The Southern Road

 There the black river, boundary to hell.
 And here the iron bridge, the ancient car,
 And grim conductor, who with surly yell
 Forbids white soldiers where the black ones are.
 And I re-live the enforced avatar
 Of desperate journey to a dark abode
 Made by my sires before another war;
 And I set forth upon the southern road.

 To a land where shadowed songs like followers swell
 And where the earth is scarlet as a scar
 Friezed by the bleeding lash that fell (O fell)
 Upon my fathers’ flesh. O far, far, far
 And deep my blood has drenched it. None can bar
 My birthright to the loveliness bestowed
 Upon this country haughty as a star.
 And I set forth upon the southern road.

 This darkness and these mountains loom a spell
 Of peak-roofed town where yearning steeples soar
 And the holy holy chanting of a bell
 Shakes human incense on the throbbing air
 Where bonfires blaze and quivering bodies char.
 Whose is the hair that crisped, and fiercely glowed?
 I know it; and my entrails melt like tar
 And I set forth upon the southern road

 O fertile hillsides where my fathers are,
 From which my griefs like trouble streams have flowed,
 I have to love you, though they sweep me far.
 And I set forth upon the southern road.

--Dudley Randall