A statesman: then and now
He stands on the podium
with his hat
in his hand
pressed against his chest
on the border with Angola
in his country
(as he still rules
over South West Africa)
and his bare head shines
under the bright Africa sun
where he himself was born
and Ratel armoured cars,
tanks, rocket launchers
and artillery drive past in convoys
back from Angola
to get a salute from him.
He stands like a giant
alone against dark Africa
will nuclear devices
waiting ready in bombs
and missiles
for ballistic purposes
are being manufactured.
Later lump after lump
of sand
falls down in his grave
while a lost journalist
runs for photos around it
and he doesn’t any more know
what is happening
in his own country
and about thunderbolts
that falls from everywhere
on his people
and rumble ominous
above his grave,
not even about water flowing
above him in a rain stream
and every sunrise
that without equal
unfolds above him
and worms gnawing
patiently on his body
since every thing
fades for him to nothing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
South Africa Is Also My Country
From my birth South Africa is my own country
and my people can flee to an island
but my own culture and language stays holy
although this place is not safe,
I still trust on a much higher hand,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
even if the struggling government gives me resistance,
do oppress me with unfair laws,
even if nothing can stop the disintegration,
even if I am not safe against the onslaught,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country,
even if some act with effrontery against my people
I come from a noble heritage,
I am proud on my Afrikaner lineage,
even if people and buildings are set alight,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
From my birth South Africa is my own country
with no other place I have such a deep bond
and even if here I will never have any job,
I believe in God and a Christian church,
God himself still keeps my ways intact,
from my birth South Africa is my own country.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Pride To Be An African
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of which everybody imitates
My Africa of which culture exceed the Greek
My Africa of which everyone is jealous of
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of enormous natural endowment
My Africa of Non-Violence
My Africa of Amorous populates
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of patriot men and women
My Africa of shelter and vintage hospitality
My Africa of great ancestral mythology
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa that bore fruits of black diamonds
My Africa which is a gift to the whole world
My Africa of great leadership
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of learned youths
My Africa of a bright generation
My Africa true tradition
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of black pageant women
My Africa of strong men
My Africa from who we all hail from
For every African deserves a Nobel Prize in
Existence.
poem by Fasan paul
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I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
the home of the slaves
and the land of no freedom
I'm gonna take the south out of South Africa
where George Wallace stood
on the University steps
and said no blacks
no blacks shall enter here
except over my dead
and crippled body
I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
where separate but equal means
that blacks lived in the homelands
and not in their homes
I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
where Jim Crow laws
have tried to change their colors
but it's still the same old shackles
call Apartheid
I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
where young people are detained
...without trials
...without lawyers
...without rights
but never
... without hope
I'm gonna take the South out of South Africa
poem by Oscar Mireles
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Don’t Cry For Me Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because I will never let you out of my mind
I hear your voices people of Africa
I hear your cries people of Africa
I see pain in your eyes people of Africa
It is hard to describe what you people of Africa are going through
Poverty strikes you all people of Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because I will keep you in my prayers people of Africa
Power to the people of Africa
People of Africa lift your spirit higher
Lord is the light and truth people of Africa
The Lord sends you a message from his heart to you people of Africa
He said because I love you
I will answer your prayers
I hear your prayers
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because you have a friend that is the Lord
People of Africa continue doing the Lords work
Make a wish people of Africa
The people of Africa are looking at the Lord face to face
Lord here is no paradise
We dream a little dream said the people of Africa to the Lord
The People of Africa Pray that the Lord will give each other strength every day
Don’t cry for me Africa
Save the people of Africa
Strengthened the people of Africa each day
Because I’ll be there in your dreams people of Africa
The people of Africa tells The Lord how much they love him
Don’t cry for me Africa
Lord comes when you are ready people of Africa
Feelings you have for your Lord People of Africa
And I know you will never let it die
Nothing but flowers the people of Africa will plant in the sea shore for the Lord
Don’t cry for me Africa
The people of Africa needs hope to heal there land
The Lord rose up on you people of Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
My heart will go on
Once I close this door of the ship I will sail across the Atlantic Sea
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Thank You My Africa
Thank You My Africa
For Giving Birth To Me
For All The Blessings
And For Choosing Me As Your Daughter.
Thank You My Africa
For Selecting Me To Represent
Everything That You Own
And Wherever I Go.
Thank You My Africa
For My Other Sisters And Brothers
For My Other Fathers And Mothers
And The Perfect Weather.
Thank You My Africa
For My Happiness And Dignity
The Love And Careness
For My Roots And Capability.
Thank You My Africa
I Love And Appreciates You
For Being A Good Samaritan To Foreign Countries
Because Of Everything They Go Through.
