My Country Lies In Pieces Poem by Gert Strydom

My country lies in pieces
as if it was in a hell of a fatal accident
and daily I see Johnny’s and Helana’s
on gravel and on grass
that does not know where
they fit into the new world.

How must my people go on
when life stops
for them in the middle
of a swamp
and where is Johnny going to get a job
and where is Helena going to stay
or is she going to open her doors wide
and invite every man inside
for a pound of two.

In vain our blood clotted
and fell on rock
of this mother earth
and at times in the dark night,
I still dream
about rifles cracking in war.

It’s like nothing
can change things back
to what it was
and there’s no new tomorrow,
waiting on my people
and not a reasonable chance
to make a life.

I pray time and again
and ask the great Lord
just for a place in the sun
and to stay free as a citizen
and that merit must apply
and my soul that dies inside of me,
draws strong to the field
where the sunlight falls
and thunders flash blue white
over the iron rocky outcrops.

Between the things of life
white men are searching for work
and wonder how
to place bread on the table
and I see them stand
as car guards
at supermarkets
and it’s as if those
that brings and measure out the calamity,
tear pages out of their lives
and artlessly roll cigarette zols
out of a family Bible
and I wonder if our blood
will have to clot
and how far things will have to go
or has it become part of life
and is it quite normal
for everyone?

[Reference: Spoorwegramp by Henley-on-Klip by JC Steyn. Johnny= John everyman. Helana= Beautiful women. Hellen of Troy.]