Listen! You'll hear

of the split within Congress,

graver than any

Rev. Maxeke, B.A. might have caused.

Hawulele! Hule!

Nontsizi foresaw it.

Tramps’ ancestors

are no match for mine.

Tired of snipping,

we came out of our holes:

you might as well lie

as snip at an issue.

Maxeke's split?

Neighbour, you're blind

to internal dissension

in National Congress.

Today we're a team:

you've done a good job,

exposing the filth

before I could reach you.

Stoke up the fire,

President Makgatho!

Watch the sparks

swirl up today.

Hule! Bo!

The ancient of days

says the nation is stunned:

National Congress is chomped

like corn on the cob.

Our people are spent,

urged over the edge.

I'd carve the meat

for a guide to a ford.

Halala! As we said:

National Congress,

envious watchers

would grind you to dust.

Please consider

your internal split:

your bloated body

comes as a shock.

Cape Native Congress

and Bantu Union!

The ford's struck by lightning:

our future's cloudy!

Which one of the two

appeals to the people,

raises their hopes

of Africa's return?

Maxeke, B.A.,

says Africa's scuppered

when Cape Town and Jeppe

urge us over the edge.

The ancient of days

calls out at the ford:

he'll stand toe to toe

with both liars today.

Without leave from Congress

they urge us over the edge,

they preach their sermons

and grab the headlines.

And as a result

Natal Congress walked out,

and the Free State walked out,

and the Cape's splinters splinter.

Maxeke, B.A., speaks out.

Long he stood downwind

watching their antics,

and in the end he turned his back.

We're urged over the edge,

says Maxeke, B.A.,

by those who run blind,

with no home to turn to.

Maxeke, they claim,

is selling the nation;

but they sold it off

a long time ago.

They scuttle Africa:

down there the big guns

of Congress are roaring,

pounding away at their very own ranks.

Thus Maxeke, B.A.,

ancient teller of tales.

He forces down today

those urging us over the edge.