A Scene From Another Day In The New South Africa (5) : At The Traffic Light (English Sonnet) Poem by Gert Strydom

(in answer to Robin Camhee)

Stranded a white male stands at a traffic light,
unemployed by the black regime's Affirmative Action,
he wonders if he will have food for the children tonight?
Sunburnt he is for vile words and ridicule a attraction

with a board begging for work, for money and for a life
and those white people still employed laugh at him,
where he has lost his job, his car, house and wife
and life at the present and maybe forever looks dim

his two degrees and experience counts for nothing,
the rainbow nation is a lie and everything is just black,
he looks up into the sky, to God his heart still does sing,
where there is now so much that his life does lack.

Slowly with no milk or bread he walks back to a squatter camp,
feel the heels of the black men that do him in the ground stamp.

[Reference:"Scenes from another day" by Robin Camhee.

Poet's note: I am quoting:

"Scenes from Another Day" by Robin Camhee

"Stranded in the middle of nowhere
her children by her side
a battered case, some cooking things
an O.K. packet with stuff,
scattered them the possessions
of a lifetime…
she stands admit the flattened walls of her house…"

"another day
as authority
forces a removal."


"Lost amidst commuters
concrete and glass
a used ticket in his hand,
some change, a letter in his pocket,
some tattered clothing in his sack
flung boldly over his shoulder…"

"another ruralite
come to take his chance."


"Sprawled in the dusty road
blood gushing from a head wound
the legs twitching neurotically,
a broken body pours out its life…"

"another day
as the casspirs
make their rounds."


"As the smog settles
it shrouds a mangy dog
dragging a bundle
from a rubbish heap,
its eyes rheumy
its jaws slavering in anticipation…"

"another sunrise
as a abandoned baby
feeds a township mongrel.


"As he shivers in the heat of the evening
the piss running down his legs
the shit anxious to fly out,
he empties his pockets
while the knives hover close…"

"another week
his children will starve."


"On a corner
the barricades are up,
the fires are lit
and a ring of dancers
chants the last rites
as black smoke
smears the sky…"

"another life is torched."


"So as you make your face
clip on your earrings
for a night on the town
remember,
the heavens
indifferent as always
placidly pass from day to night
just as
the glib words and foul deeds
that crush our lives
pass you by,
you might wake to another day
hung over from the night
and then again,
you might not…"

This poem was published in the book:Scenes from Another Day" new South African writing, Writers Forum, Johannesburg,1989.]

© Gert Strydom