You are like a father to me,
and probably I will not find
a more honourable father
than that which I have in you
where you stand strong, with well-planned streets,
great learning at your schools and universities
filled with churches, with God loving people
with a holy place
on the hill, commemorating the struggle
of a nation, against nature,
against savage human beings
and even the British Empire
and the salvation by the hand
of the almighty God
and with the statue
of fearless uncle Paul Kruger
still facing north.
My military service and my second job
and most of my employment
was knotted to you
and you determined my destiny
in the halls of government
and now father, you frighten me
with syndicates of foreign criminals,
making you their domain,
with drugs and prostitution
offered on your streets
and you wear expressions that brings fear
and threat to me,
being driven from my job
by new laws,
where through affirmative action
you see other people as your own,
even black foreigners from other lands
and now to you I am nonexistent
and now I have left you, have gone from you
to try and make a living
and yet like all father’s
I cannot replace you
and long to be at your side.
[Reference: Alexandra by Mongale Serote.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is not uplifting - and I wouldn't expect it to be so - to read the passionate racist pain here. What did you deserve, Gert? Can't even spell his name right? ? ? Wally Mongane Serote was a brilliant, passionate poet of the revolution and had suffered more pain than job loss! ! ! He deserves to be represented on this site by some of his own work that tells another story.