Ink, leave me to sleep.

Last night I tossed and turned

and fell asleep at dawn.

Why was that? Au! The ford.

Au! Leave me to sleep.

Maxeke's idea of a ford's got us going,

we raised our heads from despair

as if we'd already crossed over.

Speak out, Cete! Someone called for the fords to be blocked

so those in the Cape couldn't cross:

they'll spoil it all, because everything's fine

as long as they're sleeping like springboks.

Speak out! I say Nomgcanabana's father's

a lightning bird taken to dance

at Lupindo's place, where it's fed,

and when it's full it goes off with Baldy.

Speak out, Nqhini, with all your might!

I say go and we'll follow you,

those in the Cape hear your voice

and ask “Where is the ford?”

Speak out, Cete! What more can I say?

It strikes me this thing will be seen

to come good, since it's gently fanned

by men who iron out problems. Au!

Speak out, Cete! I say live long

son of Piliso, death isn't pretty:

everything's ugly under the sods.

The ford's nothing like a lifeless lump.

Speak out! I say a man's tossed under

a mound, well fed,

without a good word

from the speakers over his grave.

shame!

Speak out! Because we are at the ford.

We know of no one concerned at that,

we don't know why they were suddenly restless,

we know of no one who'd treat us as brainless,

we know of no one who'd bar our Cape sympathies.

Speak out! I say to you in the Cape:

take after your grandmothers,

act fearing no one,

for you've stolen no one's property.

Die-as-one, indeed!

You'll be people too. Wake up!

Rise up to the ford! The ford.