South African
b. 1943
Here lies, buried, precious treasure
The future of our beloved land
Pride of our fledgling nation
Our youth, our joy, our hope,
Now turned to sorrowing dust.
They were all young, but children, really
In the full flush of youth
Such promise for the hungry tomorrow
Blessings betrayed and all rules
Of nature turned upside down.
The girls gaily giggled
The young men, boys, really,
Whistled and winked as they strutted about
It was all such fun, such youthful fun
The words of parents paled beside.
The words of parents, mostly whispered;
And even that by but a few.
A whole nation looked on, but shirked duty
As the future swiftly withered and died.
They were in school, but the teachers taught nothing.
Some went to church, but the priests spoke little about daily living;
Pie in the sky and peace and bliss hereafter, their only platform.
Gone too, the wisdom of the Old
Foresaken, the knowledge of yesteryear
That knew and accepted what is only natural
Understood the folly that would block the swells of a surging river
And knew how all children needed mothers and fathers;
Embraced all thildren; charged every man and woman with their nurturing.
‘It takes a village’, belatedly, we now say; at last remembering
Faded lessons, traditions hastily discarded in blind pursuit
Of progress, of fashion, of assimilation. Now, finally seeing
How we ran open-armed, embracing our annihilation.
Now, sorrow jogs memory and we join empty hands
As we frantically try once more to guide,
To lead the new generation as before,
To show the way to the House of Adulthood
Leaving none behind, losing few as can be.
Eye turned back to a time long forgotten
When the measure of a man
Was not the fatness of his pocket
But his deeds of glory; shunning abomination.
When neighbour trusted neighbour; his safety secure at his presence
His home, his folk, his property – all sovereign
His neighbour, his best protection against all
His children, insurance against old age and infirmity.
But that was before the nation learnt to bury all its children;
See its morrow fade, its treasure interred;
The youth, its pride, its hope and joy obliterated.
The nation’s tomorrow, no more – ah, sad day,
When we buried our most precious treasures!
Poets Corner 
May I have the analysis of this poem
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The impression I get is that the “treasure” is a metaphor for young people whose potentially bright and golden futures are being squandered and crushed in the political turmoil of South Africa. What would you say?
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What type of a poem is this?
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Like the other Sindiwe Magona poems I have encountered, it is Free Verse.
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What’s the overall message of this poem
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And can I have a critical analysis of this poem, it is just so hard to analyse it
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Beyond the conversation with Asamkele above, I’m not sure I have much wisdom to offer. Sometimes, I choose poems to read on this blog because of their rhythm, their imagery, or some other aspect of the beauty of their language. Sometimes, I’m more concerned with message and meaning. In this case, it was because I like the poet’s other work and wanted to revisit her writing.
But, at its base, I would say the overall message is: “Let’s not destroy our children with our petty struggles”. That, at least, is how it speaks to me.
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So that means I can also refer to it as an open poem .?
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I confess I wasn’t familiar with the term “open poem” but I Googled it in response to this conversation and, yes, “open poem” does indeed appear to be another term for Free Verse. Thank you for introducing me to the phrase.
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what is the theme of the poem
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What is your opinion? What does it say to you?
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can I have a detailed discussion of the structure of the poem
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Sorry, such a discussion would be very much outside this blog’s mission. At Poets Corner, we believe very strongly in allowing the poetry to speak for itself.
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is it wrong to find this poem being about the “reckless youth”
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I wouldn’t say it’s *wrong* though I personally don’t agree.
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