Poetry

(after E. E. Cummings)

In the years when like some innocent lambs
boys were forced
by acts of John Vorster, PW, FW and Co
to the slaughter
of themselves but of mostly enemies;
death, shell-shock came
during the epoch of righteousness
of sister churches

with war raging in Namibia and Angola,
boys lost their souls,
where forever changed, by the killing;
trying to survive,
while generals, that are known, medals drew,
while commanding
from out of danger, from as far away as Pretoria,
in safety and bliss

while every John, Dick and Harry in their country’s love
fought fierce battles,
destroyed Soviet controlled Cuban / FAPLA divisions,
lost limbs, sanity,
were only wishing for tranquillity and peace,
they were sold out,
their bravery trampled, victories lied about as defeats
by a new government,

and some with degrees by affirmative action are jobless.

[Reference: “The Season ‘Tis, My Lovely Lambs” by E. E Cummings.]