There are no children
Hippos, guns still stalk
The silent streets;
Blood, pain
Nurture an uncaring anger
No children in SOWETO, Langa, Mannenberg,
Not a child left in Sharpville
Dead
Jailed
Crippled
Blinded
Tortured, yes
The children have all become adults
And so, let no-one lament
Those unlived, lost summers
Nor weep for the shadows
That once were children
Laughing in the sand
Let us not walk too gently
When we pass their graves
Our footsteps must stir their sleep
The dead must learn to talk
The living learn to die
Jesus hymns fill the townships:
‘Fast falls the eventide’
And queues of morning mothers
Search for slain children
‘When other helpers fail…”
But death can lift a man
It can reshape a trembling people
And replenish it with purpose,
Give it new life
LET NO BLACK MAN WEEP
LET NO WHITE MAN WEEP
THERE IS PURPOSE IN DEATH
