They fought over pain and over the future of man
until you and we went through death for each other,
because love had failed, yet the system still lived
to deal upon us its sentence of the energy of fists.
On the fifth day Leabua dug up the hatchet, named it
the bludgeon of love, and then pushed a molamu
up the arse of a foe till the tip came from their mouth.

Filling rubber bullets with gun powder and painting
camouflage on them was another act they preferred.
Who knows why they did? They were everything
not to desire, those people with the crooked mouths,
all braver during the days when we were seeking ways
to rid ourselves of the mistrust in this life, and heard
the river weep quietly and crawl through the night
like it knew who had won the vote in every district.

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