THE BROKEN POT

The dusk is nigh,

I will once again place my rattled bone

On this soiled land filled with our leaders’ farts

Let them clatter!

And sing rhythms to posterity

I wish not for a resting place called grave

Save the land of my ancestors

We have threaded on vacant lands,

Followed wrong tracts

And shown love in the opposite direction of the wind

But that the chants of our ancestors be true,

We keep moving, hoping to follow the footsteps of old

With hearts connected to the unseen future,

Pledging our loyalty

Our fate has been shattered by injustice

Yet we live in awe of long-laid principles

Shall we rebuild the tower of a true service?

That our fathers may rest in peace?

Till my carcass leaves my bone to scorn

I will fight for freedom

And remould the broken pot

Moulded by our ancestors

In it lie wise words of our fathers

Before then,

Let my silence in serving loyally

Pay homage to our ascendants and descendants