“Hawulele!” says the sleeper

suddenly wakened.

“Hawulele!” says this marsh bird

of South Africa.

We perch like birds on twigs:

why are the houses of Africans burning?

Even a polecat growls in its lair

but a black has nowhere to stay.

Mercy, Africa, Drakensberg snow,

bell tolling dawn's approach!

Where's our home? We're puffed from running.

Awu, God didn't torch this land!

Dip from the jug, black without soap.

We perch like birds on twigs!

This culture's wrenched our homes away,

strapped us with the millstone of custom.

Scratch the earth like crows,

your blessings tossed you on the dump:

nationhood, livestock cast you aside,

like a locust left by the swarm.

Dance in courtship at Khayakhulu:

our girls no longer dance with bare breasts,

today they cut their fancy capers.

Strange gods are stealing your cattle!

We'll dance in courtship at Khayakhulu,

pour thick amasi from calabash lips.

Zibi, you don't need ten bundles of thatch:

you can do your zinc roof with five.

Mercy, Africa, tumbling leaf,

cow lowing behind a mountain,

while your people die, strangers cart off your country:

let your grown-up calf bellow in protest.

Where are you, Africa, Drakensberg snow,

black tortoise they thrashed but couldn't kill?

We cry out to you: we cling to a cliff.

Induce birth pangs in your people.

The water we drink we have to buy,

even our firewood comes at a price.

Divine the cause from those on high,

those long dead and the recent dead.

Come back to restore tradition,

lest your family fall to plagues;

replenish the days of yesteryear,

close one eye in sleep, keep watch with the other.

Unity's our only strength,

a nation of nobles nurtured by nobles.

How long must we hack away at this,

like novice diviners in groves of mimosa?

I've spoken, nails black from scratching the earth.

Please hear!