Have I got to close the books?
No bad weather,
murderous natives
or even the British Empire
could stop our ancestors
to make a place
their own
at the southern end
of Africa.
Till on a day
some strange people rule
that has no concept
of that which is high and holy,
and tread every thing
with time into ruins
and believe that things are better
while criminals are stealing cars,
robbing banks, murdering people
and steal just where they can
and deceivers sit in parliament
and work are reserved
for only some.
Have I now also
got to close the books,
and leave the country forever
and climb on a jet plane
and make another place
with foreigners
my own
to have a life again?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
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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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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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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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
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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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I dream of...
I dream of a place up above called heaven
I dream of a place where I can rest forever
Where I can be with my family as a kid
Caring about nothing but mom's kiss
And dad's hug
Where I can be the tomboy, spending time with my adorable brothers
I dream of leaving this world peacefully
Forgiven by god and secondly by people
I dream of a reputation that would nourish life after I'm gone
I dream of millions of people coming to my funeral
I dream of an imaginary world emptied of hatred and estrangement
I dream of a windy weather, cold yet does not make me cough
I dream of a time when I can laugh non stop with the people I love the most without having a tragedy later that would make me regret
I dream of a time when I finally settle down somewhere comfortable 100% sure I will never leave
Please god, these are my dreams for once and for all
These all I wish for
If i had one reason to stay,
It would be to obey
And here I am asking for your forgiveness,
And asking you to take my soul whenever you think I'm ready
poem by Zubaida Boland
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There are people
There are people
that claims the street as their own
and stand
at parking places on the sidewalk
and do no work
but to look after cars.
If you park there
and ignore them
and do not
want to use their services
you immediately
become a racist in their eyes
and they will make a scene,
threaten to damage your car,
or make sure that it’s stolen
or so they tell you
since they believe
that you owe them something.
Some spray soapy water
without invitation
on the front window
of your car
when you stop
at a traffic light
and wipe it off
demanding a price.
I wonder why the education
is still lacking
since they have already
got their liberation
and just as odd
these people are ignored
by their compatriots in government
as if they do not exist,
while the country
falls slowly
but surely to pieces.
There are people
that claims the possessions
of others as their own
and at night
prowl around in the streets
shooting, stabbing
and robbing
and estranging people
from their cars.
l’Envoi
Still I wonder where
the problem lies
and would really like
both of my cars back
and I do not know
about white people
that sneak around
in black neighbourhoods at night,
hijack cars,
brake windows
and demand possessions
with loaded guns.
All that they do,
is try to make a living
or hurry away in their leaving.
{Reference: “First liberation, then education.” Political slogan of the ruling party.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Christmas in Africa
Christmas in Africa
under a Southern sky
On an evening warm
we all recall
A tiny infant's sigh.
Christmas in Africa
under a Southern sky
Where people rejoice
with heart and voice
In a wondrous lullaby.
Chorus:
Woza moya oyingcwele (Come Holy Spirit)
Al-le-lui-ui-ia.
Christmas in Africa
under a Southern sky
Where mountain mist
meets the seaside kissed
And a penguin waddles by.
Christmas in Africa
under a Southern sky
Where the bush pig roams
far away from home
And a sunbird sings on high.
poem by Margaret Kollmer
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In Democracy People Are Supreme
In democracy people are supreme
People elected their representatives
And sent to parliament to make laws
On behalf of them.
To make democracy a success
Endemic protest is necessary
To make the representatives in order
They should cautioned.
People are the soul of parliament
Parliament can change but not people
People are the root parliament is foot.
Come to the people O parliamentarian
O representatives of people
People are your master
You are there in different posts to
Serve the people and to do all welfare works.
Democratic institutions are for the people
Without people the state is a big zero
In democracy people are supreme
Do not handle the people in whim.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Pretoria (in answer to Mongale Serote)
You are like a father to me,
and probably I will not find
a more honourable father
than that which I have in you
where you stand strong, with well-planned streets,
great learning at your schools and universities
filled with churches, with God loving people
with a holy place
on the hill, commemorating the struggle
of a nation, against nature,
against savage human beings
and even the British Empire
and the salvation by the hand
of the almighty God
and with the statue
of fearless uncle Paul Kruger
still facing north.
My military service and my second job
and most of my employment
was knotted to you
and you determined my destiny
in the halls of government
and now father, you frighten me
with syndicates of foreign criminals,
making you their domain,
with drugs and prostitution
offered on your streets
and you wear expressions that brings fear
and threat to me,
being driven from my job
by new laws,
where through affirmative action
you see other people as your own,
even black foreigners from other lands
and now to you I am nonexistent
and now I have left you, have gone from you
to try and make a living
and yet like all father’s
I cannot replace you
and long to be at your side.
[Reference: Alexandra by Mongale Serote.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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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
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Don't Say You Love Me
(Don't say you love me)
(Strange things that make me die)
(Don't say you love me)
(Strange things that make me die)
I don't belong I'm still around won't steal you like a radio
I'm still around I won't be long gonna treat you like an angel
But don't say you love me
Strange things that make me die
Dance 'till we're high you're shy
Don't say you'll cry
I told you lies I'm still around won't steal your act my angel
I won't be long it's still your round or serialize the radio
But don't say you love me
Strange things that make me die
Dance 'till we're high you're shy
Don't say (don't say) you'll cry
(What do you say?)
(What do you say?)
Don't go on I see your eyes I screw you around my angel
You're still my love it's in your eyes our song is on the radio
But don't say you love me (what do you say?)
Strange things that make me die
Dance 'till we're high you're shy
Don't say you'll cry
Don't say you love me
Don't say you'll cry I'm high
Don't say you'll cry
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Illegal aliens
Some people call them refugees,
but to me they are illegal aliens.
The gates from Africa
lies wide open
and they cross illegally
during the day
and in the darkness of night.
It is a interesting thing
that they stream south
as if they can not make a living
in their own countries.
They brave the wild beasts
of the Kruger National park
and old and young
men and women and children
flock from everywhere in Africa
to a land with some prosperity.
They cross a unpatrolled
and unprotected border
by day and night.
and come on foot
and in any way
that they can.
Some employers
take them at a cut throat rate
and Nigerian criminals sell drugs
on the streets
and at street corners
foreign aliens beg,
and women sell themselves
and some foreigners
rape, steal and kill.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Where and when does freedom really come?
I am just a normal guy
who wants to make a living
and I went to university to study
but what is the value of it now?
My country has been given away
and Afrikaner businessmen go along pliable,
with suppressing laws
as if they are not in the highest positions.
Still I have got to pay tax
and my people are brutally murdered
on farmsteads and in the cities,
and even from before Dingaan
it is the story of this country.
of striking at, plundering and robbing
and of piercing, cleaving people open
as if taking, robbing and murder
has been generally adopted by some
from ages past
as if corruption and misdeeds are permitted
and I wonder how to stay in a country
where you work yourself to a standstill
for what belongs to you
which others later want to claim as their own
and where and when does freedom really come?
poem by Gert Strydom
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The state of the nation (in answer to T.T. Cloete and Clinton V. du Plessis)
The country have got too many people
that fancies themselves but really know nothing,
being in possession of jobs as if they belong there
without any comprehension how to do the work
while employers come in line with affirmative action.
The country have got too many
political leaders who are corrupt
that wants to tread on others as if they are elephant
or want to rip apart, want to slice others into pieces
with too many women
surrounding them like heroes
while they are supplanting others.
There are too many people
that takes that which belongs to others
with force, trying to steal the lives of others
while they play as if it is a computer game
killing farmers on farms, taking the right to existence
and humanity from others.
There are too many people only living for themselves,
trampling others around them
to get somewhere in life
who drive others out of their way,
who will do anything to earn more.
Too few people are still in love and love each other,
know how to protect
the sanctity of the marriage
and in vain lays the blame
with each and every beautiful escort
while the rotting
is already in their own hearts.
There are too many people
streaming in from other countries
with a dream to live here
while there is too little work
for the people that are here
and oppression is in place
over the jobs that exist
as if you want to go back
into the years of racism.
[References: Behoefte aan ongunstige weers- en ander omstandighede (Need for unfavourable weather – and other circumstances) by T.T. Cloete. tussentydse verslag (interim report) by Clinton V. Du Plessis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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There Is Far Too Much Disintegration (In Answer To T.T. Cloete)
There is far too much disintegration,
ruination
that now occurs in our country
and much too scared
for the killing, raping and crime
we search for accessibility
to a place to also make a own life
while our humanity is being lost somewhere.
Far too many people being begrudged
the right of making a life while other stream in,
as foreigners who get citizenship,
while they are able to begin their lives,
while criminals reign supreme,
own gain
eats like a cancer on the government,
while we have to forget the better times.
Still we do believe in an almighty God
that holds His hand
over the destiny of nations, leaders;
in pain and mourning,
in suppression that circles out wider,
we still stay trusting
that a much better day still has got to come
and lie all of our cares only on Him.
poem by Gert Strydom
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When People Ask Me Where I Come From
I am just a peasant fellow without pretension to renown
But in some ways I feel lucky I was raised near Millstreet Town
And if anybody ask me where are you from anyway?
I tell them I come from Millstreet from a place called Claraghatlea.
Claraghatlea that sounds a strange name and where the hecks might Millstreet be?
I tell them a Town in North Cork inland distant from the sea
In green and fertile Duhallow with high mountains all around
Where you can view the finest scenery when you climb the higher ground.
Of Millstreet you paint a good picture but how do it compare to here?
We only read of wet Ireland where the skies are seldom clear
Not much point in pretty scenery if the weather's seldom fine
Give me Queensland and warm weather, golden beaches and sunshine.
With them I don't try to argue each to their own point of view
And what they read of Irish weather in some ways is partly true
But I have often been to Queensland and thought the climate hot and dry
And even in cooler Victoria risk of skin cancer is high.
When people ask me where I come from my heritage I don't deny
I tell them I come from Millstreet twelve thousand miles north as plane fly
Winter months were wet and frosty and in Spring some heavy showers
But from May onwards so much beauty, fields and gardens full of flowers.
It is Spring now in Victoria and today is such a pleasant day
And the grey shrike thrush is whistling in the wood across the way
it is almost perfect weather a high of twenty degrees
And the nestling birds are chirping in their nests high on the trees.
Wish today could last forever but wishing cannot make it be
In the Summer temperatures soar to a high of forty three
And this a cool part of Australia further north it's hot all year
And to some parts rain is a stranger and the drought can hit severe.
When people ask me where I come from west of Millstreet Town I say
In green and fertile Duhallow in a place called Claraghatlea
This Claraghatlea sounds such a strange name and where the hecks might Millstreet be?
I tell them by Clara mountain inland distant from the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Now that you want to go away
For generations blood flowed,
and my ancestors fought
for this country to be their own
and it was asked from me
to carry a machinegun.
Still my country was given away
and opportunities with it
and what belongs to me,
robbers claim as their own
without the police trying to stop them.
My friends have left and gone into the world
and are far away from me
that still stays in South Africa
and now you my darling
also want to go away
to another place
that looks much better to you.
Maybe it will be much better
to read the newspaper somewhere else,
to paint brush strokes,
to compose music
and to play the piano and guitar
and to say your thoughts in poems
at another place,
but is it asking too much
that merit prevail for everyone
and to have my country back again?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Nation awakes
Total seizure and encroachment of human rights
Without shedding blood or offering fights
Easy walk over under the disguise
Of parliament supremacy and voter’s franchise
Once a leader always a leader
Public failed to read them as reader
All laws and rules meant for public
That has been impetrated as republic
Murderers and mafias can attack at will
Parliament is refuge for thieves to kill
Two birds with one stones
Protection on one side and seat as throne
Without shedding blood or offering fights
Easy walk over under the disguise
Of parliament supremacy and voter’s franchise
Weak judiciary amounting delay in justice
Kept strength at low and not fulfilling the promises
Natural wealth is stolen in day light
Where are the human rights activists to fight?
Beggars rule the national front
Daily corruption comes to light and confront
Right minded people think about real democracy
Who has the real power in hand with supremacy?
Can we not recall people’s representatives?
Can we not decide the fate of natives?
Why wolves are allowed free roam in the streets?
Why can we not amend the rules for expectations to meet?
It is firm resolve not to allow total eclipse
It will meet stiff resistance and response
No one can take it granted where people rule
Not a single or powerful man must try to make them fool
It is awareness and aspirations
Where so many things pose questions
Nation can not progress with empty belly
All measures may stand useless and silly
Poor must find place and say
They can’t be denied rights and pushed away
Entire nation may burn
And turn in rubbles and ruins
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Sonnet: Let People Have Their Evil Ways, Not I
Let people say whatever they may say;
Let people spread rumors, white lies of me;
Let people sin whether by night or day;
I want to tread God’s way most righteously!
Let people laugh a hearty laugh of scorn;
Let people mock and ridicule my ways;
Let people live by stealing others’ corn;
I want to spend most truthfully my days.
Let people live in vices if they wish;
Let people commit mortal sin each time;
Let people hate others and them ravish;
I want to make my life always sublime.
Let people lose their chance of seeing God;
By accident too, I shan’t Him defraud.
poem by John Celes
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