Skies now darkening from pastle shades
Mountains turn to a deeper blue~
Close now lit fire burning bright
Large *** on of natural wildernes bush stew~
Lighting pipe now bushmans meditation
In only a bushmans way~
Thinking some of loved ones past
And times gone of a better day~
Swag all ready for the rolling out
Fly tent all fixed and tied~
Music begins of natural bush
Clothes all now washed and dried~
Horse unrigged and holted loose
Graces close in peace and evening breeze~
Breezes suggesting a night of rest
Now whispering among the trees~
Fire crackling good company
Smoking very little hot the fire~
Started by bushman with smallest sticks
And a little old dry brier~
The fragrance of dinner soon to be
Old dog rests some and snorts a dream~
Getting late now all is quiet
Can even hear water running in yonder stream~
Socks and jeans all washed and clean
Ready for another day~
All dressed now in camp clothes new
Bushman watches another another fade away~
Camp like home out here all alone
Just bushman horse and dog~
Fire letting bushman know
Ready for another log~
Dog comes to the bushmans side
And snuggles into another spot~
At the feet so warm and neat
Best friend a man has got~
Dog awaits a mouth ***** tune
As after dinner this he knows~
That some music he will hear
Out here thats the way it goes~
Dinner eaten some put aside
For breakfast bushman and dog~
Dog awakes and looks around
Just a lizard on a log~
Horse raises head and glances about
To see what dog is searching for~
Dog sniffs the air as if somethings out there
And lays down again on natures floor~
Bushman plays a little tune
Sings a small old fashioned song~
Makes the fire all safe once more
Towards bed roll stroles along~
Tucks himself in for the night
Dog gets as close as he can~
Horse all ******* nearby as well
Silence fills the land~
Stars they shine as stars only do
The moon is hidden by a cloud~
Before the bushman goes to sleep
Night bird cries out loud~
Horse it blows a noise of content
Dog he gives a snort~
Bushman takes a little sip
Of his favourite port~
Another day has faded away
Tomorrow much the same~
Clouds they look a little dark
Tomorrow might have rain~
Fire dims and skies go dark
The stars are brighter still~
Silence sounds as silence does
It's off to sleep for all untill~

Terrence Michael Sutton
Copyright 2007

Harsh, desert scenery
Haven, from lush misery
Forced by Impi, so greedily
This, our new sanctuary

Glitter, in desert sand
The cause, of moonlike land
No more men, with bow in hand
No more happy feet, stamping sand

Scenery, violated by man and machine
A hole, were last buck was seen
Spiritual pickings, now so lean
White man’s god, o so mean

Before white man’s god, we now bow
We ask the spirits, “How can you allow”
Is this, the final raw?
Are we, disappearing now?

After a visit to Jwaneng, a diamond mining settlement of De Beers in Botswana, I was impelled to write this poem to revolt against the injustices being committed against the Bushmen in Botswana. The Bushman are forcibly being removed from there desert land to make place for diamond mining activities.

This desert is our life.
From the dry earth we gather roots and melons.
Over the endless sands we hunt the gemsbok and the springbok.
  
Sometimes the ga roots are shriveled and bitter.
Sometimes men are sick with thirst and hunger.
  
When there is water we drink and sing and clap our hands.
When there is food we eat and dance and clap our hands.
  
The eland does not come to us and ask to be eaten --
one must know how to make the arrow and poison it
and where to look and how to hide and shoot. . . .
  
What man is so foolish as to expect more? To expect
the rain to be always falling, his eggs full of water and
his stomach full of meat?
  
You have strong animals to carry you.
You have much food and water.
Your digging sticks are hard and sharp.
Your shooting-sticks are like lightning.
  
You are a powerful man and a good man.
I can see that in your eyes.

But what you offer is a dream.
  
You can give us water and meat.
You can fill our hands with tobacco and perfect beads.

But you cannot give us happiness.

  
A man can only drink so much and then he is full.
If a man is always eating honey, he tires of it and becomes sick.
  
And even if all life were sweet --
what man is not food for lions and dogs?
A man who has tasted in his life no bitterness will find death very bitter.
  
My mouth longs for sweetness
but sweetness brings bitterness
and in the end they are one.
  
So I ask you:
Take your digging sticks and your shooting-sticks.
And do not leave them behind.
Go to the green lands you came from.
We shall walk in this desert as we always have.