For generations blood flowed,
and my ancestors fought
for this country to be their own
and it was asked from me
to carry a machinegun.
Still my country was given away
and opportunities with it
and what belongs to me,
robbers claim as their own
without the police trying to stop them.
My friends have left and gone into the world
and are far away from me
that still stays in South Africa
and now you my darling
also want to go away
to another place
that looks much better to you.
Maybe it will be much better
to read the newspaper somewhere else,
to paint brush strokes,
to compose music
and to play the piano and guitar
and to say your thoughts in poems
at another place,
but is it asking too much
that merit prevail for everyone
and to have my country back again?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem