As Previously Advantaged, Now Disadvantaged
we are humbly sorry that our ancestors
sailed with ships from Europe
to discover other continents,
putting their intelligence and advanced
technology into good practice,
discovering the Cape of Good Hope
and developing this country
to the best of their ability and knowledge
while your ancestors migrated from the big lakes
in central Africa, under chief Dlamini
from eMbo killing the other local inhabitants
as far as they were going,
even wiping them out after they had settled.
We are humbly sorry that our ancestors
took you from the bush, tried to teach you
Christian values and a Christian religion,
instead of worshiping to ancestral spirits,
dead stones of which you believe the silence
have greater meaning and more depth
than any other teachings,
tried to teach you to earn a living
by planting crops, maintaining and herding cattle
instead of pillaging, robbing and killing others,
instead of trapping, killing animals,
with sticks, stones and iron spears.
We are humbly sorry that our ancestors
took the wild bush as pioneers
planned and developed
farms, towns and cities, mines, factories,
the infrastructure that are in them,
developed water resources,
electrical powering and laid railway lines,
developed the roads,
the harbors and airports that link them
to each other and the rest of the wide world,
which you now view as belonging to you,
to at your discretion take over by force
from the people to whom they did belong,
to rob, kill and pillage property
to rename airports, harbors, streets,
towns and cities at your own discretion.
We are humbly sorry that our ancestors
after fighting victoriously against yours
at Blood River and in other wars and battles
respected you as people living in this country,
did not like the Americans and Australians
go out to wipe you out of the country,
administered medicine when your ancestors
where dying form plagues and devastating
spreading illnesses like measles and influenza,
that they fed your ancestors
to try and save a whole nation
when your ancestors destroyed their own crops,
killed all their own cattle at the insistence
of the witch medium Nonqawuse.
We are humbly sorry that our ancestors
tried to teach you to only have as many children
in families, as you can support as parents,
not to breed as many as is possible
to prevent dwelling in shacks, impoverishment,
diseases like cholera spread by urinating and defecating
in drinking water.
We are humbly sorry that our ancestors,
and the terrible Apartheid government
tried to provide you with schools
where you urinated in cans in public,
where you broke all the windows,
where you broke tables, chairs and black boards
which you burnt down to the ground,
preventing yourselves
to get a proper education, where a whole
generation of your youth decided
on first getting liberation and later education
and are not literate at all.
We were happy to have learned discipline,
Christian values, languages, mathematics,
science, geography and any other subjects
and having received canings, for being disobedient,
for doing things wrong, for not studying
and now really prefer the teacher’s union riots at schools,
especially schools where those unions do not belong,
we prefer the wanton destruction of school property,
the chaos in which teachers have got to instruct,
the new curriculum based on human rights,
the spreading of lawlessness among children,
the drawing of swords, knives and guns,
even pairs of scissors to settle issues
the disrespect, the chaos, the pregnancies
of school children, the disowning of religion
at schools, the disowning of culture, language
and well-taught values.
We are humbly sorry that we are experiencing
a secret war in which you are wiping out our families
one by one, in which thousands of white people
have already perished,
we are humbly sorry that we hear the current government
is singing inciting songs, that advises their followers
to kill us, to shoot us,
we are humbly sorry
that the robberies, affirmative action, raping,
torture and murder of our friends
and our family members
prevents us from not being bitter,
proof to us your inhumanity,
that you are secretly hiding behind
the ancient rights of pillage,
that you are openly hiding
behind human rights,
while smiling in pleasure.
We have all the reason in the world
to trust the new government
as none of its members
were previously involved in bombings,
terrorist attacks in churches,
murders, setting alive people on fire,
corruption or other financial irregularities.
