Still collective man feels compelled
Have you killed a white today
is still being proclaimed
and old people are killed,
white farmers pay a price
and robberies and killings
in suburban arias
never stop
as if every criminal
in Africa
have being heading south
and some are taught
to take from others
as if the possessions
are their own
and in the doing of it
to maim, rape, kill
and slaughter
without conscience
and the killings
are still being done
by psychopathic people
who like animals in a pack
follow a new psychopathic god
proclaiming an insane culture.
Still collective man
feels compelled
to claim love
only for the self
and not to care
about love for another
while the affirmative flame
burns bright
in a beleaguered night
and guns and knives flash
on the defenceless
and the state, police
and maddened population
do not comprehend
that no one lives alone
and everyone eventually
pays the price
when hunger, poverty
and destruction
takes its course.
[Reference: September 1,1939 by W.H. Auden.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Blessed are those (in answer to Dikobe wa Mogale)
Blessed are those
who jumped at Cassinga,
courted death while outnumbered
by the enemy and Cuban battle tanks
and are still living
to tell the story
blessed are those who are killed, slaughtered
in the thousands on there farmsteads,
while the police
do not tract down the killers
and these killings continues
to still go on
blessed are those who are burgled, hijacked
and raped
in the cities
and are still living
while every criminal in Africa
floods in to the country
blessed are those who choose
to remain here as white citizens
while being oppressed
by the laws laid down
by the current government
and are left without income
by the effect
of affirmative action
and who still believe and pray
while their days drag on aimlessly.
[Reference: blood of the martyrs by Dikobe wa Mogale.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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But how long will this peace last
The night that peace comes
torches are launched into the sky
like stars
to glide hanging to the ground
and as far as I look
I see fireworks near and far,
but how long will this peace last?
Nelson Mandela walks out of jail
and there are people cheering
and dancing from joy
and some think
that now they are totally free,
but how long will this peace last?
His rainbow nation disappears
into the naught
and although the sun still shines
work are reserved for some
and people begin to leave the country
while others from all over Africa stream in
and South Africans are jobless,
but how long will this peace last?
There are incapable people getting positions
and the country goes years back
and murder and killings
are totally out of control
and the police are powerless
to stop it,
but how long will this peace last?
The government takes legal firearms in
while crime spreads wider
and the state are trying to control lives
more and more
and corruption, fraud, rape,
murder and robbery
happens every day,
but how long will this peace last?
l’Envoi
The slaughter of black on white
and robbery are urged on
and reverse racism
talked good
and the country is in chaos
with incapables controlling it
and the dilapidation nobody can stop
but how long will this peace last
before the country
gets another hell of a war?
poem by Gert Strydom
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The secret war that is raging in South Africa
The secret war that is raging in South Africa
asks for white blood,
these black people first kill and torture
before they take your possessions.
Incident upon incident I can tell about
where white families have been killed,
just think about the Orffer family
who was killed in Stellenbosch
on Friday 31 July 1994
by black people:
First the trustworthy black maid Sannetjie,
who tried to ward off the attackers with her bare hands
like a Amakeia of days gone,
then the blonde small girl
then the dad and the deaf little boy
and last the mother
were chopped with a axe to death
and everywhere there was blood.
Nowadays the tendency is
to first bind up the head of the family,
the man, to assault him
and to torture him to death in front of his family
and then to rape the women,
even toddlers and babies
and if the women are lucky
they survive
when the criminals
leave with their possessions
and it seems as if the police
do not want to, or are not able to stop this thing
and then it is claimed
that these people kill and steal
because they are hungry, while people in government
sings songs to wipe out whites.
From April 1994 when Nelson Mandela became president
the wiping out of white families is our destiny,
the Afrikaner nation is in the melting pot
we who have an own culture, language and identity,
who cannot become part of the hurly-burly
are killed, not only robbed
but tortured and horribly killed
and our women and children are raped.
Even Eugene Terreblancé
had befallen this same lot
and if this is not a war
that is raging against us,
where we are systematically
bit by bit, family by family
wiped out, and the numbers
are already in the thousands, then what is it?
