast awaiting your move,

sinners its only prey.

Earthquake, the hand of Jehovah,

knocking at your door!

Hallelujah, the Moravians

approach you today in tears,

Massive Pillar of Bethlehem,

divine Diviner of troubles.

You raised your cry at the Mazwi home,

removed its central pillar,

made orphans of the family.

Mercy then, pool-screened Crocodile.

Lion of Africans’ city,

Lion of Africa's city,

comfort the Mazwi children.

Oh, St Michael, stop them scrapping!

When you take the breath from people

and they die,

fix our minds

on the kingdom of heaven.

We all called this pastor father,

the late B.S. Mazwi:

he held limitless love,

one heart for all.

On his shoulders he bore the burdens

of youngsters far and wide;

he gave them comfort, put them at ease,

they confided their troubles to him.

Death, your heart is cold,

you can't be coaxed;

you can't be moved

by torrents of tears.

Peace! Pastor Mazwi, kneeling for hours

painfully praying for Africa;

you proclaim the news from heaven

for the wayward of this land.

We called your life to mind:

before the word came we wore grass skirts,

then you preached and we wasted our foes,

laid them low with conquering kieries.

Mercy, Pastor Mazwi!

Moravian who broadcast the gospel:

the walls of the house resounded,

killers returned to the fold.

Mercy, Pastor Mazwi!

You preached the gospel, they turned to listen,

Elephant striving for Africa.

The commando's horse has lost its way.

You took him from us, Lord of creatures,

gently removed your servant;

prophets heard from shepherds

as angels bore him to you. Peace!

Mercy, Pastor Mazwi!

Your prayer attracted all;

and, Father, your onetime mockers

now perceived your glory.

Walk with pride in Paradise,

mighty stalwart of Africa.

create a commotion in heaven,

thrash all the creatures of hell.

Son of Mazwi, Gabriel's called you.

Go! Confer with the sages.

May your bones be at peace in death,

roar through Africa, bringing the Light.

Walk with pride in Paradise,

mighty stalwart of Africa.

Blessed are those who die in the Lord

but hell is wracked by duststorms.

Walk with pride in Paradise,

mighty stalwart of Africa:

when you get there hell will blink

and shaggy-eared Satan will take to his heels.

Look! I want you to understand

our misfortune today, compatriot:

we're amazed they compare achievements!

Won't you stop vying for status?

May the dumb speak in Africa!

The dumb spoke in Decapolis,

the eyes of the blind were opened in Jericho:

may our blind regain their sight today.

May leaders emerge in Africa,

stop living on bones and scraps

and cry out here at the prospect

of Africa's children arrayed in rank.

My people, there's pain in the truth:

this regime controls our lives today.

It thrashed us through trust in the scriptures,

saying “Lay your blankets aside!”

See all those killers and thieves:

what I exposed knocked you flat.

You were stoned by strangers

who splash in the Jordan without crossing over.

The truth must be treated fairly,

the truth must be heard by both sides:

the truth is there in the scriptures

and also within our blankets.

May our leaders see eye to eye,

stop putting each other down:

efforts not weapons win battles.

Tell me, fellow, what you are doing.

Day after day you ask for donations.

To what end? Please tell me, fellow.

Our silver-tongued speeches droned on and on,

dulled our senses, set us snoring.

While Jehovah opens his arms to us,

while Jehovah beckons us close to him!

This is the point: you were made by the word,

so we'll learn of your efforts on judgement day.

Peace!

Efforts not weapons win battles:

stop vying for status today.

Aren't you afraid that you stripped the nation,

left it naked with only its hands for cover?

Unity's our only strength,

it alone can nourish us:

all enemies will be crushed by it,

and the pillars of heaven shattered.

How long must we keep on repeating:

the dumb spoke in Decapolis,

the eyes of the blind were opened in Jericho:

may our blind regain their sight today.

Peace to you! Heavens!

I'll roar returning to where I began,

I came when they said I'd come,

babes at the breast even swear by me,

kings prance and stamp in the yards.

What now, Death, great python?

The One on High laid you low today.

Through Adam we once were forsaken,

but today we're saved through Jesus.

Come today; come all of you,

don't be afraid; we're all welcome,

Zulu, Xhosa, Sotho, Mfengu,

all are the same despite distinctions.

Hosanna means all are welcome,

all are invited, no one barred.

The feast of the Babe is laid for us,

so come, let's eat, and live.

