Roots in the Dust
236 Words
Beneath the vault of endless blue,
Where sun burns gold and skies hold,
The Afrikaner soul first breathed and grew,
In a land both harsh and tender too.
From Jan van Riebeeck’s distant shore,
Where sails cut wind and hearts sought more,
Came seed of language, faith, and lore,
A people forged in freedom’s core.
The wagons rolled through veld and stone,
Through mountains high and plains unknown,
Each step a prayer, each mile a claim,
For faith and family bore their name.
With oxen slow and children near,
Through winter’s frost and summer sear,
They built a life with calloused hands,
And carved their stories across the lands.
The drums of time, they beat and fade,
Yet echoes linger, quietly played,
In hearths, in farms, in whispered song,
A people’s heart that beats lifelong.
The wind carries tales, both soft and loud,
Of ancestors standing, proud and bowed,
Of men and women who faced the fight,
To hold their land, to hold their right.
In the long trek over rivers wide,
Through bitter loss and hope beside,
They planted faith like acacia trees,
Rooted deep, swaying with the breeze.
Every valley, every hill,
Holds a memory alive and still,
And though the world moves fast, untamed,
The Afrikaner spirit remains unnamed.
In language spoken, in hymns at night,
In stories passed by candlelight,
The culture lives, though shadows fall,
A quiet strength that outlasts all.
- Writer
