Rough streets of terrain motherland
Engulf many pressed in yearns to live
As they perish in streams of tears in struggles
We can not rebuke her to mourn
Children die in wombs
By choice and hostile circumstances
Azania grieves Mandela's return
To help write not an abstract story
A gardenful that feed the few
To trenches by poverty are called
But prayers of theirs riches they long
A place from whence they are spewed
To later brawl for crumbs
Intensely, she sobs
Aiming to write story so new
That gives back her children their distorted pride
For them to tell as Victor's of histories
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem