South Africa is going to the dogs.
The squatter camps are crammed with fearful whites.
A once great nation has worn out its cogs;
Its gears no longer mesh; dim low its lights.
The people cringe in fear on darkest nights,
When bush knife or the bullet from a gun
May cut life short; as in the street the fights
Go on – the gangs attack – the victims run.
A failing state when all is said and done;
It slides back to its troubled tribal past.
As sure as westward sinks the setting sun,
So is the shadow’s shroud advancing fast.
By all accounts there’s little hope I’d say.
If not a shithole, it’s well on the way.