Fusillade Poem by Gert Strydom

The heaven is bright blue
where Afrikaner guards look at the victim
while they lead him to the abattoir
an Afrikaner man that fiercely keeps direction.

The look in his eye is sturdy while he accepts his lot,
his eyes penetrates them that stare at him,
as if he knows that he has to pay a price
proclaimed by a British official

that has betrayed his Afrikaner soul,
who is turning his own sails to the best wind
and the eyes of Jopie Fourie close for himself,
his country and his brothers who are slaughtering him.

Blindfolded he sees darkness
but knows that his life is set right
before the creator God
and that moment gets new meaning

draws out for a eternity,
somewhere a shrill whistle blows,
rifles are lifted surely
and when the shots rang out
a Boer boy falls
and the smoke of gunpowder hangs heavy in the air.

[References: The firing squad of Jopie Fourie on command of Jan Smuts. Fusillade by Ernst van Heerden.]