Come, you crushed by the weight of sin,

you poor, you frail, you blind and lame,

come and rest, you aimless tramps,

come let Jesus care for you.

Hell can hang its head in shame:

a star has risen in battledress.

It's Jesus: honour him joyfully,

laud him with heartfelt songs.

Swell your hymns of praise,

thud your sounding drums,

see him with eyes of faith

and sink in awe to your knees.

Rejoice that Christ the king is born,

through him may our kings arise.

Hosanna to the One with a bonnet on top.

Roar, angels with feathers of gold.

In September the wild beast bleated,

laid the corpses on the ground;

they departed for His home,

today our homes are filled with tears.

Who would know that greatness in you,

Maker of heaven and earth,

in you who made the stars and moon,

in you who made the sun and day?

In long ages past the earth was fashioned,

in long ages past were people created,

truly the maker of heaven and earth

existed for age upon age.

Today we should be terror-stricken

at all these horrors we meet,

announcing the Creator's renown to men,

telling us always to keep God in mind.

Hosanna!!!

Not gold, not silver

but precious blood

bought me, lost,

from Satan's power.

Peace! Peace! Drum of the Cross,

which crumpled in lingering pain on Golgotha

in order to publish the news from heaven

deep in the pits of this country.

Hom! Hom! to the Drum of the Cross

whose blood was shed in torment

from earth right up to the skies

so even the stubborn wears a crown.

The sun will rise in the courtyard!

The witches’ huts should be clustered.

Gabriel will strike from heaven

and heaven's thunder shatters boxwood.

He'll come as if bearing a roof

yet he's bearing the whole of the firmament.

He'll trample death and the ancient snake,

angels that step on him slip.

Hom! Hom! to the Drum of the Cross

who atoned for our sins with his blood,

and he smeared it on the doorposts

so even the damned attain bliss.

He's here! The Drum of the Cross,

hide that thumps in walking.

He trampled the enemies’ heads,

he stabbed them and took them as spoil!

He's here! The Drum of the Cross,

Bird that feeds high in the yellowwood.

Pasop! When it goes past, it goes past with corpses,

the heavenly striker with oracles.

Trample Satan, the ancient snake,

his cheeks chafed from all his lies,

fling him to Hades for Hell to gnaw at:

the blood witnesses now are present.

Huntshu! You were wrong, Death, to mock us,

saying grass would grow rife in the churches.

There he is! Jesus struck enemies,

he trampled their heads and took them as spoil.

The sun will rise in the courtyard,

Toughbreast from Gabriel's home.

The dumb spoke in Decapolis,

he raised the dead in Bethany.

Collector of diverse households,

collect Africa by your blood

so that you rule our people

through the hunting shield of your Word.

May your bones that lay in Death

dance at the Gate of Africa,

so you mount that Hill of Calvary

bearing our cries to the Father.

You say “Come back”? You must come back!!

Spurn advice and you'll come a cropper.

Always remember where you came from:

seek the seers to tell you straight.

Africa stayed! She's nowhere else!!

Look how the grass continues to sprout.

Look at the springs still bubbling with water.

Look all around, it's all in its place!

You say “Come back”? You must come back!!

You're profit to all the earth's nations:

they come from the north, they come from the south,

out of the east and out of the west.

Where are your daughters? What do you say?

“We roam the countryside, shacked up with gangsters,

we're up to the ears in the white man's booze.”

But the white doesn't drink a drop of yours.

You raise your cry, saying “Come back”?

You must come back and return to battle.

Deny yourself like the ancient sage,

fast and subsist on water.

Where are your daughters, the nation's flower?

“We're cutting capers in New Clare,

up to the gills in skokiaan,

bleery-eyed from ‘Kill-me-quick’.”

The heavens, I see, are shocked

by all these goings-on.

“When our parents come to visit

we blabber as if we don't know them.”

We throw up our hands at our daughters and sons,

water spilt on sand:

“We go round sleeping where fancy takes us

at fling after fling in house after house.”

Our gods also thought we'd converted,

become moral church congregations.

Inside we sing, “ Lord, we've gathered,”

“Get him!” we snarl outside. We're crumbling.

To conclude, my people, I'll say this:

unless we completely turn our backs

on these habits that I've mentioned,

Africa will never come back.

Treachery, ill feeling,

oppression, blood feuding

before the Judge watching us:

what can He think?

I'll roar my basic position

like thunder over Umtata.

I'll even take a Khoi to wife,

useless as long-left ruins.

This nation rests on the law of the bible,

traitors must forfeit their lives.

