How is possible that dreams here are broken? (in answer to fanie olivier)
How is possible that dreams here are broken,
with life suddenly becoming threatening
with black criminals attacking, sneaking in at doors
and every home is barred like a fortress?
From every alleyway a drug peddler peeps out
or there’s a street whore
that patrols up and down at the corner
and I am just another white Afrikaner
that see my country is falling apart,
I hear shots being fired at the child’s school
where car hijackers suddenly strike
and numerous crimes are being committed
and no crying bird have got to warn me
about the new upside-down existence,
that every strange black man may be a criminal or terrorist
while jobless I worry about bread for my table
and it’s no war zone or the border that I am visiting
but raping robbers strike at the home on the corner
where the police later ineptly
gather with numerous cars.
[Reference: “grensbesoek” (border visit) by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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There’s a black child (in answer to fanie olivier)
There’s a black child
finding his way with goats through the cliffs
and his hair is blown in the wind
while grasses are braiding galloping around his feet.
He knows of the urge to want more,
how to take with force,
to draw his cross on the ballot paper, to say his say
and his feet walk on a dusty road
and in the dark night some of the tribe
gather around the fires, where spears are being melted
leaders armed with rifles arrive, who talk about plundering
torture and murder
and they are laughing as the war is over,
on what their hands fall they can take,
when suddenly they strike
a shaking white woman is raped
and there’s darkness hanging black over the country,
a darkness that no light can pierce,
with black faces smiling
in a circle around the fire.
[Reference: “by ruacana” (at ruacana) by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Art of Border
It could be a shield, it could be a cage
The safety sealant, the tying trap
The filter line, the block wall
Border, border, border
The sacred culture, the love crossing
The moral limit, the emotion frame
The rule control, the life permission
Border, border, border
The friction fight, the freedom cut
The bond mark, the fence crack
The counter side, the edge of touch
Border, border, border
Can you keep it as promise
Can you bridge it by hope
The song from deserted corner
Border, border, border
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The expelled farmer (parody)
(with apologies to fanie olivier)
At five to eleven there is thunder slamming down outside,
the winter chill is already cutting through his body.
Now in the folds of the bed he draws the blanket tightly
and look somewhat clinical at how it is flashing outside.
From above everything is washed neatly clean,
there is darkness covering the blue,
while like last night, he does not trust the peace,
being alone in his double bed.
He remembers how it had been
at the farm near to Pongola,
now with stripped grass, overgrazed, used far too much,
with shabby pineapples and he is fed-up,
has had too much of broken houses and poles,
of the joblessness with which the government
is trampling over white people.
The rain flows while he smells new life,
his county is being run into the ground.
[Reference: “retoer” “return trip” by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Today I am sixteen again
A statue stands at the gate
of the school,
marking a place of distinction
where children get the highest grades
in the country
play rugby, cricket
and golf at international level.
Today I am sixteen again
and have to go home
as the school has been closed
because of intimidation
by union thugs, from a union
to which the teachers here
do not belong.
Five minibus taxis’s stopped
in the school yard
and black adults got out,
threw bricks through windows,
set the rugby, hockey and soccer fields alight
by splashing gasoline
and the police do not intervene.
The principal is scared
about our safety
and although the teachers here
are not on strike,
school has been cancelled
and the country is going to the ground,
falling to pieces
while a union is striking.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Crossing The Border
Hey, take it and run, child
Ill ask you no questions
We traded our fortunes
Crossing the border
I hope you got lucky
You needed a change
I--i made it without you
Crossing the border
We were like a couple of wetbacks running
Standin on the banks of some dangerous river
Lookin into a brave new country
Risky business
Crossing the border
Ahhh, you--you doubled my chances
I--i sure do want your freedom
I--Ill never forget you
Crossing the border
Back when we were out there
Crossing the border
Layin it on the line
Crossing the border
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black-eyed
I was never faithful
And I was never one to trust
Bordeline and skitzo
And guaranteed to cause a fuss
I was never loyal
Except to my own pleasure zone
Im forever black-eyed
A product of a broken home
I was never faithful
And I was never one to trust
Bordeline by polar
Forever biting your nuts
I was never grateful
Thats why I spent my days alone
Im forever black-eyed
A product of a broken home
Broken home
Black-eyed, black-eyed
Black-eyed, black-eyed
Black-eyed, black-eyed
Black-eyed, black-eyed
I was never faithful
And I was never one to trust
Bordeline and skitzo
And guaranteed to cause a fuss
I was never loyal
Except to my own pleasure zone
Im forever black-eyed
A product of a broken home
Broken home
Black-eyed, black-eyed
Black-eyed, black-eyed
Black-eyed, black-eyed
Black-eyed, black-eyed
Broken home
Black-eyed
Broken home
Black-eyed
Broken home
Black-eyed
Broken home
Black-eyed
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Survival
In the dark shaded border
World turns upside down
Though everything’s in order
And black is never brown!
