Editor, thanks for the poets’ column!

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

I just like to be on top, Editor.

Oi! clubs are at hand but I fight with lightning.

Mercy, Africa, actions speak,

Nursemaid slain by your sucklings.

Thus the faint voice of John

saying “Africa, do you hear?”

Induce birth pangs in your people,

as in Ngubengcuka's time;

speak with sympathy in Hintsa's voice.

(The names of kings confuse me.)

This sympathy'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,

die side by side with your own.

For a long time we've said so criss-crossing the land

in times of famine and times of war.

Fall and rise with your people

on these ridges of your land.

Spurn advice and you'll come a cropper,

crawl on your knees like a slow-spreading town.

And the rich, and expert students,

as a favour try this key:

sympathy's our only strength,

it alone can nourish us.