Don’t tell me of blood, sage,
What I have seen I cannot forget.
Tell me of no war,
Of my private ones I can swear.
Spare me the gory details,
It’s a shame that men should die
For reasons to them unknown.
Don’t tell me yours, old one
I have crossed those seas.
Don’t tell me of death, sage
What must come I fear not.
Tell me of no pains,
Of the ones in my heart
I can swear, in my bones.
Spare me the sorry details
It’s a shame to see such sorrow
In the midst of joy,
So much hate in the heart of love.
Don’t tell me of death, sage
Tell me of life.
(From PRIVATE 36 – AFRIKA, p. 57)