We are humbly sorry that we have no trust
in the South African Police Service,
or any of its officers,
who walk us out of the way with sub-machineguns,
in shopping malls,
who search us and take our cellular phones
when we receive calls at public roadblocks,
who do not find our stolen property,
or our stolen cars,
who admit quite openly
that they are inadequate to fight crime
and have lost that fight,
while they just carrying on
as if they are really interested in doing their duty,
who do not control rioters
damaging innocent individuals or property,
who do not have a vehicle available
in a real emergency,
but arrive with five vehicles
when there’s a family incident
or where a child falsely
accuses the parent of sexual battery.
We are humbly sorry that the members
of our national teams
are not selected on merit,
but on color,
that winning and patriotism is not important,
to the citizens of this country
or to the sponsors who pay the bills.
We are humbly sorry that jobs
are not determined on merit,
education, experience but by
affirmative action, that you
have flung the borders open wide
to citizens of all countries in Africa,
illegal immigrants from all
of the African countries
which are huge economic powerhouses,
are streaming here in a new migration
after kicking out the white settlers,
are becoming citizens over night.
We are humbly sorry that
that universities, hospitals, water cleaning facilities,
roads, railroads and electricity supplying facilities
are going slowly but surely into ruination
as you are preventing skilled white persons
from running these facilities,
have driven a lot away to work
in foreign countries
where there skills are really needed.
We are humbly sorry that we
do not believe in ancestral spirits,
any kind of witchcraft, urinating on trees,
on buildings, at street corners,
spitting anywhere, slaughtering live
cattle and bulls for sacrifices
in our back yards
or on our properties in town,
virginity testing, circumcision,
cures from seawater, beetroot or garlic
and any other barbaric practices
like trading for or buying
the woman that you want to marry.
This clearly state that we
come from quite another world,
than yours and that our world
which is in the whole
of the civilized western society
is inadequate against yours,
that we are truly sorry that we are not up
to being indoctrinated into your
primitive culture, way of life,
life expectancy, values and religion,
that this country will never
rise to its full potential.
I as a poet am truly sorry
that this might be the last poem
that I publish against the current government,
as from tomorrow freedom of speech may be gone
and I might be arrested for these words,
as any government that suppresses human rights,
have things to hide from its own citizens
and from the wide world.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
When times are bad
When times are bad
and I am with my hands in my hair
and black foreigners from all over Africa
overnight becomes citizens
and have more rights as a citizen than me
and affirmative action
puts her claws into my life
then I wonder about justice
and when merit and experience
will ever again apply
where my ancestors Joost Strydom
from Liefenshoek in the Netherlands
as a merchant seaman of the VOC
in 1678 came to Cape Town,
married his pretty well know wife
Maryna Ras who with a horse
could alone ride days long to Cape Town
with whom noblemen tried to have relationships,
where the indigenous zulu-xhosa-pondo-swazi people
are originating from a group
that during the same time
immigrated far away out of the north
from eMbo at the big lakes in central Africa
under the leadership of Nguni and later Dlamini
and then I wonder how
this country rather belongs to them
and they have to have work opportunities before me
and if you now say anything
about the new migration out of the whole of Africa
for which the country’s borders are now wide open
(in such a way that South Africans
must now get visas for Great Britain)
you are seen as xenophobic
and then there are citizens from right over Africa
who become South Africans overnight
attaining more rights than you
who forced by law
get secure job opportunities
and do people from Mozambique murder
Eugene Terreblance,
drug dealers from Nigeria
are caught by the local police
while against your will
you were forced into an army, into a war
still faithfully pay your taxes
when and where you have a job
and the current government
tries to stay in power
while Aids devours its voter numbers
and you as a white man
are despised by the current regime,
are treaded into the ground
while the country are falling to pieces
and then you pray
to Him (the God of the universe) who controls everything
to drastically intervene
rather than rousing people
for a civil war.
[Reference: VOC Verenigde Oost Indiëse companje.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The exiles
As an exile I live
in a country that despises me,
despises my whole nation, our language,
the colour of our skin
where the president
has opened the doors wide
to all of Africa,
and citizens from other countries
are more welcome here than us
but even if he tries
to drive me and my people
into the sea, as immigrants
right into the wide world,
like my ancestors
I have sprouted from this very earth
and there’s no other place
where I can make a living,
no other place that calls me
with the same intensity
and although work is being reserved
by the colour of skin
and my patience is running very thin
and I struggle to survive
in the situation that I am in
no highfalutin balderdash
of this country only belonging
to those who are black
is going to break my people or me
and still we trust God,
to change circumstances,
to change the mindset op people,
and if not to conquer and destroy
to make this country a place
in which all its citizens
have the opportunity
to make a living
and to be free in speech,
in dignity, in association,
in religious beliefs,
to live a life
according to your own culture and values.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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You Tell Me Of Your Australian History
You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.
The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.
Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.
I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.
You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told
poem by Francis Duggan
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The true view of my country: Swaziland
The true colors of my country
The true Swaziland
The true view of my country
How long have you been deceived?
How long have you received
How long have you conceived
Deceived of a peaceful country
Received about a democratic country
Conceived a developing country
This then is melody of the true Swaziland
A voice of the real Swaziland
A roar of the future of Swaziland
Around the cities of Manzini
Around the mountains of Mdzimba
Around the rivers of Shiselweni
Around the deserts of Lavumisa
You shall find the poor Swazis
You shall find the poor schools
You shall find the starving Swazis
You shall find the dying Swazis
Around the cities of Africa
Around the cities of Europe
Around the hospitals of South Africa
You shall find children of the leaders of Swaziland
You shall find brothers of the leader of Swaziland
For our education is less valued
For our hospitals are critical
For our salaries are drops
For our lives are miserable
Why my country
Why Swaziland
Houses of the leaders are a paradise
Our homesteads are falling mud and sticks
Their cars are glittering engines
Our cars were God given, ever barefooted
Food beyond measure is theirs
We rely on donations; see our water sources, fields and work places
The true image of my country
They call themselves members of parliament
Warming the chairs with not effective policies
Swazis have turned to misinterpret the duties of members of parliament
They are elected to donate food for them
Why my country
Why Swaziland.
Listen as I throw a true picture of my country
Hearken to my joyful tidings
We lead the world in HIV prevalence
We lead the world in violation of human rights
We lead the world in degrading of freedom of expression
My country is not white in color
My country is painted white
Swaziland is a dark black country
But so colorful
Colored white
Our voices are not heard in Africa
Our tears are not seen across the world
Our feelings are not noted in Africa
Our funerals are not counted in Africa
Our unjust imprisonments are not considered across the world
Are we in a different plant?
Is this Pluto
To Africa I sing this song
To the world I throw these words
We need a better Swaziland
We need a better country
A free Swaziland
A living, not leaving Swaziland
A true picture of my country
My country
poem by Alex Lushaba
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not with a machinegun, but with a pen (in answer to Breyten Breytenbach)
Not with a machinegun, but with a pen
I write this prayer
since Your might is greater than any weapon:
What am I able to tell You, Jesus Christ,
almighty Creator, God and upper Lord,
I who are only an Afrikaner in my forties,
since You know every thing, even before it happens
and there’s nothing that I can teach You.
How my country was taken away
by people who pray to ancestral spirits
(who probably are demons) ,
that a man with more than one wife
sit in the highest chair,
that I still pay taxes
when and where I have a job
and that it is difficult times
and work is very scarce
for a white man.
Would I have to tell about a government
that sings give me my machinegun
and a bullet for a Boer
and kill the farmer,
kill the white
as You know every thing.
That my people were disarmed
by the government
and by barbarians
are hacked into pieces
with panga-blades and axes
like you were sacrificed
and even in death
they are humiliated
by pulling their pants down
like You had to hang naked on the cross,
that women are raped
as if every white woman
is a sex slave
belonging to the hordes
that they still throw knucklebones
and think that it brings them invincibility
and freedom from blame.
l’Envoi
All that I am really asking
is that all of these deeds
and the things that they do, say and sing
go into the cup of Your wrath
and please help
my people and me
to serve You better
that the wide world
(like with our ancestors)
can see Your might and salvation.
[References: nie met die pen nie maar met die masjiengeweer by Breyten Breytenbach. Murder on Eugene Terreblance. Murder and violence on white people.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Submission (in answer to Don Mattera)
I have seen a white old man and woman
turned onto the street,
living in cardboard boxes
with their small white dog
in the new disastrous improved South Africa,
I have seen white people taking their own lives
when black mine owners robbed them of salaries
and there was no job to get,
no living to be made
and they did this
instead of starting to beg.
I have seen white men and women
with university degrees
leaving the country
in numbers that are more than a million
to find a place to have a life
somewhere else in a foreign country,
I have waited for more than a hour queuing
at a local bank to make a cash deposit,
as a payment to someone
and the way that things are going,
with the black economic empowerment
and people not up to doing a simple job,
soon all of private industry
will be falling apart
as the government departments are doing.
I have noticed friends and family members
who were robbed, hijacked in their vehicles,
raped, tortured and killed
while the South African Police
did their very best to make a arrest
and like in all other things
are not up to it.
I know people who live in despair,
who are totally without hope
while the country’s borders
are flung wide open
to the rest of Africa
to first have a chance at a job
and their degrees and experience
in the face of this means nothing
but not one does bend
under the black heel to submission,
at the mercy of God
their lives go on…
[Reference: “Submission” by Don Mattera.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Child Is Still Alive
(in answer to Ingrid Jonker)
The child is still alive,
his spirit nobody can extinguish,
the small fists of the child hits on its mother's back
where she is carrying him
and out of control the child is crying
when his mother screams Africa and amandla
or like a Voortrekker woman with bare feet
try to find a way in the veldt to wild fruits
with snot that runs from his nose over his cheeks
where paper thin dogs run away scared
and a murderous crowd walks in the street,
but the child's voice
is swallowed by the roar of the crowd.
The whole country is degenerating
with cities becoming hovels overnight,
in anger the child lifts his fists against his father,
throws bricks and stones that fall like hail
and his father is without a job,
while people stream in from other countries
to fill all the vacant positions
and people walk in mass riots
while they scream Africa and amandla,
the child has a blown up stomach and is emaciated
and smells of human refuse.
The child is still alive,
his spirit nobody can extinguish,
not in Soweto, or at Thembisa, or in Sunnyside
or Hillbrow or wherever,
everywhere his toddler sister is raped
to rescue barbaric adult males
from AIDS,
or for the medicine of witchdoctors
she is cut apart
and however the child is suffering
he still is alive.
The child is still alive,
his spirit nobody can extinguish,
and he grows rebellious
while education degenerates
to human rights and politics
where knowledge, own values
and religion is been unlearned
and the child realises
that he will have no kind of future.
The child hides in the shadows,
notices the civil service
see how these people act fraudulently,
how they steal from the entire country,
even in the highest councils
where suppressing laws are being passed;
the child is unseen but present
and he notices how people are being bribed,
how everyone is living for his or her own gain,
the child peeps through bus windows,
through the windows of shacks in slums
and he wonders when it will be safe again
to play carefree outside,
to feel the sun on his skin?
Each opportunity and even his freedom
is being stolen from him time after time
and cursing whores are on the street,
drug lords from Nigeria,
thieves and killers from Zimbabwe
that gather everywhere in small groups
and strangers steal opportunities
as if they belong to them.
The child that wanted to feel the sun on his skin
in due time grows to be a man,
and decide to forget his father and his ancestors,
to forget about their corruption,
has great zeal for a new place,
(somewhere on this continent of Africa)
where everybody careless and free
can lead a own life
and he moves from place to place
where he tells everybody about his ideology
until his followers grow to gigantic numbers
and continually everyone is searching for some answers,
while no starvation, robbery, murder and illnesses
does devour Africa.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Crowds of Xhosas gathered at the pool
At the Gxara River in the Transkei
a pool between some trees and flowering plants
is linked with one of the most emotional
and painful stories in history.
At the pool a young medium named Nonqawuse
spoke with the ancestral spirits
while bathing and looked into the water
seeing their faces.
They promised to drive the white man away,
provided that the Xhosa nation
would destroy all their own cattle and crops.
The Xhosas were disturbed by news
of this revelation
and travelled from near and far
to speak to her
and her witchdoctor uncle Mhlakaza.
Crowds of Xhosas gathered at the pool
with its red flowering aloes
peering into the water,
with a lot claiming to see
the faces of their ancestors there.
Some people even claimed
to see whole armies of ancestors
eager for war against the white man
and only waiting on the Xhosa people
to follow their instructions.
Then the insane instructions was followed through
with cattle being slaughtered
and most of the crops being destroyed
and only the very small Ngqika
section of the tribe not adhering to it.
The majority of Xhosas
waited in vain on 18 February 1857
for the sun to rise blood red,
the land to be filled with fat cattle,
new crops to appear
and vast armies of spirits
to go out in battle
against the white man.
It was a tragic dawn
with the Xhosa nation facing starvation
and ironically the Xhosas survived only
through the white man
reacheding out a hand of friendship
and feeding them
and by the compassion
of some neighbouring tribes
who had been oppressed by them before
and it’s estimated
that some twenty five thousand people
did die from this tragedy.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Notes About The Situation In Our Country
(in answer to Johan Steyn)
I. In the times that we live
In the times that we live
darkness sometimes gets the upper hand,
with tragic things happing in this country
while we still strive for a better place
we go into a life
where innocence is missing and we are off guard
stripped from opportunities and halfway beached
where we have to live in the bustle
where people are killed, tortured and robbed,
where the ruling party is singing inciting songs,
where we cannot decide on a plan of action
and even being humane is curtailed
while the harsh reality penetrates
that alone we cannot stop the overwhelming enemies.
II. During the night we hide in yards that are wired with electricity
During the night we hide in yards that are wired with electricity,
behind walls and steel palisades,
taking notice of the neighbourhood,
making daily adjustments to our lives
and when car hijackers strike at us on the road
we pray and hope to survive,
we let them just go on
while we are dumfounded by fear
and some of our family members and friends are tortured to death,
are raped and robbed while the police cannot stop these crimes,
but we encourage each other and tell one another
that every thing is all right and things are totally out of control,
but Satanists behead people
and there are criminals walk away from raping children.
III. People of our friends and family with qualifications are without work
People of our friends and family with qualifications are without work,
while it is now almost impossible to find something,
with jobs being restricted to black people by affirmative action
and so time passes, years pass
while impoverishment sneak in among white people,
with people begging and looking after cars on the street,
with hundreds of uneducated people getting jobs
and somewhere everything honourable
has been lost with time
while misfortune and decline is appearing everywhere,
we hear about the wretched lives of others,
people come with a confession
that life has caught them off guard,
with their existence only hanging on a thin thread.
IV. When we laugh it only hides bitterness
When we laugh it only hides bitterness
the blue sky, flowers in our gardens pass us,
we hear of some more Afrikaners dying on farms
and in towns and slowly but certainly the destruction spreads.
Out of despair husbands kill their whole families and themselves
(shot after shot resounds)
from them who still have firearms,
after the new laws.
The black government is afraid, that we will resist them
and arrests people left, right and centre
who they see as terrorists
and hold them forever and a day
while the planters of bombs
sit blessed in parliament.
V. There are some people that lay their hands on liquor
There are some people that lay their hands on liquor
and live as if everything is just for today,
they fornicate with the wives of others,
trampling their own people into the ground,
walk over each other to get somewhere in life
or to chase after money
and we live in times of great darkness
where love for the fellow man, awe and respect are missing
where children bear false witness against their parents,
(when they themselves do criminal deeds) ,
turning against their own culture, people and even religion,
using drugs, are fornicating while at school
and overnight our world has changed
to a place where crime and darkness has the upper hand.
