Today I do not love my country South Africa, May 2008 Today I do not love my country. It is venal, it is cruel. Lies are open sewers in the street. Threats scarify the walls. Tomorrow I may defend my land when others X-ray the evidence: feral shadows, short sharp knives. I may argue our grievous inheritance. On Wednesday I may let the winded stars fall into my lap, breathe air’s golden ghee, smell the sea’s salt cellar, run my fingers along the downy arm of the morning. I may on Thursday read of a hurt child given refuge and tended by neighbours, sing with others the famous forgiving man who has forgotten who were enemies, who friends. But today, today, I cannot love my country. It staggers in the dark, lurches in a ditch. A curdled mob drives people into pens, brands them like cattle, only holds a stranger’s hand to press it into fire, strings firecrackers through a child, burns stores and shacks, burns. - Ingrid de Kok via http://500px.com/photo/105291159
