The Exiles Poem by Gert Strydom

As an exile I live
in a country that despises me,
despises my whole nation, our language,
the colour of our skin
where the president
has opened the doors wide
to all of Africa,
and citizens from other countries
are more welcome here than us

but even if he tries
to drive me and my people
into the sea, as immigrants
right into the wide world,

like my ancestors
I have sprouted from this very earth
and there’s no other place
where I can make a living,
no other place that calls me
with the same intensity
and although work is being reserved

by the colour of skin
and my patience is running very thin
and I struggle to survive
in the situation that I am in

no highfalutin balderdash
of this country only belonging
to those who are black
is going to break my people or me

and still we trust God,
to change circumstances,
to change the mindset op people,
and if not to conquer and destroy

to make this country a place
in which all its citizens
have the opportunity
to make a living

and to be free in speech,
in dignity, in association,
in religious beliefs,
to live a life
according to your own culture and values.