Windhoek, 2000

Windhoek, 2000 Nabucodonosor! thou shouldst be living at this epoch: Namibia hath desire of thee: she is a quagmire Of quiet rainwaters: slab, blade, and cage, Inglenook, the courageous fortune of manor and retreat, Have sacrificed their primeval culture talent. But those who came before us will teach us. They will teach us from the wisdom of former generations. When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago. But looking back we do not find what we left behind. Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by Until all our emphasis befits The creatures we used to be, The gaffes we made in our lifetime. Oh, if only we could see What we are now that we were then? May memory restore again and again The tiniest tint of the minutest era: Past is the school in which we learn, Antiquity is the intensity in which we burn. There's a realm of astuteness in our previous. Our souls are lost and tossed like a ship unruddered in a shoreless sea. Our lifecycle is a flair, a gift that only we can give. Why waste something so precious.