'As I drove around Howick this morning, I saw piles of ashes where roadblocks used to be, on the streets after burnt tires and on the rubble of shops burnt. This poem formed in my mind:
The ashes will sing...
The ashes will sing songs for what was the shop that hired a man that raised a family,
The ashes will sing songs of those that became the human shield for livelihoods threatened.
The ashes will sing songs about ages of anger, hunger and more anger.
The ashes will sing about lost family nights around the fire.
The ashes will sing about the elephants that fought and made the grass suffer.
The ashes will sing a song for those that lit the candles and pushed back the darkness.
Because only ashes remain after the fury of hate burns...'