Читать книгу Synapse - Antjie Krog - Страница 22

I belong to this land

it made me

I have no other land

than this one

immoderate is my feeling for this land

gnarled and tough but unambiguous

I do not believe in miracles

but the peaceful liberation of my land

was a miracle – astonishing and filled with elation

it stays with me its incomparableness stays with me

I know that my country now burning with protest

is uniquely fabricated out of hope – it stays with me

even when everything shrivels falls short falls

apart gets slain becomes a travesty – like sand

the moment that has been granted us once sifts

in pendants of revenge from our unjust fingers

I belong to this land

it made me

I have no other land

than this one

petulant insulted we waste each other

with impunity shed one another’s lives

we wanted to create refuge for the poor the ordinary

the heroes the lovely the talented the maimed

but our graveyards sponge with the ignored the

ill the murdered the raped and the heartbroken ones

I know my country was fabricated

once from hope – it stays with me

it’s incomparableness stays with me

immoderate is my feeling for this land

dumbfounded we listen to the hairdryer sounds

of our leaders arid-air scorchings of nothingness

I do not believe in miracles

but the peaceful liberation of my land

was a miracle – astonishing and filled with elation

I have no other land than this one

we have become the prey of ourselves caught up

in ethnic avarice and a total incapacity for vision

it is as if we have no idea any more of how to live without

being violent anguished and brutal towards one another

I belong to this land

it made me

immoderate is my feeling for this land

gnarled and tough but unambiguous

I have no other land

than this one

I do not believe in miracles

but the peaceful liberation of my land

was a miracle – astonishing and filled with elation

it stays with me its incomparableness stays with me

(after David Grossman)