"Cry,----"*

The tribe is broken and so are we,

Masked by our own fruitfulness and the boldness of the ground

To give into our hands that which we so lusted after.

The Milk of the earth has shot itself into our mouths

As like dogs around a bitch in heat

We all sniffed and waited with hardening parts for our turn

To harden our hearts.

The tribe is broken because of us,

Because of our lust and our false comradery,

Because of our queen and our dream for suns that never set,

And we were invincible for a while…

The Jewel in the crown made us fat and swollen

And yet we lusted for more

So we made the Transvaal bleed.

The tribe…what is a tribe?

All we hear are voices crying in the night

And gunshots echoing out the angst of forgotten souls;

We feel the terror in our hearts, terror that is not quite our own,

But that is there because of us, because of our lust.

Oh God forgive us for we know not what we’ve done,

Tixo, we know not what we do.

They are broken.

We are broken.

And yet the chains of bitterness and bondage still hold fast

The hearts of this broken but rigid land.

*a white man’s meditation on Alan Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country