Vagrant Poem by Gert Strydom

Hobbling along, I see him coming on,
he brushes his jean off making it neat
and then he turns right around to face me
where he is looking somewhat tattered,

he stands without any words as if dumb
but his words lie in every glance,
suddenly I see the whole of humanity
whose glances do not quarter for anything

bringing the hurt, the pain that oppression brings,
telling how men that can work are jobless,
how this evil still circles out wider,
treading some people down without pity,
how it pierces the Afrikaner nation,
as a type of evil occurrence.