No, grave, not today,
You won't get the luxury,
Of my permanent residency,
Maybe some other day.

Clad in me best attire,
Of the finest spun wool,
Dressed in nothing to inspire,
Nothing but a golden fool.

When life throws me bricks,
And cannot, I, turn any tricks,
I stack a pile out of the lot,
And make me a nice looking plot.

Hunger holds me by the scruff,
Life has been so tough,
Nothing I get is ever enough,
Who will give me some stuff?

Things are not how they were,
Plenty baffle the mind,
Madness of the dry kind,
Pushing women and men to savage dare.

Many, many moons ago,
They came with sea prisons,
And now after many seasons,
The people risk all to have a go.

For the sake of boo boo,
I have to do, do,
All egos aside,
I care, only, to please her pride

Cowardly gunmen,
Rampaging, pillaging children and women,
But take way their arms,
And they become dung on farms.

At a point,
Not out of joint,
My journey will take me,
To where I ought to be.

She actually screamed, "yyyyytttt!"
Half drowsy, in sweaty birthday suit,
I'd been fanning her through the night,
In our terribly hot and breezeless suite.

Her decision could have been,
One way, or the other,
But she brought forth this being,
And none else would I call, Mother.

Craaaaaaaaash! And whaam!
Everything goes ham!
But after the cast comes off,
It's like riding the biggest surf.

I've lived with pain,
All my life in disdain,
But now it's summer,
And can only get warmer.

Through many images they came to worship,
Paying obeisance to his lordship,
Although many are the doors,
There is but one entrance.

The impotence of government,
Exposed on the night most needed,
They perch on trees to tweet untruths,
But cower behind powerful iron bars.

Tears woke me today,
When mother gave me away,
My heart was torn in two,
As I wondered what to do.

Collusion, collusion!
Oh, what a situation!
In god's own nation!
****, what a misconception!

For all sorts,
Things of all kinds,
Used, used, reused,
Different items end up there;

From old pots and spoons,
To second hand cars and trucks,
Even underwear and magazines,
Shipped off to a geographical trash site;

A place unwilling to innovate,
Not akin to creative Enterprise,
Always seeking shortcuts,
Thus remaining the world's refuse heap.

Under the knife he went,
And came up decades younger,
Now he need not fright,
Fearing nothing in plain sight;

She went in with meaty love handles,
And out came a sumptuous hourglass,
So, on with the two-piece bikini,
By the poolside sipping cold tea;

Before, tens and dozens,
Mowed down by jihadist fundamentalists,
Today, tens of thousands are unaccounted for,
Their lot, with this terrible dictator;

For me, humble beginnings,
From eating with wooden spatulas,
To dining with exquisite utensils,
Designed and printed in three-dee plastic.

Never before has shame borne a new meaning,
The eyes failing to convince vision,
Seeing now is disbelief,
For all they are, and will be, is a terrible lie;

Right from the tarmac of the airport,
Greeted by stink and algae, rot and disrepair,
Gun toting men in military fatigues,
And a jumble of rickety trolleys;

Across dirt strewn medians,
Road blocks mounted by zoned out operatives,
Dusty highways dotted with gaping holes,
And terrible bypasses hewn into tired looking rocks;

Struggle across makeshift bridges,
Old railway tracks, abandoned,
Dark bends and dangerous loose surfaces,
Overgrown shrubs, perfect hideout for highway rogues;

The joy on our faces,
Whenever we arrive safe,
Glad to be off the hot, stinky deathtraps,
Of the north-south-east roadways.

One, warning,
Two, I meant it,
Three, I'll do it!
Tap! Gone!

They greeted the millennium with renewed hope,
Welcomed the new era with more expectation,
Military jackboots had been put to the rope,
Civilian turncoats can now tend the plantation ;

So every four years they mount the soapbox,
Preaching prosperity in the clouds,
Telling the People to give away their sovereignty,
Over cheap promises of beds of roses.

