This morning we moved North again
Through strange bush.
We know the enemy still follows:
By night we see their fires,
By day their dust.

The old men talk, still,
Of our ancestors from North:
About the rich forests
And swarming game,
And of our return
Which is ordained
In the stars.
I see no sign of this North.
There are smaller trees
And unknown roots, more snakes
And fewer birds.
On a long journey
The land must change.

I think they will cut us off tomorrow.
There was dust this evening
On our right flank. Is it because
They do not want to fight
Among the hills ahead?
Mountains were our country:
They fear ambush and they are right.
There is no mercy between us:
They are so many.

On watch tonight I stare
At one point in the blank sky.
A star glitters. At once
It is there, as though my staring
Brought it out.
Was it ordained?
This star is in the South.

The women and the children sleep
In the warm heart of the camp.
It is not death I fear
But the thought that birth will stop.
I fear the end of my people.