[References: Klaaglied: Stellenbosch, Vrydag,31 Julie 1994 (Song of lamentation: Stellenbosch, Friday,31 Julie 1994) by Lina Spies. Amakeia by A. G. Visser, Amakeia, Amakeia then and now by Gert Strydom.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I sit in a bar in Sixth Street (a reply to W.H. Auden.)
I sit in a bar in Sixth Street,
with some flashing lights at the slot machines,
people playing at the pool tables,
the bar man smiling at someone’s joke
and bringing another cold Hunters Gold
and I am neither afraid nor uncertain
nor doubt what my future is going to be
and the world has changed in this decade
men guilty of crimes are in the highest positions,
for some people a political party
has become a religion,
people from all over Africa
are streaming in, are killing whites
with more than three thousand farmers dead
and I have no fear but trust in God instead
and no scholarship nor a study
from Luther till whenever
is needed to know
why the government is oppressing
white Afrikaner men, are acting
against human rights,
are reserving job opportunities, economic wealth
l’Envoi
and even if the bewitching stays
like one last final curse
of evil received creating evil in return
and the innocents who received punishment
become the monsters of tomorrow,
even if a psychopathic god is in place
still destiny, the will of the creator God
holds the future, raises leaders and nations,
brings them to a fall.
[Reference: September 1,1939 by W.H. Auden.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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African Identity Is Lost
Thank you South Africa Thank you
Today I don’t know why should I cal myself an African
South Africa I am afraid
I don’t know why you have killed people of Zimbabwe
You have exposed this mother land
It is like what Hitler was doing to the Jews
Why, Why, Why? ? ?
Yesterday we were depending on Zimbabwe for liberation struggle.
We had no fighting machines, no residences and no identity
Robert Mugabe Sacrificed all of his power, just because he wanted to see South Africa out of its previous crisis
With the lapse of 15 years?
Why don’t you look at United State of America?
United State has truly become a Model Liberal Country
Its President is a black person
It is a mixture of different people – none of which we have ever had such South African Tragic Killings
Today I am telling te whole world that I am so embarrassed
Ladies and Gentlemen: South Africa is a Xenophobic Country
If you think to pay a visit for study there: please take another option
I had never think that a person can be boiled with fire for no reason but Xenophobia
I wish you a very bad lucky
Perhaps God can give you a Tsunami over your bad reputation
South Africa does not only needs to apologize to Zimbabweans
It needs to apologies to the whole world
It needs to apologies to the whole Africa country
It need to apologies to God himself
It need to apologies to itself for having lost consciousness
I want to warn South Africa with one thing
Fire is not the end of the world
It is not to terminate the Zimbabweans by burning them alive
God has always been there before the fire
I remember when the King ordered fire to kill three men in the bible
God came out to be a shield
Just like he protect people from the lions he can be an answer to what South Africans have done to Zimbabweans
It is like there is absolutely nothing happened to all over the country
Nobody is feeling the sense of pity about these people
They are being treated as the dead dogs
Eve the policies who were there to mediate seem to smile, during event.
The religious groups who are always regarded as holy have not even gathered to express words of regret not only to Zimbabweans but to God himself.
I don’t know which country I can run to
Because I can hear the anger of Gods –talking to me
I wish I can fly away because the pain that South Africa will feel is more that the fire
I am not talking about a joke, I am talking about god
Africa what you have done is to challenge the Lord himself
Since God is able to protect a person that people are playing with
What about those South African who have decided to kill people the image of God himself.
I don’t know: but I think it will be better to be at Zimbabwean Starvation that to be at tragic South Africa
Don’t you remember what happened when people steal the covenant of God at Middle East Countries?
I am yours and you are not mine
No we are not the same
I am not xenophobic
I believe the extended hand is more blessed with receiving hand
I reconcile the process of giving the poor Zimbabwean the food they deserve
No I am an African; It won’t be Africa to me to kill another African
I cannot stop thinking about this
I have several friends and collogues that are coming from Zimbabwe
I am shame of myself
I don’t know what kind of friendship I have with them if my Brothers are killing them
I don’t know whether I will see the in future because of these continuous killings
Thank you South Africa thank you
I did not realize that you have lost the covenant of God
I don’t know whether you are prepared for God’s reaction
poem by Mthokozisi Ntokozo Maphumulo
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I will tell everyone
Pull a machinegun, a pistol,
a panga-blade, a knife
and say: “white man give me a reason
to kill you today.”