Supposedly in order
But really in mess
The dark shaded border
Never shows its true face!
Mischief is a fun, lies sacred
Throats are slit for a small chunk of bread
It’s a savage race, the stakes are too close
Friends this moment turn into foes!
In the dark shaded border
Disorderliness is order
Money and muscle thrive
In a blind zeal to survive!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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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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The Black House On The Corner
I passed by that house everday,
wondering what lurked inside of it,
was their some kind of ancient evil inside,
or a normal family that we never saw,
a house of macarbe,
it was painted black like the devil's sin,
it was surrouned by devilish-looking,
figures that stood outside on the line,
was also surrounded by a black pointed fence,
rumors of the devil himself living there,
the devil in the flesh,
satan living on my street corner,
The black house on the corner,
can't you see it,
you must walk past it everyday to,
dosen't your mind wander,
when you walk by The black house,
don't you to know what lays inside of the house,
maybe a ton of dead bodies under the floor boards,
a madman butcherd up his family,
could that be true,
or are our young minds racing again,
with impure and insane thoughts about,
who or what lives in the black house on the corner,
the black house,
painted with the devil's sin,
We were told to stay away from the black house,
that so many evils lived inside of it,
but us being kids we didn't want to live,
we wanted to see what was inside of the black house on the corner,
But we are to afraid to go forward,
we are to afraid to step through the gate,
and walk up the beaten path to the door bell,
it looks so old and so evil,
The black house on the corner,
we shall never know what evilness,
or what macabre force resides within,
the black house on the corner,
whatever you do,
don't go into the black house on the corner,
stay away from,
the black house on the corner,
it holds so many evils,
the black house on the corner,
poem by Robert Rumery
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Do not accept
Do not accept life in a changed country
it’s far better to linger in distant days,
to stuck to the old ways
where respect, dignity and integrity
did not blossom from
the barrel of a gun
when there was peace for everyone
and refuse to surrender
to robbers who invade
your home, you privacy,
to hijackers who take your car,
maybe your life,
to alien foreigners
who stream in from all over Africa.
[Reference: Do Not Accept by Yehuda Amichai.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Winter (parody)
(with apologies to fanie olivier)
Already early in May you can feel the wind gallop,
it is already cutting icily from twelve o’clock
and blows sand
leaves and old plastic bags sky-high.
Across the street the neighbour’s drain is overflowing
and sewerage flows along at the end of the yard,
while the other neighbour’s wife forwardly winks at me
and she’s a flamboyant girl,
her husband is well built and somewhat angry
and she has got a teenage daughter, who draws attention like her mother,
dressing at times somewhat nakedly,
while the neighbour comforts himself with bottles of brandy,
sometimes wanting to know about his wife’s wiles from me,
when I see pain and grief eating at him.
[Reference: “winter” by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Big Black Smoke
She was sick and tired of country life.
A little country home,
A little country folk,
Made her blood run cold.
Now her mother pines her heart away,
Looking for her child in the big black smoke,
In the big black smoke.
Frailest, purest girl the world has seen,
According to her ma, according to her pa,
And everybody said,
That she knew no sin and did no wrong,
Till she walked the streets of the big black smoke,
Of the big black smoke.
Well, she slept in caffs and coffee bars and bowling alleys,
And every penny she had
Was spent on purple hearts and cigarettes.
She took all her pretty coloured clothes,
And ran away from home
And the boy next door,
For a boy named joe.
And he took her money for the rent
And tried to drag her down in the big black smoke,
In the big black smoke.