Turncoats wound it, rip out its lifeblood:

our power wanes, and we're ripe for invasion.

My people, we're stabbing Africa,

we kill our own through betrayal:

we court celebrity status,

honours for killing Africa.

When we trade our own people to whites for profit

we inflict a deep wound on Africa.

I'm not one to shy from saying so:

your public behaviour bears eloquent witness.

So there's the lament, my people,

provoked by our every effort.

As we idly bicker we're left in the dust

and Africa slips through our fingers forever.

We split into factions, betray our own people,

Africa leaves as we claw at each other.

We'd be all at sea if we ruled ourselves:

our cry for self-rule is vapid!

Zulu, Xhosa, Sotho, Mfengu,

all are the same despite distinctions.

On this earth all are one:

under this rule they suffer alike.

You scatter your own, assisting strangers,

currying praise and property:

through you they know our every secret.

Thus my question: “How much longer?”

Africa, what's this lament,

Nursemaid slain by your sucklings?

Nitpicking poets, I say,

ignore the grain that pecks the chicken.

How many Judases toyed in secret

with black people's lives, then died in the dark?

Men, please assemble and talk:

we can't endure this lament.

God bless Africa!

Smear all traitors with dripping mud,

lend them chameleon colours

to brand them, then we can unite.

Peace!!

Halahoyi! Africans, something stinks

like the ground snake, fouling the air.

How do we live in constant strife,

in ignorance and conceit?

Oh the homestead standing alone

with easy access through its gates,

whose people once had plenty,

now a sign of oppression.

We bark for you, my people,

confronting those who pick us clean.

Unity's our only strength,

it alone can nourish us.

Envy's an obstacle to this unity,

money's another obstacle:

and so we battle to scale the hill.

Can a seasoned debater dispute this?

This unity's a shade-screened leopard

in all the Creator's sorrows as well,

all enemies will be crushed by it,

and the pillars of heaven shattered.

And so be one and sing one song,

die side by side with your own.

Inspire the country with your words.

Was the country ever in such a state?

Where are the leaders the likes of Joshua

who had love and rose from a fall

to manage the nation of God

with poise beyond reproach?

It's a shame, my people, a scandal,

a disgrace not to help your own,

and you still saying, “We're students:

who are others compared to us?”

You see, my people, we're old,

truth threw us long ago;

unity's our only strength

for it alone can nourish us.

You form one flock from diverse sheep,

form one flock of us:

all nations unite against the blacks,

the Coolies and Chinese against the blacks.

Are you gathered in bundles for threshing?

Your recklessness is rampant.

Unity's our only strength

for it alone will nourish us.

Today Africa yields no milk.

Is there no one among the elders

to bear this report to the One on High,

to burn his first son as sacrifice?

Listen then!!

Halahoyi, Africans! Something stinks

like the river snake, fouling the air.

It's the lovely river sylph

that knows the secrets of heaven.

The lion of blackness still roars,

speaks in a voice of thunder.

It says this will be a year of wonders

that will strike us between the eyes.

Celebration began before fighting ceased,

but there, ever eager to seize control,

sits the donkey driving the wagon,

I swear by my shades, and my father who sired me.

The lion of blackness still roars

from the midst of our black nations:

let's seek the truth from those above,

those long dead and the recent deceased.

It says “Let's come back” though we don't believe it,

luminous places terrify us:

we heard the roar of the word of God,

brought by mocking sorcerers.

In the land of our fathers and of our shades

they set us at odds with God, our own shade;

but those who came by ship shouldn't fool themselves:

the Prince of Heaven's wide awake.

For a long time, men, we occasionally see,

for a long time we hear reports of the slain.

Our people were seized and sent off to war,

with the word of God as their battle cry.

What's this?

“We're British: the Kaffirs can die!

We'll rip the candy from your mouths.

We didn't hurt you: we're British!

A baby baboon's no stranger to misery.”

Do you hear?

God is the toy of black behaviour,

paganism's rampant.

Alas, black home, the lid's on your pot,

your fathers’ country rumbles and trembles.

Behold the wonders we witness!

All of you know just what I mean.

Now what do you say? The country's at war:

behold the afflictions, the death of our families.

Peace! Awu!

We toyed with God while whites looked on:

today our country's affliction itself.

Wailings! So then, my people,

take heart! Remember our country.

Today Africa yields no milk.

Is there no one among the elders

to bear this report to the One on High,

to burn his firstborn son as sacrifice?

Peace!