Plumes rise up to the skies,

Dwarfing the towering peaks of the Drakensberg and Carlton Centre,

Black smokes darken horizons,

It is funerals, the country is dying.

Many people are dying, dead.

 

Interminable wails from mothers and children alike,

Their cries heard into the heavens,

Children, hungry no food for days,

Children, motherless and fatherless,

Like those born out of snakes and crocodiles.

Many people are dying, dead.

 

Listen to their prayers-

“Don’t take me, take him and take her.”

Unceasing prayers with no beginning and end.

Prayers, entreaties, pleadings,

False promises for change of future behaviour,

Even duplicitous criminals and charlatans

With newly found courage to lie again-

All to be spared from a certain and punctual death.

God must have thousands of ears and bags full of amulets and clementines.

Many people are dying, dead.

 

One man at the dead end of his breath,

Gazed in desperation the end of his sight,

Murmured words to those that bothered to listen:

Dig my grave next to my love-

She left me yesterday;

And my mother, last week;

Prepare my death and hand me a white handkerchief,

For I will seek peace in the heavens

To spare my dear children.

With last words his breath disappears in thin air.

Many people are dying, dead.

 

I gaze at the deserts, oceans, mountains and plains,

Emptiness so vast.

Many people are dying, dead.