In the big black smoke.
In the big black smoke.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Showdown At The Border
His necktie is bright red
From lookin in one direction
No flowerchild in his bed
Hes got oil well protection
Just had to be a blind dog
Chewin on everything
Took a slice of the blackbird pie
She began her singing
I know that your oil is black
But your dipstick is pearly white
Ten gallons on your head
That aint what I need tonight
Showdown at the border
Showdown at the border
Showdown at the border
The rendezvous was neutral
He dont want no gossip headlines
Her polaroid blackmail
He said,no way Ive had mine
Just too much for him to lose
Because of some cuervo passion
Cold, cold forty-five, answered in texas fashion
I know that your oil is black
But the dipstick is pearly white
Ten gallons on your head
That aint what I need tonight
Showdown at the border
Showdown at the border
Showdown at the border
Bright red went to his head
Tequila tension rising
This is no business for the weak at heart
This is no business for those with a
Nervous disposition
Tanned man from the f.e.d.s
Cool mohair buying off the squeeze
Showdown at the border
(cleminson)
(copyright 1980 nazsongs ltd.)
All rights reserved.
Lyrics used by permission only.reproduction prohibited.
Copyright 1980 a&m records, inc.
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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White Russian
(fish, steve rothery, mark kelly, pete trewavas, ian mosley)
Where do we go from here?
Where do we go from here, where do we go from here
Where do we go from here, where do we go from here
They boarded up the synagogues uzis on a street corner
You can't take a photograph of uzis on a street corner
The dj resigned today they wouldn't let him have his say
Surface scratched where the needles play, uzis on a street corner
Where do we go from here
Terror in rue de st. denis, murder on the periphery
Someone else in someone else's pocket, christ knows i don't know how to stop it
Poppies at the cenotaph, the cynics can't afford to laugh
I heard in on the telegraph there's uzis on a street corner
Where do we go from here, where do we go from here
The more i see, the more i hear, the more i find fewer answers
I close my mind, i shout it out but you know it's getting harder
To me calm down, to reason out, to come to terms with what it's all about
I'm uptight, can't sleep at night, i can't pretend everything's alright
My ideals, my sanity, they seem to be deserting me
But to stand up and fight i know we have six million reasons
They're burning down the synagogues uzis on a street corner
The heralds of the holocaust uzis on a street corner
The silence never louder than now, how quickly we forgot our vows
This resurrection we can't allow, uzis on a street corner
Where do we go from here, where do we go from here
We buy fresh bagels from the corner store
Where swastikas are spat from aerosols
I sit in the bar sipping iced white russian
Trying to score but nobody's pushing
And everyone looks at everyone's faces
Searching for signs and praying for traces of a conscience in residence
Are we sitting on a barbed wire fence
Racing the clouds home, racing the clouds home
We place our faith in human rights
In the paper wars that tie the red tape tight
I know that i would rather be out of this conspiracy
In the gulags and internment camps frozen faces in nameless ranks
I know that they would rather be standing here beside me
Racing the clouds home, racing the clouds home
You can shut your eyes, you can hide it away it's gonna come back another day
Racing the clouds home, are we racing the clouds home
Racing the clouds home
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Innocence
Night will feed the sleep
sleep will feed the night.
I will remain awake the whole journey.
Remove the mask and look straight
in eyes of evil dark and black
across the street.
Violence was lurking in corner
dogs were barking non-stop
somebody had shot the moon.
Give me hand I watch the blood
tricking from mountains:
beyond the border lies the corpse.
Which god was yours, which mine?
Let us divide not truth as divine.
Earth is tormented, suffering is same.
