This is the house of Love, which has no bound nor end.


We sat together in the open grass below
those flat-topped mountains where you died,
a hero fighting for “land en volk”.

We didn’t say much to each other,
just chewed some droëwors
and watched the golden waves of wind
until it came time
to tell you that the heights you reached
were but the hue of something higher,
that the word you used for those you fought
had hidden within it the holy clue
of a whole line of true believers
for whom there is a blaze of light
in every tolling bell
and all the broken stories
of who we were before.

The town hall burnt down some time ago,
but it’s not a problem:
you never liked being indoors anyway,
always wondering through the veld
you gave that golden heart for,
knowing I would come back to find you,
one hundred and twenty six years to the day
you surrendered to these depths
after dragging yourself all the way up
far beyond the will of those you served with.

So we sing, great boer kommandant,
the peaceful music which plays another part
in our shared heritage, mixed blood
which beats remembrance
of you and everything you yearned for:

shalom, ou voorvader,
ek weet jy is in die plek van sielerus
hier, in die hart van God.


Now we are free

Kommandant Louw Wepener