Mene! Mene! Tekel! Parsin!!

Awu! I blundered in going to whites!

I felt bound by the chains of the ways

of the world, of the Ancient Tempter.

Like that they lived their lives in pleasure,

like that the fingers wrote on walls;

like that the king sat thunderstruck,

naked old men screened themselves with their hands.

The nation blissfully paced in its cage,

everyone sinking up to the ears,

Satan busting a gut singing praises

to you Christians and to us Reds.

“We exalted ourselves above God.”

The walls spoke for even frogs to hear

in Belshazzar's ancient city

of brass and silver idols.

“You've been weighed and found to be wanting.”

The Ancient Creator's voice struck home.

The fingers’ inscription proclaims

your kingdom's been taken, handed to others.

Stop raising doubts: it's speaking to you,

who stab your king and stab your country,

so your customs joined the whites,

because we exalted foreign gods.

Who are you questioning at this stage?

There's the writing on the walls.

Don't we indulge in slander

while saying “Africans, come back”?

Mene! Mene! Tekel! Parsin!!

Where's the Xhosa authority,

for all the black nations under the sun,

for our sons and daughters assembled as one?