Editor, thanks for the poets’ column,

I'm still here, a young man and no poet;

I was born yesterday over the Orange,

I look old with a beard, like Hili.

The truth is there in the scriptures

and also within our blankets.

How do you live in constant strife,

in ignorance and conceit?

We bark for you, my people,

confronting those who pick us clean.

Unity's our only strength,

it alone can nourish us.

Isaiah says: “Come all of you,”

all the blacks are invited,

Zulu, Xhosa, Suthu, Mfengu,

all are the same despite distinctions.

Jehovah is not Ntsikana's alone,

Jehovah is not the Mfengu's alone.

Why do we act like Hottentots,

snoring their heads off, arse in the air?

Let's stop the commemorations:

their rifts rip out our hearts.

Inspire the country with your words.

Was ever her country in such a state?

Jehovah is not Ntsikana's alone,

Jehovah is not the Mfengu's alone.

We don't have time to fumble in fog.

Oh I blundered in going to whites!

This Unity's a shade-screened leopard

in all the Creator's sorrows as well,

all enemies will be crushed by it,

the mercies of heaven yield to it.

And so be one and sing one song

with your compatriot Die-As-One.

Isaiah says: “These are my words;

tell your people I'm the one talking.”

We split into factions, betray our own people,

and Africa leaves as we claw at each other.

We'd be all at sea if we ruled ourselves:

our cry for self-rule is vapid!

Peace, Africa, Army whose warriors stab one another!

They rip each other but reassemble.

Pulling in different directions,

these spans will smash their legs.