An Old Soldier's Lament

Let them tell the old lie no more For we who went out desolate Desolate returned to the empty shore Laden with wounds that shall not heal Deep mental scars tattering us more Who left our fragments on distant fields That these old apartheid ways may endure. Nothing in dying is sweet Not the way the shell splintered him And left him gulping his blood Upon the desolation of my arms. I am not fit to die again To be lynched on this distant calvary Bribed by medals Blemished pawn in a filthy game My Constitution can explain I am a fraction in the figment of a dream Without a country where manhood can claim esteem.