VI. Even God is on sale
Even God is on sale
and people jump up and down in churches,
trying to feel the presence of God
in a experience religion
where everyone places his own things in the trolley
as it fits him,
grouping around somewhat in darkness
forgetting to consult the Holy Bible,
Jesus Christ is declared to be only human
and a relationship with him
by some is seen as absurdity
that only people with superstition do
and some wants to trample Satan himself under their shoes
while he is walking free next to them.
VII. Now we wonder from where this decay comes?
Now we wonder form where this decay comes,
while our world suddenly is turned upside down?
With the new government the school structure has been changed,
the cane has disappeared from the classroom, respect has walked out
and religion, the trust in an almighty God,
an own culture, the urge to follow own values,
to speak our own language and to retain a own identity
and the commandments of God has been systematically substituted
by human rights, children’s rights and the following
of a science where humans through theosophy
and new age doctrines are seen as equal to God
where man becomes a god in himself
and now suddenly we see darkness
when the darkness and decay is everywhere.
VIII. We cannot exist in darkness
We cannot exist in darkness,
we have the witness of our fathers, from a time when escape was impossible,
where God in a covenant Himself stood with them
and still everyone is protected by the mighty hand of God,
He draws His laager around everyone that fears Him,
who faithfully keep to the words of His holy word
and still we have got to be brave
in this time where we witness the destruction of our brothers
as God Himself stays true,
His kingdom cannot waver or crumble,
even when the thickest darkness folds around us,
nothing can wheedle us away
from the salvation that God is going to bring,
even if it looks as if darkness is stretching wider and wider.
[Reference: Kanttekeninge by ‘n vers van Brecht (Marginal notes at a verse of Brecht) by Johan Steyn.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Poet's Choice
He was no longer concerned
For people who have chosen
To remain in the bottom and behind
For humbly to them he has spoken
But his words fell on empty ears…
He chose a new path to follow,
Leaving behind a world
Egocentric and full of fears
And decided to move forward,
Straight facing the Sun
Without going blind!
Now feeling secure and strong,
He let his words be carried
By the turbulent wind
Toward new horizons
And over his broken heart,
He built a new mansion
Based on Hope and Faith!
Wisdom embedded on him
Was humbly shared
With the new World
Just discovered
By making the right choice!
poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your name will not carry another meaning for me
Your name will not carry another meaning for me
like people see you in foreign countries,
as a place where people serve criminal kings
and even if they throw the South away and it becomes just Africa
with foreigners streaming in, I do not go out to hurt you,
even if we feel that we deserve a better country.
Your name will not carry another meaning for me
like people see you in foreign countries,
as a place where we have to ask God for help
in injustice, revolt and a loss of national dignity
where white people by force loose their own possessions
because I am born to you like my ancestors, my South Africa.
Your name will not carry another meaning for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maybe I Know My History A Little Bit Better Than You Do (In Answer To Sipho Sepamla)
Maybe I know my history
a little bit better than you do.
My friend, you are talking
about stories being heard
around coal-stoves
concerning animals
and no real facts
are expressed in your poem.
I know when my ancestor Joost Strijdom
arrived in the Cape of Good Hope in May 1678,
that I descend from the lovely brave Maryna Ras,
when your ancestors
were migrating from a place called eMbo
at the big African lakes under
leadership of chief Dlamini
and later under chief Nguni.
I know how my ancestors battled
against wild beasts, fought the zulu-impi
at Blood River
and overcame by the help of
the almighty God
and that I would not have existed
if they died at the hands of the Zulus.
I know how my ancestors build
farms, churches and houses
while yours were living
in thatched grass huts.
I know how my great grandfathers
and one of my grandfathers
was enveloped in a war against the British,
how they survived
and how my great grandmother
died in a British concentration camp.
I have even faced Cubans
under Soviet command
in the largest mechanised battle in Africa,
apart from those in the Second World War
and we had a decisive victory
that is now being denied
while history books are being rewritten
and fiction is creeping in
and maybe the new propaganda, the lies
of the new history suits you far better.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let South Africa be our country again
Let South Africa be our country again
and South Africans from all over the world
stream back,
to dream here like before,
to hope, to wish
of a place
not bordered of by burglar bars
where people can stay free
before God and man.
Let merit and respect be present
and people receive what they deserve
rather than expecting affirmative-action
and mercy from others
and the whole world
and like in the past
let us successfully do our own thing.
Let opportunities really exist
to be free in work,
living and association,
to study in your own language,
let us pull the teeth of the dogs
that rips others apart to rule,
of might that shatters the weak.
Let the animal inside us die
and we really become people
that does not burn each other,
crush and vituperate
and in groups jeering urge the killing on
and do not rob, but work
for the life that we have got.
Let we break the chains
of people ruling
with profit, might
and work people into the ground
and misuse others to gain prosperity.
I am the white Afrikaner that had to fight in war
and now are unemployed and hungry,
while I have a university degree.
I am the black man that without education
have to dig holes and man garbage trucks
and conclude my life in a shack.
I am the coloured that always stand between all groups
and do not know where I belong
and rather gather in gangs.
I am the South African that life
drives down the whole time
and have to pray all the time,
to know how to carry on.
l’Envoi
Still, I am the one that dream
of a country free from crime,
where everybody have equal opportunity,
where rape, corruption
and lawlessness ends
and where South Africa is our country again.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lord Has A Will
I need you lord; in all I do.
Youre always there to see me through.
I cant get by unless I lean on you, lord.
The lord has a will,
And I have a need
To follow that will,
To humbly be still,
To rest in it,
Nest in it,
Fully be blessed in it,
Following my fathers will.
Your love, lord, is in my heart.
You wrote it there; it wont depart.
It lights my way and keeps me out of the dark.
The lord has a will,
And I have a need
To follow that will,
To humbly be still,
To rest in it,
Nest in it,
Fully be blessed in it,
Following my fathers will.
I thank you, lord, your word is sown
Into my life, and there its grown;
Its roots go deep where living waters are known.
The lord has a will,
And I have a need
To follow that will,
To humbly be still,
To rest in it,
Nest in it,
Fully be blessed in it,
Following my fathers will.
The lord has a will,
And I have a need
To follow that will,
To humbly be still,
To rest in it,
Nest in it,
Fully be blessed in it,
Following my fathers will.
To rest in it,
Nest in it,
Fully be blessed in it,
Following my fathers will.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some people are your relatives but others are your ancestors, and you choose the ones you want to have as ancestors. You create yourself out of those values.
quote by Ralph Ellison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Me
Why me? was the question running down my spine Why me? so i asked myself Why me? Why me? my heart was panting for an answer Why me? my brain could not find an answer at last it gave a reasonable one that made a lot of meaning I am left in a lonely world, to make me to reason that this world is not worth living Boko Haram sect became a terror Vampire they became over night sucking human blood at will killing innocent victims with out impunity The people turn to shred, through the bomb blast killing them for nothing No shelter to live for survival No food to eat for the day No water to sustain life in turbulence A country we see without a government When people are wiped out of existence, the government will rule the dust of the earth with a pity The government can only pity those that are dead and buried Their people suffer brain touch, heavy heart, crying eyes with out control They suffer without care from the government Why me? was my question do we call this a government The government that sleeps when the houses are on fire Fire the houses are burnt to black dust and crumbs as we touch it again and again Mend are threatening to carry firearms to fight the government that cannot run state affairs The government is sleeping while her house is on fire My country Nigeria is on fire, sitting on the keg of gun powder blasting in the air and we can do nothing
poem by Olayemi Ayo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crying against the wind
I
I saw boys growing up as
Christians,
learning about God,
being taught at school,
to respect
about discipline,
to stretch the mind
and the boys were young and innocent
and for us there were peace.
We slept with unlocked doors,
the police did their job
to the best of their ability,
but the world changed.
II
I saw the effects
of the terrorist bomb
in church street
that smote the innocent
people in the street
and young and old
men, women
scarred, mutilated, maimed,
and cut into bits and pieces
by shrapnel and the deadly
rain of flying glass.
I saw an academic hospital
filled in every hall,
and the few doctors
and paramedics and sisters and nurses
and accountants, clerks,
and office people
issuing disaster cards
and admitting the living.
III
I saw young boys forced to become
a part of a deadly war machine,
and they were barbered, drilled, cursed
and trained to be the best soldiers,
learning discipline,
the strength found in oneself,
about friendship
and suffering the consequences
of killing humans beings.
I saw young men
playing Russian roulette
and at times
wishing to be dead
and I saw boys
becoming better persons
than they were
and starting to be
true believers
of the almighty One
and others turning
into the worst
kind of human beings
and losing all religion,
Integrity and decency
and the madness of hate
taking its toll
I saw boys going
through dense bush,
living in the field,
tracking and destroying deadly terrorists
as just another day’s work,
driving armed vehicles
and battle tanks,
fighting against great odds
and winning every battle
and the war.
I saw war,
the destruction,
the desolation that it brings,
the suffering of the innocent,
the savage carnage
and dead enemies
in great numbers
and people with shot off
legs and arms.
I saw friends die,
shot to pieces,
toasted by prosperous projectiles,
smashed by mortars
and killed
in most of the ways that war brings
and politicians lying and deposing
each other
and the world changed.
IV
I saw religious fanatics
killing innocent people,
crashing planes into buildings,
getting the war
that they begged for,
dying the death
which they sought
and innocent bystanders
paying the toll
for their deeds
and the world changed.
V
I saw the borders being thrown open
to all of Africa,
criminals streaming in,
selling drugs, running prostitution,
lost two cars
to robbers that the insurance
did not pay
and my best friend
left the country
after a hijacking.
I saw children
smoking marijuana, doing crack cocaine,
injecting themselves with heroine
living like vagrants,
whoring around,
robbing from their parents,
braking into houses,
escaping from rehabilitation,
going to jail,
losing the reasons to live,
desperately trying to get the next fix
and dying from drugs and Aids.
VI
I saw reverse racism
that changed laws,
discrimination,
white people with degrees
and experience without work,
while untrained black people
brought every government department
but the taxman
almost to a standstill
and foreign black aliens from all over Africa
having greater rights
and electricity being cut
and the country was in darkness
and the people lived in poverty
and tatters
while they thought about what they had lost
and nobody was counting the cost
and the oppressed were crying in vain
against the wind
and waiting for the rain
that brings life back again.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Upon The Altar Of My Lord
I offer my words up freely,
upon the altar of my God.
I come to this sacred place freely,
of my own free will to serve to pray.
This ancient sacred place this land,
this holy sacred God given ground;
is where in my humble veneration,
in worship I lay my offering down.
I have nothing more; to humbly offer pray.
I have while materially poor nothing more,
than time of value worth to humbly offer pray;
this is all I have I here in true worship bore,
I offer before my most high my sacred Lord.
Near on thirty years ago, I made this sacred vow,
with my soul heart head, bowed in breath low;
though my flesh remains, be still struggle weak,
this vow before God in worship I honour keep.
I thank my wondrous Lord, who let me humbly come here pray.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I Want To Be A Good Forefather!
Praise be to our forefathers who toiled hard,
On the soaked infested soil to flatten and build,
The dreams of what they thought specifically apt,
to their children of their children to relax and rest.
Visionaries were our ancestors, who have planned,
The neutral policies to benefit the people to thrive,
What thought they needed, that were appropriate,
to have a happy family with money and sweat.
People have luxury as they have had the adventurous ancestors,
People lead prosperous life at the intelligence of their elders,
People have the voice to speak and force others to listen,
As they have had the adaptable forefathers who have the vision.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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