In the darkness of the Springs central business district
where taxi-drivers do curse on each other
and do forthright shoot at the Brakpan busses,
where they do try and kill black foreigners
as if like this they will go back to Nigeria
and before daybreak do add some more dead people,
when the police and fire brigade sirens do cry
as if it is already the day of judgement,
where right through the night a helicopter hangs above everything
and cars in the morning-twilight and fog
full of angry zombies do string along and hoot
nobody does notice the red-day breaking in the east,
how beautiful the round the sun does rise right through the fog,
how the fog burns away to the bright cobalt blue.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem