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Mokomboso Aug 2014
Dear Emma and the rest of the Sumatran orangutans of Chester zoo

To you, today was just routine. To you, in your bubble of a world, just another friendly face came to talk to you again. To me, this visit was bittersweet, in fact I would say 80% bitter. In seeing you, in meeting your gaze the guilt and shame ripped through me like like a tiger's claws. Ah yes, the tiger, 7 years have past since they had disappeared. People have all but forgotten already, there were plenty of tigers safely locked away right?
You probably don't know this and I doubt that you can read this, but I write this letter to you anyway, do what you want with the letter. Look at the photograph I have included of your Asian relatives that I took during my travels nearly 20 years ago. Or you could discard it, tear it, eat it I don't care as long as you receive this. For nearly 2 centuries your people have been captured and killed and we destroy everything you know. Our growing population pressurised us, we strove for urbanisation, painting a thin venire of chrome. Our colour of comfort, but we made it worse for ourselves as our most important livelihoods were replaced by dust villages and starvation. You were not immune to our pillage I'm afraid, from that first time Charles Darwin met Jenny our blessing became your curse. 3 weeks ago the last of your Asian brethren died. We saw your demise coming, some of us tried our hardest to halt or postpone it, setting up rescue stations and reserves. But the mindless machine wirred on, it wasn't until the last 90 miles of forest remained that the Indonesian bigwigs realised what they had done. In a blind panic they planted new tree seedlings, maybe somehow in the hopes that more bears, frogs, birds and orangutans would materialise from the roots? It was already too late but perseverance drove them to try everything. Everything. Nyaru Menteng offloaded their remaining 8 charges to Western facilities where artificial habitats had been created. The rest of them watched over and monitored the remaining native population, sending out vets and human doctors to keep them alive at all costs. I watched every second of it, followed the blogs and the news. It hurt so much I didn't think I could follow anymore, grief stricken with each "progression" but I was compelled to carry on. And finally, there was one.
A male, Gregory. He never grew his cheek flanges because he had no competition. No drive to find a mate. He knew as much as we did that he was alone. No one knew why they kept him there, all knowledge of reproductive biology was forgotten and replaced with superstitious magic. We kept him there, stayed by his side, fed him and doctored him until finally at the age of 39 he died of a heart attack. The news was like a punch in the guts for all of us. It was announced as breaking news all over the world, pongo pygmeus and pongo abeli officially extinct in the wild. A minority mentioned that many captive orangs still remained in zoos and sanctuaries and that we should not be so sad. But they were quickly shushed like an outspoken attendee of a funeral. Those remaining would not last forever either once inbreeding became too rife, plus, their artificial living arrangements meant these fat, shut in orangutans would live a second rate life, plagued by the same mental ailments that the rest of us urbanites suffer. They would never know the joy, fulfilment, danger, even, of the wild. And these zoo populations were like ghosts or holograms of what used to remain. 
I was afraid for the last 3 months to visit you again, incase you knew and you would turn your head away from me in disapproval. Your disgusted expression would render me speechless. But logic told me this would not happen and I had finally plucked up the courage to see you again. As always you brachiated towards the window and pressed your face against it while I talked to you and pretended to stroke your hair. You were oblivious and ignorant, I envied you. I cried and you wondered why, other humans understood and some looked forlorn themselves. I could see you and your granddaughter looking in concern at our apparent sadness. I tried to look brave for you, I played with your granddaughter as normal. 
Though I had no direct influence over your demise I feel just as remorseful as the loggers did, I was careless in my choices. Living such a sheltered city life and not realising until my second decade the true dangers facing you. I chose too late to be mindful of my grocery shopping, avoided palm oil, never watched films with trained animals in. My few actions made no difference, until very recent years I was still the minority. Don't mistake me for someone self pitying, I don't want you to think I was thinking only of my own feelings and being a martyr. If anything self loathing, I've always been a misanthropist but as of late I've abandoned my species altogether. Apart from my immediate family of course. You were not the only ones that went, Asian elephants too disappeared around the same time. Mackaws of South America have almost completely been depleted. The once hopeful 200,000 chimpanzees whittled down to the last 5000. Bonobos gone already from the wild since the last 100 were taken to sanctuaries and zoos to "rebuild the population" but there were very little captive bonobos to begin in. Gorillas: 1000 (only mountain gorillas are left, ironic isn't it? We focused so much on that one race we neglected the rest). African elephants: 4. Giraffes: 100. The list goes on. And we too, **** sapiens, the most numerous of large mammals are feeling the pinch. It started with Japan over 20 years ago, people retreated more and more into the office, no longer caring to build families and the population declined. The rest followed suite, bursting at the seems we could no longer steal more land for ourselves, more destruction meant less air to breath, less food. People have started to fight their reproductive urges, like the Japanese, retreating into a single life in a cubicle. Sitting by the screen. We are committing a species wide, slow suicide. I consider this a blessing, the rest of nature can finally get even. Some are scared and upset, others relieved. The divide is equal.
I have come to visit you every 3 weeks since I was 21, I am 40 now and in that seemingly short space of time I have seen the world change dramatically while you sit and climb and think your own isolated thoughts in your little bubble. 
Please accept my sincerest apologies. No matter if you read this or not. I am so so so sorry. On behalf of myself, on behalf of my species. Please forgive us.
Yours Sincerely,
Sophie
You know how I said I wasn't doing any more primate ones? I lied.
Not a poem but... this a hypothetical future (19 years from now) and the orangutans have become extinct in the wild.
Thom Jamieson Nov 2018
I read an article in the news this week,
It was about profiling corporate bigwigs
And the shocking conclusion,
That the vast majority of these pigs at the trough of good fortune
Are psychopaths, a statistically significant majority,
Like eighty percent,
This tweaked my curiosity and so I did a bit of research,
And I learned that a psychopath is someone
who experiences life differently,
they experience all of the positive emotions,
Love, happiness, comradery, all of it.
But they’re wired differently,
When it comes to the sad, bad, mad times.
They don’t feel the way most humans do,
They feel detached from these things
They tend to deal with things of this nature
From a logical and removed perspective,
And this is where the road forks.
Ethical, moral, love-based pychopaths
Release the tension, resulting from the conflict
That arises from this, (aka wow I’m a freak)
through healthy
Or at least, socially-acceptable methods
Others, unfortunately dispose of it,
through darker, more nefarious means
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath,
Not the hack them, slash them maniac you see on film
The ones that just don’t feel like other people.
I was reading a book about self-realization,
About dropping preconceived inhibitions
Quieting the mind,
And finding “the silence within the silence” as they say,
I started to consider this,
I thought back to my transformation in August of seventeen
I moved from subject to passive observer,
I substituted love for fear, in every corner of my life,
And I found the silence, perhaps just a glimpse,
But it was so beautiful, it impressed upon me
An entirely new disposition,
As a passive observer, I’ve been able
To see myself much more clearly
When you look at yourself from a standpoint,
That leads you to recognize that in fact
There is no you at all, only your perception
And in fact, even perception
Consciousness, the core of experience
Is an illusion in and of itself.
An illusion nurtured by
The confines of society
Because at the level of atoms and molecules
We really all are
Intertwined and indistinguishable
And these tiny points of perception
That we think of as us
Are actually one
As though a block of energy
Was slammed through a cheese grater
And from this perspective,
and the Fear/love paradigm,
I find myself alone,
Alone, and happy,
Possibly,
For
The first-time
Ever.
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath.
And though I’m not wishing for the way it was
I do wish
I had a friend,
a sounding-board so to speak
Who knows me as well
As the one that I have hurt, and who has hurt me
To really help me decide,
Is this an epiphany,
Or insanity
A middle-aged crazy man
Writing words no one will ever read
Either way, I suppose
You can look from one of two sides
From the loss, and the sadness
The love and respect for the past
Or from the perspective of freedom,
Growth,
And doing what you were put
In this crazy world to do
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath,
At one point this afternoon
I realized I hurt in my entirety
My body, head to toe
My heart, because I am alone
Self-chosen,
But still alone
And my soul because
I don’t feel the way other people do
I won’t hurt anyone else
At least not on purpose
But every inch of me hurts
Every,
Inch.
And yet, even the sadness I feel
In waves,
By no means all the time,
But when it hits,
It hits hard,
I realize this too is a bad habit at best,
And an illusion at worst
What growth can come,
From pining for the past
Or any attachment for that matter
Because those things
That we can’t stop ourselves from doing
That arise from mind
Such as regret, or loss
Or guilt
Are bad-habits,
illusions
That serve absolutely nothing
But to teach, and move on
To how you might
Make the reality that is now
The best it can be,
For everybody,
Even me!
Today, I started to wonder if I’m a psychopath.
#****** #psychopath #love #awakening #enlightenment #truth #perception #illusion #avidya #attachment
Free Bird May 2016
Another day, another dollar
Or so the saying goes
You work so hard just to be hollered
At for bringing to work with you, your woes

You aren't a person once you've clocked in
You're not supposed to care
About the goings on in your own world
So **** it up, 'cause life's not fair

Always put your best foot forward
Nothing less than your best will suffice
Don't you think that a golden watch
On your superiors' wrist would look nice?

You're working for "the big man" now
Don't you understand?
Everything you do from here on out
Will add more cards to his hand

Try to come in when you're sick
Don't call off too much
How else will the higher ups
Pay for their daily corporate lunch?

Be happy with your current wage
You make enough to get by
If you ask for more, you could be fired
Without being given reason why

One day once you've given your all
You may be able to retire
They'll give you half of your former pay
As by law they are required

Month by month you'll receive your checks
Though they might not be enough to live
Your whole life they get to take take take
While you'll only ever give

At least now you can relax a bit
Maybe you can finally see
The whole world on a map before you
What it means to be broke, but "free"
Gavin Paul Boehm Jul 2013
knock* knock
hi, we're the forgotten sons of punk rock
the product of one too many shots of Jello
with the Kennedys...
or was it the Romones...?
who knows we were all too ****** at a tv party that night
when Henry Rollins got into a fight
with some misfits and
minor threats
but I'll be ****** if by the end of it all
they weren't just a big circle of jerks listening to ******* down the hall
it was about this time that Johnny Ramone reached into his cereal box to claim his prize
and then
right before his very eyes he held a pair of x-ray spex
he put them on
but there were no effects
so he took them in his stiff little fingers and tossed them out the window
they landed near a gang of four addicts
who had just gotten high off some leftover crack
now... some may say that these guys have bad brains
or are simply sub-human
but we know for a fact that these are the unseen reagan youths who got swept under the carpet
and are now stuck in a metaphorical tar-pit
that we call their lives
but thinking about all that was putting a major downer on our night
so we turned away from the window sill
only to see Patti Smith baking gorilla biscuits for a night at the drive in
with Johnny Rotten and Iggy Pop
and I think they were gonna make some new descendants of punk rock
all of a sudden the party was crashed like a dance hall
and in our door stood 999 brooding adolescents
--and one screeching weasel
this once again set Henry Rollins off, with the Glenns (Danzig and Ginn) not far behind
there were some jawbreakers
and choking victims
and some dead boys were piled in a corner
but eventually everyone was sedated, we all embraced and we hit the town like a bunch of bigwigs
when we got outside, we couldn't believe our eyes
propaghandi polluted the skylines
for the now D.O.A. immigrants getting off the U.K. subs and the asian floats and the african boats to see
posters promoting the discharged germs from the media
pamphlets selling their bad religions
and banners telling us to be the agnostic front that allows a corrupt regime to keep a hold on our country for 7 seconds more...
those seconds turning into an eternity
of a government who would trade fresh fruit for rotting vegetables
so we decided to end this reign of fear
and put into action Operation Ivy
because we have our rites too
we're in the spring of our youth
so lets get a little socially distorted
we must rise against and raise our anti-flag
strike anywhere the conflict leads our dag-nasty cause
let that fire inside burn like a sunny day in an albino compound
let it fuel your bouncing souls
land a punch for the guttermouthed kids with their jaws wired shut
and if they still refuse to listen
**** painting the town red
we'll paint the world black
maybe then people will see the light
Piglet Jul 2014
My English teacher asked us
to bring a poem in
one that really speaks to us
that resonates within
I did a lot of research
read poems through the night
Wordsworth, Keats, nor Shakespeare
could help me with my plight
I needed just one poem,
an expression to confess
my deeply burning hatred
of this teacher, unimpressed.
So I rifled through the classics,
through the bigwigs and the toffs
but all I found were thee's and thou's and an awful lot of doths
then I was sent a masterpiece
that describes these thoughts of mine
when this teacher says my poetry
is just a waste of time,
so I'll read it out in class today,
then with the Head I'll end up sat
but I'll always be so grateful
that John Cooper Clarke wrote ****.
My English teacher is such an idiot. Thanks Ryan for helping me edit and to you Cal for the introduction to JCC, he's incredible! :-) **
within Zieglerville, pennsylvania

genuine snow white hair
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private)
after i croon (to said lass),

the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission
perchance twill be doomed from the start,
and hence finding me forlorn
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure,

would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness),

aye also resort to buttress
any aural "stormy Dani yelling)
via walled in interlap,
which accouterment functions
as a double agent i.e. (or,

to be rather crude),
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news
inducing madcap

mass media circus
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap
essentially providing wig gull room
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap

pill low ma rendered free and clear
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms

most likely something internuclear
simply to discover visa vis authenticity
if cute employee
(sporting hair

white as the ****** snow),
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited

all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.
dan hinton Nov 2011
I wonder what this world is coming to
When we have to overcomplicate everything
All I hear on the TV of late
Is ‘bare craic’ as my northern Irish friend would say –
“I can’t understand this  credit crunch,” she said
Poignantly, (neither could I) “I think I’ll take
A dander down to the shops.” And so she did
We were out of milk
And living off salami
I picked up the paper
And I realise nothing is without a price
Or a fate
They are the two certainties
So is death
And the price is not so hard to see either.
The American bigwigs sit round a table
Complaining what is to be done about the financial crisis?
Each eating a $16 dollar muffin with their $8.48 coffee
Wondering where oh where can money be saved?
And they’ll get back in their private limos
Drive past their second addresses
Back down to Bel-air
Lock themselves in their villas
Count their bonuses
And sleep happy
After doing jack ****.
While Greece is going down the crapper.
I can see the solution
Can you?
Or is it just me?
Or can you see it to?
Kuzhur Wilson May 2018
All the bigwigs in our village
Took refuge in the mercy
Of Fortune.

It came to such a situation that
If we locked our house and left,
Before we reached the goal,
At least ten fifteen Fortunes
Would come looking for us.

I noticed
How quietly
Does this Fortune make its entry.

Earlier, it was so noisy.
“Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow”
The sing song chant
Was amusing.

Slowly, Tomorrow became Today.
“Today today today”
How many times have I joined the chant!

Now,
How forlornly
How silently
Does Fortune arrive!
It has lost its speech.

It has contempt for itself.
It has shrunk into itself
More than the ex-serviceman
Standing in guard before an ATM.

Where did Fortune’s voice vanish?

Does it mean that Fortune has no voice?
That Fortune itself has ceased to exist?



Kuzhur Wilson / Trans by Ra Sh
Trans by Ra Sh
Matthew Roe Sep 2018
The waves are dredged along. Under the constant gaze
of the shimmering top floor moon.
Down to each second to each hour.
But, you are the angel fish, floating
free
beneath the cover of these tides.
Your shoals guide, the humble anglers
home
a silver blonde amongst the bigwigs,
The local red army, clothed in Cex shirts,
not needing an October symphony,
but now I sing your praises.
The bag you gave, though I had no 5 pence to spare,
lightened my load as much as any camel
along the silk road.
My journey is eased,
by your projected hope that my railcard,
will be renewed in future,
for your faith gives promises the
weight
of Gold.
You allow me to watch the guided heroes in explosive flames,
despite my smuggling
of Jelly babies under a hoodie.
For the shimmer in
Your
eyes, I will leave no litter,
for those with the blonde glittered scales,
From cold night, let the sun rule,
And the sea shall shimmer too.
For those who provide humanity in times of business and bureaucracy, like the woman at the train station who gave me 1/3 off my ticket even though my railcard had ran out, knowing I would renew it at a later point.
'October symphony'=In Communist Russia, composers used to have to write a symphony to praise the 1917 revolution each October.
Also: I shall now be uploading poetry readings to my YT channel, 'The MJ Roe Show', I have already done one for 'I'm a Fascist'.
(Now words written some months back more urgent then ever)!

Trumpet call to action,
sans barreling totalitarian
tilt per prez zee dent shill faction
already wrecking ball -
even without Miley Cyrus - got traction.

Das boot Trump out-
(oust him to) Mexico or Waterloo
lip smacking gangs eagerly await
bully in White House and true
as Reince prescience fore tells poe
whit yawl get lucky strike
if keep Taj Mahal shaped shoo
fur deux hundred daze
starring scary motley crue.

╰☆╮I'm royal heir to peace mongering hoarders,╰☆╮
which comb hen might handy when borders
hermetically sealed, per heil hit lore
caw zing a furor with his stark orders.

Gestapo Re Don Dint (doomsday)
I dont wanna don a quack dynasty outfit,
or that of wood chucker
but...holy *******
kudos to heckler, who deems
steam roller Trump as one mean trucker.

Thus - for umpteenth attempt to post
with noah intention
to induce rabid reaction to roast
my *** (albeit scrawny just to be cheeky),
I duck rye America will burn like toast

if.... mister money bags reaches
full term finish line of presidential electorate,
he doth stick out pudgy leatherneck
with reassurance,
sans hiz safely guarded golf coast.

My anti Donald trump screed
WE MUST DO MORE THAN YODEL LOUD: all agreed
out....out...get...lest cruel nightmare har reed
thru legislation - ding ****
the witch's dead donald drake...freed

bigotry, derogatory hate, hence
out...of...here...without...his...coat...indeed
of...armor, nor golden golfing irons greed
dilly bought with monies usurped
unpaid/underpaid migrants MUST NOT heed
no passivity, who rightfully
feel indignant and teed.

I dune hot condone political measures
paws sauté fracas mane lion kapo - louse
jabbering indiscretion via his blouse
zee and breezy haughty snub nosed
air audacity, haughty, and superiority
on par with Doctor Zeuse
herewith continues poem,

I dashed off ala hill a re: huff - to douse
Auld don self serving trumpeting and gel lee
joie de vivre dystopian *******
inducing nostalgia fin d siecle
Barack Obama utopia of yesterday
now 45th lacking prez cred,

he doth thrive to squeeze gnarly paws,
around world asper hobnobbing
with bigwigs snatching grab-bag to carouse
invariably sparking angry birds viz
puffin that retweet his sewerage bilge -

strike horror tummy senses -
for antithetical opinions heed espouse
based on scary political fracas
and ominous nightmare whar mo' will grouse
to obstruct Trump accessing black keys to arouse

looming presidential nightmare
became real - gruff louse
he crushes sacred freedoms,
whence civilization goes off bluff
analogous to a rabid Tom cat
terminating the life of poor ole Mickey Mouse.

DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch

black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet,
a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans ****
pay shuss selfish lust, when world
slides down behavioral sink into Old Rotten Gotham,
where he twill jape
at distant outlier from madding crowd a gape.

At sheer inanity trumpeting strumpets donning innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod --
seize ***** viz Cesar

his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards
to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country.

Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het

two...three...four, while the billionaire
turns a third blind eye speeds away
in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy DeVos,
how did fickle finger of fate let

this pompous ***
vacuum majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi,
and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face doughy as smart putty pet

bump ping uglies henchmen bedlam set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup
bawling ashen faced deportees,

whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee
branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens"
labored with nose to grindstone

fingers to the bone vainly,
their American dream parched whence whet
long story short - pondering
rental circumstance will equal net

zero importance, and will be upended if this ret
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic,
narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three -

via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within American crucible melting *** -
with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves,
superman or Sabrina can oust him yet.
Joseph C Ogbonna Aug 2023
Executive- My powers are absolute,
                    thus I am totalitarian.
                    The legislature and judiciary
                    are each subservient to my whims.
                    I pass my bills with attendant
                    compliance, and interpret my own
                    terms as the law.
                    I shut the doors of compassion,
                    I am very deeply elusive.
                    I give no room at all to dissent.
                    I get bloated with the treasures of the nation.
                    In a leap year's tenure I bulldoze
                    my way back to my incumbent status.
                    And when four multiplies two, I impose
                    a minion to cover my ills.

Legislature- To obnoxious decrees I give my consent.
                       I inflate yearly forecasts to become opulent.
                       I am gratified for the cabinet servants' affirmation.
                       I always my selfish treaties ratify.
                       I am undoubtedly slavish to executive excesses.
                       I seek the redress of constituents' grievances
                       to enlarge my pocket's size.
                       And above all else, I am largely rubber stamp.

Judiciary- My evasive justice is yours' to reap
                   if you are a top notch,
                   whilst I withdraw the distributive
                   and restorative from insolvents.
                   I base my interpretations on business
                   interests,
                   and make laws for the interests of
                   a cabal.
                   Equity and rights are only in my
                   constitution stated.
                   But in reality they are no more
                   than abstract twins.
                   The sacred laws of our national prospectus
                   I serve as a weak custodian of,
                   and weaker still in the face of political
                   heavyweights.
                   But with all the lofty responsibilities
                   I am reverently saddled with,
                   I can do nothing more than
                   empower bigwigs because I am weak,
                  and they are powerful.
The characteristic traits of Nigeria's three arms of government.
Akwana Wa Odera Apr 2019
I think Kenyan politics like love is blind
And we are just visually impaired beggars
Waiting to be given crumbs and the leftovers
As the true 'nation owners'
Share the bigger pie, with greed and 'honor'
I get sick every time i get to watch this sequel
With too much unending repetition
Impersonation
Individualization
With despots ruling the nation.
We've totally failed as a people
Always ready to criticize
But never determined to see through
Always ready to fight
When it's us with huge dues
Protecting our own
When it's them that get huge!
Someone told me to vote to eradicate
The rot
That through my vote
Maybe there will be change in the lot
And the true will get afloat
But I'll have to disappoint,
In a system this rogue
To vote i will not!
No need to confront
Let me express the systems faults.
Politicians fighting for supremacy
The bigwigs protecting there lame legacy
Whilst people in the north are hunger stricken
And the system blames the weather for its wickedness
Corruption levels are beyond explanations
With money for development disappearing in the boardrooms
Leaving unemployed Youths struggling to bet on their livelihoods
In a system this rogue
To vote i will note
When the main agenda in Kenyan shows
Is politics
And who will get to be the kingpin of all
When the Chinese are taking over our plots
Leaving Kenyans at their mercies with no hope
When it's huge loans that are borrowed
But no track record or development to show
And that's just a piece
Of the iceberg that we've crushed in
Breaking the system to bits
The system is sick
But again we are blind
And not even struggling to see
I wonder what miracles we'll need
Just to put the system to speed
But still
In a system so rogue
To vote i will not!

