the kinds of animals we see today,
However many they are,
Are but the pitiful scraps that survived.
(Legends tell of three kinds of lion
Of which only one survived)
From the roots of the Tree of Life
Came reptiles of all kinds and shapes,
And cloud after cloud of all sorts of insects
Hummed upwards in continuous streams.
The Song of Life had begun on earth—
The Song which is still being sung,
But which one day may trail off into oblivion—
Leaving at most the faintest echo.
History’s sun had risen, and still shines today,
But it will no doubt set one day – fore’er!
THE RACE THAT DIED
The Holy Ones of Kariba Gorge tell us
That the first men to walk the earth
Were all of a similar kind.
They looked exactly alike, and were all of similar height,
And their colour was red like Africa’s plains.
In those days there were no black-skinned or dark-brown men;
No Pygmies and Bushmen, nor Hottentots either.
The Wise Ones of the Ba-Kongo agree
With the Holy Ones of Kariba Gorge,
And they even go as far as to say
That the First People had no hair on their bodies at all;
All had the golden eyes of Ma—
The Goddess who launched them on earth with such pain.
All the Wise Ones and Holy Ones of this Dark Continent
Agree that the splitting of all Humanity into races;
The tall Wa-Tu-Tutsi, the Pygmies, or the Ba-Twa,
The short yellow Bushmen of Ka-Lahari,
Even those long-bearded A-Rabi
Who raided our villages mercilessly for slaves—
Resulted from one great accident which occurred
Through the sinfulness of these First Men.
Inspire me, oh Spirit of my Fathers!
Give me courage to proceed and tell the world
What say the Holy Ones of these First Men!
Let me break, oh Demon of Disobedience—
Let me break the stout stockade but once
Of Tribal Secrecy.
Let me relate to the world outside
The Forbidden Story that all Wise Ones—
All witchdoctors know but keep firmly shut
In the darkest tunnels of their souls!
What is this Forbidden Legend about these First Men—
Tales of the Nguni, the Mambo, the Lunda and the Ba-Kongo?
When the muted beat
Of the Drum of Sworn Secrecy has sounded
And the Holy Ones gather to re-tell once again
The most secret tales to the young generation;
‘Tales-that-must-never-be-told-to-strangers-
And-to-the-low-born-peasant-dogs’
What say the Holy Ones of this First Nation?
Lo! I shall open my mouth
The mouth of a traitor most foul
Who, for what he believes to be good for his people,
Here betrays the secrets of his land—
I shall open my mouth and tell you,
So gather around me – ‘Indaba, my children . . .’
It is said that more than a thousand times ten years went by
In which there was peace on this virgin earth;
Peace in the sky—
Peace on the forest-veiled plains—
On the scented valleys and timeless hills.
Only certain beasts were permitted to kill,
By the Laws of the Great Spirit,
In accordance with their victual needs.
There was none of this savage
And wanton destruction of Life
Such as men today indulge in
To gratify their warped and evil souls.
Man against man forged no evil spear
With secret and murd’rous intent.
There were no such things as anger and hate
And nothing of ‘this is mine and that is yours’,
No contention and rivalry.
Man breathed peace on the cheek of his brother men.
Man walked in peace without fear of wild beasts
Which in turn had no reason to fear him.
Men in those days did not suffer
From our emotional curses.
They knew no worry like our sin-laden selves.
Death they welcomed with open arms
And a smile on the face, because,
Unlike our degenerate selves,
They knew Death for what it was—
