The morning dew was fresh and memories of it still remains in my heart
It was as sweet as the stream of Amazon.
It gave provender to our sons and daughters for we were closely woven than ever
The manna and the milky dew satisfied our chasers and seekers
For scavenging was my livelihood.

Can I curse my creator for making me responsive?
They grubbily soiled the milky stream at the north and sprinted to me in the south to ask me who caused it.
The Amazon stream has now dried up and I have no stream flowing in the forest.
How can I forgive and forget when the merchant ship carried away my pregnant wife and lashed her back with iron slabs?

Being dragged to the cathedral and licking the wounds of a masqueraded mistress cannot hide my feelings
Forgetting my feelings means forgetting my antiquity
I am not only crying over my scattered sons and daughters who cannot come back
For the tears of an indented servant can only be wiped off by his bearer
The albatross that has left me and my sons and daughters at a cross road is my waterworks

Going back or forward in this entangled web will not make me find the footpath that leads home
For they have planted their seeds all over my acreage and their white trees have grown in my fertile soil
Can I reconstruct the broken walls of Xamar and paint Windhoek amidst escalated tension in Banjui?
I cannot forget but forgiveness is in lieu of the divine