Akwana Wa Odera
@therealakwana
© 2019
Kenyan politics as of now is just disappointing
Supriya Shukla Dec 2018
Holding a placard in his hands,
Depicting 'Where is my family?',
Waiting for years to be espied,
An orphan to be classified.

Skyscrapers and bungalows across, Bigwigs with their footing and gloss,
Eluded the paparazzi, no clicking please!!
And they went on behind them for a glimpse.

"O dear! pa..pa...paparazzi!!
Come to me and click me.
Don't waste your time."
Pleaded ...The Orphan.

Paparazzi seldom are indulgent-
To know the bourgeois and indigent.
Under their ken,they follow the fame,
Lights and ramps are their only aim.

What if so called showbizzy,
Paparazzi or any other crazy,
Cared about this frenzy,
To give the '#Orpharazzi'.
When you unveil the threshold, how many will be standing bold,
High and mighty, like the gods, above the stars and the seas,
But I sees, nothing but fawned misery, adopted to a silent imagery,
Be like me, they say, chase the riches, soon to get hit by the pitches,
They must have a receipt, because I see the price tag of their souls,
Stretched on the invisible vessels, and ocean of fire, for material desires,
Long horns, with blow horns, sounding alarms, in hell farms,
Look at em, standing fancy, steadfast the dead, with a painted mask,
Caught under the lights of a flash, soul captured like liquor flask,
Boiling to a degree, hotter than the suns diameter, frequency,
Stay tuned, the twlight is real, its already here, cant you feel,
It in the air, like Collins, I took notes, scribbles of life, off of piling,
The life of the, rich and famous, the more the fame the more the ****,
They became, and the same, folks will wanna switch over, when it's over,
Time stamped, file cabinets open, scoping, and these thieves hopin,
That they get the spare, but all they gone see is despair, in the mirror yeah,
Walked over the scorned man, with luggage in the trash can, understand,
The mercedes might be on the high end, but your soul was destined, to sin,
From the end to the beginning, we play our selves backwards, see
We come out as a seed, grown to a baby, go back into the womb, as a baby,
Into mother earth, I know my worth, much less than a penny,
Why sell a dollar, off of being a Guinea, pig you dig, **** bigwigs,
I split wigs, like raiden, death before dishonor,  ya mighty honor,
Drenched in gold plated armor, bear claws, with a lion chest, the best,
Out of the southeazt, Texas watch me bring the ruckus, and wreck this,
Head on, collision you caught the vision, before the envision,
These moby *****, tryna run ahab but I hit chu with the vocab,
Nose stabbed, from my cold pad, I thought you had, the limelight,
Turns out, you ain't got the heart to fight, feel the grotesque fright,
Deep into the night, deaths making its presence known, shown,
From face feet arms chest to collar bones, thirty minutes til ya gone,
The colder it gets, the more you think, eyes bugged out, over suspense,
Dont get tense, let it go, it's just Cerberus waiting at hells door,
The last face you see, is that off your biggest enemy, a person you ignored
In society, quietly, they gave you the godly signs, of the infinite divine,
Now you want a rewind, because the signature, was hot on the dotted line,
Too late, to shake ya date, now you the new dinner, with others souls at stake
I saw a mouse
Where?
There in your hair
WHAT?
It wasn't wearing clogs
Sorry, i forgot
I wonder if clogs were commonly around
Back then
When?
That time when big wigs
Were in vogue
Bigwigs?
Back in Georgian times
When mice were oft
Found within wigs
Are you on something?
Should i be?
Lucky i didn't mention the rats
There was me thinking
Rat hair was just knots
I wonder historically
About *****
Don't even go there
Goodnight!

by Jemia

— The End —