Unbearable was void, when father was away
stung by wasp of innocence
child starts crying.
poem by Satish Verma
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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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Fade To Black
Sunday matinee
In a one dog town
Youre two seats away
I move two seats down
Wipe the tears from your eyes
The first kiss I stole
I walk you home
The credits roll
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
I hear my voice
On the telephone
But Im just running
The same old business
I feel like Im off
Somewhere so alone
Just watching us both
Running the distance
Watching us both
Slowly pull back
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
I come home
Clothes all over the place
Youre crying in the corner
Makeup running down your face
Your case is packed
The fight starts
I (? ? ? ? ? ) cursin
Baby is this the scene
Which we been rehearsin
Is this the one
Or have I lost track
Waitin for us
To fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
A face wet with shame
Eyes filled with hurt
I scream out your name
You rip my shirt
A small bungalow
A late afternoon
The sunlight falls
Like a bright veil
A camera pans
An empty room
The picture dissolves
Slowly pulls back
Fade to black
Fade to black
Fade to black
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My first day in school
More than half a century ago,
the Monsoon showers had just brought relief from the sweltering summer,
just when I was dreaming of playing soccer whole day outdoors,
My Dad decided that I have to attend an elementary school.
I was dragged a mile by my older brother to my new school,
It would be my favorite Durga Temple converted into a school,
My dreams of a class with benches and chairs just vanished,
As we were sitting on the floor in open partitioned classrooms of the school.
I thought I would get a nice colorful uniform to wear to school,
but it looked like that the dress code was a futuristic dream,
At least every class had a black board bigger than my slate,
the teacher had a duster whereas I had to wipe the chalk with my hand.
The fear of some burly kids and nostalgia of home made me sad and homesick,
I could not stop crying and asking my teacher to let me go home.
I still remember the teacher with big black cane,
every time I cried to go home, I got a whack on my palm with his cane,
I could not stop crying, he would not stop whacking,
till I was sent in a distant corner for breaking the class rule.
Kneeling down in the corner, I dreamt of Mom and home,
I found comfort in the memories of joyous Durga Puja days,
I wished the Goddess would come alive,
and pierce the hands of the teacher with her big spear.
Finally the Tiffin time heralded the temporary recess,
the teacher came down and helped me open my Tiffin can,
He asked me to eat while he wrote something on my slate,
He hoped that it would keep me interested in his school.
After I finished my food, he handed my slate,
He had drawn a picture of a big smiling cat with whiskers and big tail,
He asked me to draw the cat on the other side of the slate,
I was so happy drawing the circles and lines whole afternoon,
I forgot I had a rough first day in school.
poem by Jay P Narain
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Signs of the time
As time passes
there are brand new cars
in which armed black people sit
dressed in black suits, with dark windows
beyond which they hide
while they do their duty
as agents of the government
and destroy criminals?
While white nurses, artisans,
fired mine workers
are begging for food at DJ’s restaurant,
some with degrees stay in squatter’s settlements
or in the veldt or in the bush
it is as if the world
is turning on its head in this country
and able persons are jobless on the street,
with incompetents in every government position.
As time passes the devil is totally loose:
the Falcons, who first had been the scorpions
(a South African agency similar to the American F.B.I) brake in
at the wrong house, in the middle of the night
breaking down the front gate,
breaking down the garage door,
breaking down the front door
forcing every room’s door open
breaking and destroying just what they find,
going through all the possessions
of a innocent man
destroying left and right and centre
without taking notice
or even realizing
that they are making a mistake,
they cause
more than a hundred thousand rands damage,
violate a citizen’s privacy,
his right to a free existence
so as if they can just come and go
as they want to
and when the owner
of the house wants to get a summons
they admit that they
by mistake harassed him
had broken all the mentioned things,
had caused huge damage,
say that he must make a list
and claim from them,
make a list
of witch they will pay
every single thing
and surely the man in the street,
the general citizen
have to take the money from his pocket
for taxes
and a person can only wonder
where they next are going to invade,
whose life they next will threaten,
whose things they are going to break?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Black Eyed
I was never faithful
And I was never one to trust
Borderlining schizo
And guaranteed to cause a fuss
I was never loyal
Except to my own pleasure zone
I'm forever black-eyed
A product of a broken home
I was never faithful
And I was never one to trust
Borderline bipolar
Forever biting on your nuts
I was never grateful
That's why I spend my days alone
I'm forever black-eyed
A product of a broken home (Broken home)
Black-eyed [repeat]
I was never faithful
And I was never one to trust
Borderlining schizo
And guaranteed to cause a fuss
I was never loyal
Except to my own pleasure zone
I'm forever black-eyed
A product of a broken home (Broken home)
Black-eyed [repeat]
song performed by by Placebo from Reinventing The Steel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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