Eyes open to darkness,
Sweaty night,
In birthday suit,
Waiting on the cockcrow;

Completing another cycle,
The rise and fall of seasons,
Another rung up life's ladder,
Leaving behind, moving on;

I look at my daughter,
Then at her mother, my wife,
And then at this life,
Surely, all can be better.

Cacophony of colours,
Bombastic bedlam,
Deafening distortions,
Onomatopoeic obfuscation;

All a mumbo,
And annoying jumbo,
That thingamabob,
Or is it a thingamajig?

Things we barely pay mind,
Stuff dancing around the mind's corner,
Clutter of confused emotions,
Just there, causing misdirection.

Dreams shattered,
Aspirations asphyxiated,
Hopes extinguished,
Relationships destroyed;

That news everyone dreads,
Like a cold jolt from Hades,
It envelopes all in stiff darkness,
And pours grief plentiful measure.

Bread seeking stomachs,
Half conmen, half charlatans,
Gluttonous holes in round faces
They are the gods of men;

Monarchs in the temple of deception,
Riding on the backs of simpletons,
Rasing the dead from the living,
Tormenting treasuries out of empty purses;

Jerry curled hair and fancy suits,
Luxury boats and four wheeled drives,
Mansions in reserved areas,
Super jets customised for tireless pleasure;

They ***** false altars,
Imprison the weak,
And confound wisdom,
With diabolical manipulation;

Many generations fettered,
By spiritual delusions,
Will take many more,
To free the much incarcerated.

Moonlight activities, nostalgic,
The days of our childhood,
Looking forward, every evening,
To folktales, to those lores of old.

The library is not a place to settle arguments,
The marketplace is not a study centre,
The mind is not a toy to play with,
A woman's heart is certainly not a pickle.

Excitement at a level,
Pulsing, pulsing...pulsing,
Unable to hold it in,
Bursting, bursting...bursting.

A group of morons,
Weilding all sorts,
Chased the lot,
Men, women, old ones;

Threatened blood if they thumbed,
Even killed a few to make true,
Burned their timid decisions,
And dared any opposition;

Cowered into submission,
They handed over their sovereignty,
Resigned to generational servitude,
And an unending cyclical incompetence.

In the town of blind fools,
The one eyed idiot may rule,
In a country of perpetual nincompoops,
The lifeless buffoon will reign.

Mounds of earth, mounds of earth,
Weighing down atrocities of terror,
Cut down in their prime,
Mowed down in their sleep;

One day, farmers,
Carved up, chopped up
The next day, cattle breeders,
Shot down, clobbered down;

A limb for a limb,
Toe for toe,
Mother for daughter,
Son for father,

Mass resting places,
Sit atop the plateau,
Home to many unknowns,
Poor victims of ignorance.

The virulent untruth they implanted,
Brainwashed by virulent balderdash,
The greatest mendacity they sold,
Topped, only, by this blatant lie they preached;

After the caucasians had their field day,
Enjoyed their time balkanising the dark continent,
They left them a germ, a true trojan demon,
Couched in the halos of a heavenly mission.

Nothing to scream about,
Or throw vein popping tantrums,
Nothing to sulk about,
Or break fragile eardrums.

Now the mold is set,
And the dawn broken,
The cost of aloofness,
Is to be rewarded with less;

Refusing to make effort,
Apathy in the face of oppression,
Choosing to mind other things,
Throwing the future to the dogs.

At what cost, your Excellency?
What toll has your triumph taken?
Your glory at the expense of lives,
Dancing over a sea of blood.

Looking at the heart wrenching image,
Moved my whole being to tears,
Laying lifeless, bloodied,
Entry wood to her temple;

The husband craddling her head,
Tearfully looking down,
At the love of his life,
Never again to cheer his home;

She left the home that morning,
To oversee elections,
To serve her fatherland,
To contribute her own quota;

But all she got,
Was a bullet to her head,
The robbing of her life,
Abrupt end to an unfolding story;

Two children have lost their mother,
Parents have lost their daughter,
Sibblings have lost their kin,
And a husband his confidant;

Would she like many others,
Be a little statistic,
Some unfortunate incident,
Lost to unending callousness?

You can never get it all,
Everything you ever wanted,
Those things you always dreamt of,
That...complete... package.

Everything went dark,
Cold sweat ran down my face,
Goose pimples as big as grapes,
Teeth won't stop chattering;

But moons before,
I knew no lack,
Meat and drink,
And a warm bed;

Plunged into daily hunger,
Worms threatened to down tools
Faculty refused to coordinate,
Vision played hide and seek;

Hands became detached,
Use of language elusive
Answers refused to come,
And failure became imminent;

Thus began the many travails,
Up the avenue of starvation,
Drawing down stored up resources,
Inching toward scrawny days;

Yes, failure did come,
That semester was dreary,
Cold nights did not help,
Hunger defeated me;

When help came,
All hope had expired,
But just,
And it was sweet, very sweet.

Thrown into wailing and sorrow,
Day suddenly turns dark,
Many a heart broken,
And many more shattered;

Father against his daughter,
Mother despises her son,
Uncle fights his nephew,
Aunt derides her niece;

Neighbourhoods at war,
Communities at daggers drawn,
Hamlets in peril,
Towns go up in flames;

The light has burned out,
The future is quenched,
Many felled by bullets,
Others hacked to pieces;

The make the headlines,
Blood spilled unnecessarily,
They leave loved ones behind,
And a country unwilling to change.

What say you, now, brethren,
That on the most exalted,
Is seated an impostor-in-chief,
Presiding over the affairs of men?

A husk filed with foreign bones?
A box projecting alien mumbo-jumbo?
An ear refusing to hear?
A lost mind?

Bound by mind,
Bound by thought,
Bound by vision,
Bound by lack;

So I sell my sovereignty,
And give away all my rights,
Turn in my opportunities,
And auction all my needs;

At every campaign rally,
I am here, sweaty,
And they are there, jolly,
Same cyclical untruths;

But do I care?
I am in love with them,
My tormentors-in-chief,
Enslaved to serve.

Why ask,
When offered,
Without coercion,
Or manipulation?

Benevolence without bitterness,
Philanthropy without prejudice,
Charity without complaints,
Mercy without malevolence.

Aye, mine heart is brake in twin,
At the callous mowing down,
Of creatures toiling for daily subsistence,
Piled like logs in hurriedly dug pits;

Unmarked shallow graves dot the landscape,
Burnt mud houses, too,
Unharvested peanuts left for vermin,
To do with as they please.

In the mind of the average,
That corner set much farther,
The deepest recesses,
Set way from the sun;

Patterns of thought,
Configured as fragments,
Not one aligning,
But freely standing;

Malformed decisions,
Incomplete opinions,
Inarticulate perceptions,
Discordant associations;

The children of State,
Rudderless, mindless,
Blown about and around,
Unprepared, unfortunate.

"Oh, does he still love me?"
"Can this be love?"
"Is he tired...of me?"
"But, but, why now?"

Cupid's arrow has come unstuck,
Aphrodite looked the other way,
Everything fades,
Including the magic;

So, when the day started cold,
No flowers, chocolate or cake,
Even cards bearing affection,
Then...maybe...possibly.

Moving forward,
While about faced,
A lot of motion,
Without any displacement;

Those who have been,
Still are,
The ones that want to,
Cannot;

A chorus unhappiness,
Few smiley faces,
With stomach full of hunger,
Praying for better times.

Sun has set on charred remains,
Of an unfortunate fellow,
Happened upon the wrong place,
At the most importune time,

The birds tell one tale,
And the rats another,
But the mob wanted blood,
And ended another life needlessly.

Cast in the wrong play,
Of life,
Terrible scripts,
Of impoverishment;

But in a parallel reality,
That young mind on cheap highs,
Is a brilliant entrepreneur,
On a low key.

Moral uprightness,
In the face,
Of growing hunger,
And hopelessness?

Patriotism,
In the face,
Of joblessness,
And disillusionment?

While despots,
In the face,
Of impoverished people,
Sit on their common wealth?