The past year fades.

I'm speaking to you, fine African.

Ha-la-la 1923,

what pen can tell your tale?

The year's passed and left us,

there are the signs of its absence;

there's joy in welcoming

the new.

The year's passed with news

of all people on earth,

their conduct, their cruelties,

recorded.

News of hardship and happiness,

of good luck and ill,

of sickness and health,

borne off.

The old year bears its burden,

tales of hardship on earth,

turmoil that's shaken

the nation.

Deceit, double-dealing,

murder, oppression,

testimony for your judge

presiding.

Now the old year's over

we thank you, Lord Eternal,

for guarding us from danger

throughout its course.

Cast out our errors,

straighten our ways,

neglect all our sins

in the old year. Mercy!

1923, take the sweet gum

of our African prayers;

1923, with myrrh take our cries

to the One on High. Peace!

1923, I'm afraid it can't be denied

they're stealing your cattle on the plains;

but, Africans, to you I say:

will you go to the grave with nothing achieved?

Will the years pass you by, Greybeard of ours,

with nothing to show for them?

Let the old year be torched today,

let the new shake hands with us all.

Hanewu, 1923, trying year,

cross all the pools and leave

with the old year's pack on your back.

Peace, Elephant browsing homewards.

Those who once longed for you now must abandon you

to the sun and to the moon;

greetings, always true to your word.

Mercy, berry bush leaving with witches.

Smooth the way to heaven.

Why are the houses of Africa burning?

Poll Tax, Pass, and Special Permit.

Where can we live? Up in the clouds.

Laws outnumber those of Moses.

Why are the houses of Africans burning?

1923, go present your report,

plead our case in elegant terms. Peace!

A year's too fierce to take from behind.

It whips those who know into terror:

people succumb in its clutches,

a shade-screened leopard, dark beast eternal.