Thank You My Africa
For Your Capacity
For Your Originality
And Your Diversity.
Thank You My Africa
For Letting Me Overcome Old Pains
To Have Many Opportunities
Privileges, Luck And Alot More Gains.
Thank You My Africa
For The Light That Shines Through
And Even If They Call You Dark Africa
I Declare You As A Bright One Because You Are So True.
Thank You My Africa
For My Beautiful Curved Body
Which Represents All The Roads
The Mountains And Rivers In You.
Thank You My Africa
For I Come From You
And My Appreciation For All That
I Say; I Love You My Africa.
poem by Julius Adolf
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The Black Continent
Africa, Africa, Africa!
The Black Continent full of raw materials and talented people;
For the Blackman is capable of managing his own affairs.
Beautiful South Africa,
Beautiful North Africa,
Beautiful East Africa,
Beautiful West Africa,
And beautiful Central Africa! !
This Black Continent is full of natural resources.
Visit Africa to understand our ways,
For we have more to the world!
And like the muse of the animals in the forest,
But The Black Continent means a lot to all of us on this earth:
Africa, Africa, Africa! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The fallen Cuban soldier
Your hand lies stretched out
and still holds on to your Ak
where you lie in Angola,
in the African bush in the last sleep
and in Luanda
and later in Havana
they know that you are missing
and are probably dead.
Nobody of your unit
will ever again,
drive tanks and armoured cars
and their general
does not wait on their return.
Somewhere in Cuba a woman mourns
and waits in vain,
to ever again
hear something from you.
You lifted your weapon
against boys from South Africa
and the bullets of an Afrikaner boy
pierced you.
Your camouflage uniform
is stained with blood
and you are placed in a hole
in the red-brown sand
and white powder,
is dropped on top of you
before you become a part
of the cold earth.
Later a Ovambo’s farm goats
will graze above you and eat
from the thorn bushes,
that grows over you
and you will be forgotten by everyone.
[Ak=Ak47 submachine gun.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Can you hear him?
Can you hear him whispering behind his window
Can you hear the rain tick against the glass ever so slow
To remind him that the rain hasn't stopped for years
But the pavement isn't drenched with water but with blood and tears
The revolution has started, and the mob is cold hearted
Can't distinguish friend from foe, nor those living or departed
All they see is rage and pain
So many different reasons to revolt, but their screams the same
Freedom … Freedom
This is the chant that reaches the sky
These are the words for which many will die
But the revolution doesn't care
So he stands behind his window with an empty glare
And he looks down upon the fighting, the gunshots and the hate
He looks down upon all those who want control over their own fate
They no longer want to rob, just so they can eat
No longer want to be scared walking down their own street
This isn't for oil, religious reasons or terrorists … No
This isn't for wealth, fame or recognition … No
They are fighting for peace
And until success the revolution will not cease
Until they have what they are screaming for
Nothing less and nothing more
Freedom … Freedom
So he stands behind his window, patiently waiting
Until those in power decide to share
Until those in power decide they care
Until they do Africa is bleeding
And with it the economy is dying
This is not rain this is a country crying
And the people are tired of drowning in these tears
Tired of waiting until the smoke clears
So they stand up strong and keep their heads high
If Africa is to be reborn, let it first die
That is the revolution that's why they fight
Trapped in darkness but there's a small piece of light
Freedom … Freedom
This is for that child that had to watch his family get shot
This is for that child that keeps watching the sky hoping for blessings to drop
His stomach is round, filled with nothing but air
And I won't waste your time asking if it's fair
But this is for that child that had to dropp out of school
No money to pay tuition but wants to go to school
The child that rather studies then plays and gets called a fool
Freedom of ignorance, knowledge its tool
So he stands behind the window, realizing he is dead
Shot in the head by the same revolution that said
This is for the people, and he was hoping it was a dream
But it isn't so he makes two fists and he wants to scream
Freedom … Freedom
But he doesn't, calmness comes over him
And he realizes one thing
The revolutions first step has finally been made
Sacrifices for freedom seems like a fair trade
So instead of screaming freedom he lifts his fist in the air and starts chanting a soft mantra
Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa, Africa,
Can you hear him?
poem by Vino Venitas
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The Dust Of Africa
The dust of Africa,
Born into the mist of a dusty atmosphere;
What does the future hold for us?
Oh Africa! Oh Africa! ! Oh Africa! ! !
The misty mix of a Black Continent;
From the desert up there to the south,
The wind blows the natural air to all mankind.
On this earth,
We Africans are mixed with a dusty air!
The dust of Africa,
Have you seen it in Libya, Tunisia, Egypt and Morocco?
The dust of Africa,
What about Algeria, Western Sahara and Mauritania?
The dust of Africa,
Do visit Mali, Niger, Chad, Sudan, Eritrea and Ethiopia;
Also, down south to Namibia!
The misty mix of a Black Continent;
Oh Africa! The dust of Africa! !
To the outstretched sandy dust of the desert,
This could be sold for money.
What about the West Coast of Africa?
From Senegal, Gambia, Guinea Bissau, Guinea and Sierra Leone;
From Liberia, Ivory Coast, Burkina Faso, Ghana and Togo;
From Benin to Nigeria with the same problem of the dust,
The dusty wind changes the colour in our rooms too.
Live in Africa to experience this act,
Shop in Africa to know the facts;
From Cameroon, Central African Republic and Congo Brazzaville;
From The Democratic Republic of Congo, Kenya and Uganda;
From Tanzania, Angola, Zambia, Zimbabwe and Mozambique;
From Botswana, Lesotho, Swaziland, Somalia and South Africa;
Our eyes and our clothes do ell it all in Madagascar also.
What about Cape Verde Island, Comoros Island and Mauritius?
What about Seychelles, Equatorial Guinea, Sao Tome and Principe?
Dusty wind, dusty wind, the dusty wind of Africa!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Oh Africa my Africa
Oh Africa my Africa land of diamonds. Oh africa my Africa land of great kings Shaka, Haile Silasi, mandela to name a few. Oh mother Africa my Africa rich in gold.oh Africa my africa full of beautful women. Yes africa my africa land of real nature.
poem by George mwandu
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Carrion
a Enemy soldier lies motionless
and his limbs are twisted,
reaching for the last
energy of live
and a hand still holds a gun.
Blood and guts
are splattered about,
where a mortar bomb
hit home
and some flies gather.
The strong sulphur smell
mixed with fried human
burns my nose,
where smoke rises
from a shot out
enemy battle tank.
Another tank stand moveless
with its barrel
still aiming somewhere
and the remains
of its occupants hatched inside.
About a hundred Cuban tanks
and twice that much
enemy armoured cars,
stand lifeless in the African bush.
The battle scene is a graveyard
and my Ratel tank destroyer drives past,
to cross the Lomba river.
Before nightfall I fight
the darkness of my soul
and struggle with God
and to this day,
still no one can answer why.
[References: => Ratel tank destroyer=>Ratel ZT-3 (the anti-tank guided missile version) . Reference are given here to the “battle for Africa, ” fought by 61 South African mechanized battalion group and 32 South African battalion group against four brigades of the Soviet-led FAPLA forces (the 47th,59th,16th and 21st brigades) in Angola in August 1987.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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It's The Africa In Me!
It’s the Africa in me
that loves the forest in which I wake,
that sees and hears its fauna and flora
and revels in their names.
It’s the Africa in me
that you hear in my spirited conversation,
that shakes my shoulders as I sob my sorrows
or laugh my insides, inside-out.
It’s the Africa in me
that keeps me reading poetry deep into the night
and causes me to stroke the sinuous muscles
of my striped, domestic cat
and kiss the muzzle of my gently nickering horse.
It’s the Africa in me
that has taught me how to love
and patches up the fragments of my soul
after each and every disaster
and renews my zeal and increases my understanding
in preparation for the next onslaught.
It’s the Africa in me
that has carried me
from my first baby breath
and will support me to my very last.
it will let me eat with my bare hands
and save my energy from the strugle with folks
I am truly a child born of Africa.
for the African in me will llow me to stop,
and salute a stranger in a far away country..
it will let me host a stranger who has lost its way.
the African in me tought me to be friendly....
I belong to Africa!
I am The Son of the pregnant Land
where summer never ends!
poem by Redscar McOdindo K'Oyuga
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Paradise Lost
Paradise Lost
The grass is tall now a cat with a dormouse in its
mouth is watching me, not quite an African lion
as seen on a BBC, nature program
I may go to Africa in May, Congo, might not see
an elephant or a gorilla but I’m sure to find a war
somewhere in the forest, near a diamond mine.
Here, where I live, I can take off my shoes and
walk barefoot in the grass, but my feet have been
encased in shoes so long they are European now.
So am I an African? No not now, but I used to be
in an earlier life, that’s why I call Africa my home
and tend to idolize and over romanticise the place.
Portugal is a god country to live in and it is closer to
my home than, say, Sweden is, and when the south
easterly blows dust in my nose smells of Serengeti
The man on the green tractor coming, my way used
to live in Angola but had to leave, but Africa never
left him, that’s why his has a wistful smile.
The Portuguese who had to leave Africa years ago
ache for their lost love, they wear the heavy cape
of melancholy and speak of returning… one day.
A picture 1912, a woman dark sits in a courtyard
She is painting her toe nails, looks up and smile
I knew her well she used to be wife.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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An elegy for South Africa
Weep South Africa
as you are no longer my country
and I live here
as if I am
from another planet
as part of a small minority
in a country where dark Africa
declares murderers as heroes
and act like barbarians
and dance and scream.
At a time the orange, white and blue
streamed proud over you
and people at work,
school to parliament
bended their knees to God
who was their supreme leader
right through hordes
at blood river,
the onslaught of the British Empire
and with God on our side
we would quarter
for nobody and nothing.
Our own culture flowered,
children went through schools
right through university
to distinguish themselves
and you could even leave the doors unlocked,
could make a living somewhere,
the police were a servant and a friend
and we under our own rule.
How many times our ancestors
tried to teach other people of God,
distributed medicine and food
and we even faced
the communists and Cubans in Angola,
till on a day a man
for the wide world a hero,
out of our own ranks betrayed his brothers
and he laid the whole country lame
and didn’t sell it out,
but rather gave it away.
Today incompetents are everywhere in control
of state departments
right through into the parliament,
money is squandered,
a whole generation
through their own choosing
did not receive any school education,
whites are affirmed and impoverished by the law
and criminals and foreigners stream in
from all over Africa
to start a new life here.
Today another Afrikaner son is slaughtered
(one of more than three thousand) ,
what happens tomorrow and the next day?
[Reference: Murder on Eugene Terreblance. General condition in the country.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Am An African
I am an African
I was born in Africa
Suckled mother Africa breast
I am beauty Africa
I stand under blue skies
Over drastic mountains
To behold vibrant countries
And feel at home
I bow down to salute heroes
Died on struggle
Striving Africa liberation
Development and capacity
Hail Africa
You are our mother
Feeding us with prosperity
Anointing us with acceptance
Africa is my mother
She will never fade
Gloom or cease
I am an African
poem by Poppie Mira
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Oh It Is Africa
Oh it is Africa
Oh Africa it is my mother land
land of milk and honey
land of natural beauty
Oh Africa land is where i live
Oh Africa is
A land blessed by God himself
On the day of creation
God threw diamond like stone
gold like rain
He dropped crude oil like rain
Oh Africa
land of milk and honey
Oh Africa
Guns and bombs, tears and mud
Luxury limos race through blood
But bound by debt to hopelessness
poem by Lizzie Davis
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Africa's Praying
Let justice shield us
Yes indeed, be our defense
In this land
In Africa
Let there be a rain of blessing
Yes indeed, abundance in our store house
In this nation
In Africa
Heal our land, give us a cure
Unveil our vision
In this land
In Africa
Forgive us our debts
We are born debtors
In this land
In Africa
We will always remember your praise
When we walk in liberty
Oh Thou our God
In Africa
Let us lead again, with treasures
As in the days of old
This land
In Africa
We pray thee of highest heavens
We ascribe you all the greatness
We in this land
In Africa
poem by charles K wanjohi
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Now that time flies past
Now that time flies past
this will be seen
as Afrikaner history
and people will say
that it is past
but we know
he was jailed
like a criminal,
was later Prime Minister
and then President
(and it’s not Nelson Mandela
that I am talking about)
this man was a true Afrikaner
and seen by some
as a patriot
Maybe planted bombs
to blow up railway lines
and held a gun in his hand,
seen at a time
by white people
as a terrorist
and was jailed for it
but wasn’t a killer
like the terrorists of today
and later
he could take
the Big Black Book
in his hand
and on it make a solemn oath
before the Lord
and try to keep his promise,
until the big crocodile
snapped him in two
and walked into his shoes
and the total onslaught came
and eland armoured cars, later ratels,
artillery and rocket launching lorries
stood in Angola
to hit the communists
into pieces.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Dark Continent
'Africa my beginning, Africa my end. I was born here and I will die here'
Africa you bear my hopes and fears
Poverty, famine, crime and AIDS are words which plague Mother Africa's name
These demons bring me shame
While people try to make Africa better, a few let the hardship overpower them
Shame on them
They give up hope and go about their knavish ways
Even though there's hope on the horizon, be that as it may
They continue to destroy what little Mother Africa has
Africa is no longer what she was
'Mother Africa is weeping'
Yet a new dawn may be creeping
Mother Africa and her children are beautiful, they know their place in nature
Even though hardship may corrupt good nature
In the name of ALL that is good, I hope Africa will rise one day
And we'll stop the suffering before she frays
The words upon a famous poet, I hear
'Africa my beginning, Africa my end. I was born here and I will die here'
poem by Mthoko Mpofana
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I love Africa in general South Africa and West Africa, they are both great countries.
quote by Paris Hilton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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