'It is the constant image of your face' by Dennis Brutus

The poet compares his love for South Africa, to the love he has for some other person. Maybe, a woman!

It is the constant image of your face by Dennis BrutusIt is the constant image of your faceframed in my hands as you knelt before my chairthe grave attention of your eyessurveying me amid my world of knivesthat stays with me, perennially accusesand convicts me of heart’s-treachery;and neither you nor I can plead excusesfor you , you know, can claim no loyalty –my land takes precedence of all my loves.

Yet I beg mitigation, pleading guiltyfor you, my dear, accomplice of my heartmade, without words, such blackmail with your beautyand proffered me such dear protectivenessthat I confess without remorse or shame,my still-fresh treason to my countryand I hope that she, my other, dearest lovewill pardon freely, not attaching blamebeing your mistress (or your match) in tenderness