Here I am, a man that is world-weary (in answer to T.S. Eliot)
I
Here I am, a man that is world-weary,
in a month without rain
and passion and the pain
are still aflame and burning in me.
At the gates of death, destruction and desolation
I did in my youth trod
fired a rifle, a canon and whatever gun in angry shot
and then had a obligation
II
to be true to my country, to be true to you
but now I am getting weary
while life is slowly getting eerie
as if it’s coming to an end, as if I have lost the glue
that has hold my body and my spirit together
and whatever waits in the new day
is coming from the hand of the new government to bother
my fellow countrymen and I and still God do I obey.
II
We live in times of signs and wonders
in the technological new age,
but my fellow men is at rage
as if they are getting orders
that is swaddled in darkness
to maim, to rob and kill
driving every white man to the edge of the abyss
as if it is to them an immense thrill
III
but still there are many blessings
flowing from the hand of God
that I, this poor sod
of a human being see every day in my awakening
and with careful hands
we try to build a future
but I feel like an old horse led to the pasture
in a place of pitiless lands
IV
and from shoelaces we build
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poem by Gert Strydom
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