Induce birth pangs in your people,

as in Ngubengcuka's time;

speak as of old in Hintsa's voice.

(The names of kings confuse me.)

Shu! The death of a nation's painful!

Why seek the why and the wherefore?

We're just a dispossessed rabble,

fit to be stripped for thrashing.

Mercy, Africa, you're dead to the pleas

of the ravaged flock of your people,

who can no longer face each other.

I travelled the land without papers.

Die-As-One, join in the chorus!

Ruler of people seeping away,

your people are crushed by their burdens,

Nursemaid slain by its sucklings. Mercy!

Cattle confined to disputed strips—

they stand accused of envy—

crawl on your knees like a slow-spreading town

lest strangers guzzle your heritage.

Compatriot, let's cast out envy,

our constant companion as Christians:

envy puts paid to a nation,

spread by disruptive gossip.

Envy sets us squabbling,

for a long time now I've been telling you.

King Solomon also says so:

envy outweighs a rock.

What a shame to harbour envy!

You people at odds with each other,

in times of trouble your own are your own:

die together, as at Golgotha.

There the Lamb had to linger in pain,

proclaiming the news of heaven

so that, through his mercy, you wear a crown

in the wastelands of this land.

Spread mercy through the church,

see that it's robed in radiance.

How do we differ from Pilate

who disowned the One he knew?

Perhaps your prayers move mountains,

without mercy you're simply nothing;

perhaps you're on good terms with knowledge,

it could still prove to be your downfall.

Vultures feasting up in the hills,

have mercy on those in the mines,

don't stand aloof like an unfelled ironwood:

hyenas ravage your people.