Rob my cars,
take whatever belongs to me
and even if the police
cannot catch the criminals
and the government looks the other way
as if the robberies, the killings
are not happening
and while I am still living
I will tell everyone, the whole world
about the gangster’s paradise that I live in.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Day They Robbed Me Of My Life (In Answer To Don Mattera)
Black people have got power
in this government that rules,
to sing songs of hatred
like kill the Boer, kill the farmer,
kill the white man
and to sit back in comfortable chairs,
while pillage, rape, torture
and robberies takes place
and then when crime is out of control
to be about it totally amazed
Black people have got power
in this government that rules,
to destroy a lifetime’s career,
years of study at university,
years of experience
of doing a person’s utter best
in moments with affirmative action
and turning lives into nothing but dust.
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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So Loftily Silent
Why buy newspapers when you refuse to discuss
anything appearing in it, totally unconcerned that
the farmers are tortured on their farms, killed for
their money and livestock - as long as YOU are
safe in a cushy job while the rest of the country
burns and dies and goes down the drain, you
simply will not say anything
FINE, swallow your bloomin' newspapers, delight
in your existence without sympathy wasted on farmer
martyrs - their function of food provision does not
concern anybody, especially the government, who
cares what happens to anybody as long as they
are safe far away from children suffocated in
boiling water, people burned with hot irons
Why should you care, you can import food from
overseas or anywhere, who needs farmers here
in South Africa, you cannot be bothered even to
express sympathy with their fate, may you wash
your hands in innocence while the country burns,
following your political masters who see the land
as just another Tunisia to be sucked dry
By government and all their acolytes; destroy all
private business until the state is bankrupt and
international groups must administrate the remains
of their destruction - oh well, I am glad you are all
so happy while these people cry unto heaven -
retribution follows when people are exploited,
hope you will be so loftily silent then…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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I Hide
I hide within a culture where black people
kill their brother everyday
no other culture on this earth
slaughter humans in this way..
listen to what I say! …
I hide within a culture where white rulers estimate
the body count…the after effects..
of the importation and proliferation
of drugs and alcohol
of guns and disease…and biased media..
that they control…
the ‘when and where and who …will fall’
these white men have no soul…
world domination is their goal
white rulers that get rich from war..
old racist men that know it all..
I hide within that culture ….
poem by Steven Taylor
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Kill All The White Man
The white man call himself civilized
Cause he know how to take over
The white man come to pillage my village
Now he tell me I have to bend over
Oh yeah, kill all the white man
No I dont like the white man up in me
He rape my people as he rape my country
Everything I love and cherish, he try to take away
We will be rid of him, soon come the day
Oh yeah, kill all the white man
Oh yeah, kill all the white man
Oh yeah, kill all the white man
Oh yeah, kill all the white man
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harare
The midsummer sun hangs flaming
over the capitol city
which is painted white,
(the same colour as the graves)
in a country
stripped from the white man’s might,
stripped from providing
and exporting food, minerals
and products
where the value of the currency
changes faster than the billion dollar number
printed on the worthless bills.
Just here and there a car moves
as the country is without fuel
and even the traffic lights
are not working
(and neither are most people)
as the electricity is down.
.
The rural farms stand stripped bare
with primitive peasants
living there in utter poverty
and the fertile soil is vacant
as everything has being taken
by the people
(by force from farmers)
and now nobody has anything
and nothing has being planted
on a commercial scale
and famine is getting
to chaotic lengths
and the people
have returned to the land
to find a resting place there.
Children play under flowering jacaranda trees
in a light hot breeze
with stomachs swollen from hunger
and slime running from noses
and flies wandering over their faces
and some men urinate
against the nearest tree.
The street is filled with fear,
poverty, hunger, pestilence and death
and soldiers stand around idle
smoking cigarettes
longing back to the days
when they went as the fifth brigade
to the south west regions
and killed Ndebele people
plundering their villages,
raping their woman
and slaughtering the children.
Still there’s no sound
of real opposition, as apposing politicians
are arrested and beaten
time after time
by the police
and an out voted president,
a man proclaiming to be a Jesuit,
remains in the ruling chair
and the secret police is everywhere
and he holds out a begging hand
to neighbouring countries
for fuel, electricity, food and medicine
and whatever he wants
and it’s quite easy to head south
even if you have to crawl,
walk, take a bicycle,
a car, a bus or a train
to a neighbouring country
where the colour of your skin
counts much more
than a place of birth.
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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Sweet Sweet Caribbean
The famous people of Africa,
And the glorios people of America,
Came to the caribbean for its culture,
and merriment of Soca,
the fully-pledged nation,
worked hard to get the confirmation,
to be loving and caring to the entire population,
Although we have the merciless killings,
we have the most incredible and edible food,
the nation and sweet sweet caribbean can see and eat.
poem by Rajay Lawson
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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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Fair Is Not Equal
(1-2-3 and...)
Make it stop!
You can not!
And this takes,
All you've got!
People from their pain,
Turn away.
And there's nothing anyone,
Can say.
Advice that's good they don't obey!
And,
A price for this some people pay!
To stop it not!
Fair is not equal.
People see this everyday.
Repeated sequels...
Relived by some who love to stray,
Just to keep a fake face in place.
Make it stop!
You can not!
And this takes,
All you've got!
Fair is not equal.
People see this everyday.
Repeated sequels...
Relived by some who love to stray,
To keep charades played...
Made to chase.
Yet it doesn't go away.
No matter what the price paid.
But make it stop!
You can not!
And this takes,
All you've got!
People from their pain,
Turn away.
To make it stop.
And nothing listened can be said,
To make it stop.
And this goes over people's heads.
(1-2-3 and...)
Make it stop!
You can not!
And this takes,
All you've got!
'Til it's dropped...
And gone!
People from their pain,
Turn away.
To make it stop.
And there's nothing you,
Can say.
To make it stop.
Advice that's good they don't obey!
To make it stop.
A price for this some people pay!
To make it stop.
A price for this some people pay!
To make it stop.
Fair is not equal.
People see this everyday.
And it wont stop.
People see this everyday.
And it wont stop.
People see this everyday.
And it wont stop.
People see this everyday.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Torman
The medical reports and the expenses,
And of a shelter against the storm and the expectations;
Stop the killings and help the people!
For your personal directorate means a lot.
Horrified spasm of violence and hate,
Out away the guns and let us care for each other;
For the anatomy of the game is all about us.
I am Torman and i need love and care,
But what i see around me tells the story over here;
And like the rains that came at last after thirty years.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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Heading South
Orbison/dees
I want to talk to folks back home again, to walk along a lonely country lane
To spend some time with that woman of mine, heading south, heading south
Things look bright and I feel alright yeah Im heading south
Heading south to see the sun go down on camp fire light,to join the singing at night
Heading south to cotton rows and honeysuckle bloom
Under the cumberland moon heading south, heading south
Give me room to travel on my way to a place where dreams all fade away
Where the river flows and tobacco grows heading south heading south
Cause the sun is hot and people love a lot yeah Im heading south
Heading south to see the sun go down on camp fire light, to join the singing at night
Heading south to cotton rows and honeysuckle bloom under the cumberland moon
Heading south, heading south
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night of the long knives
People now believe that if
somebody like Eugene Terreblance
could be killed so cruelly
it awaits every white person
and that black folks are itching
to rob, to chop to pieces
and to dishonour whites
and to rape women
and that the government propagates it.
It is thought that farms and houses
will be stolen with force
in the same way as in Zimbabwe
and many people now want to leave
and go to other countries
to escape poverty
and avoid being forced
into a squatters’ settlements.
l’Envoi
Friends and loved ones of mine
want to escape the night of the long knives
that they get out of the writings
of visionary Van Rensburg
but still the One that could save at Blood river
walks on my side.
poem by Gert Strydom
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