The spire rises on high To humbly hug heavens holy white sky And from the sacred gothic cathedral Bells ring with symphonic sanctimony- The sweet angelic instrumental harmony And you feel the presence of descent God from your homes You smell the inviolate incenses of the Saints from your louvers The frankincense fragrances of the Blessed from your windows beckon And you aspire your children to serve in the church as your neighbours Good examples they will always be to the civilized society
Time to time alone you send her and him to them To selflessly serve Mother Church to earn endless blessings And obediently ****** leaves as per commandments “Obey your Parents for your days on earth to be multiplied; Serve the Lord your God unreservedly-with all your all!” In church the child spends her entire free time In church ****** serves innocently-restlessly In church the child does his-her all to avoid any blame or blemish In church ****** endears all to avoid any bad reputation After all what ill can befall you if in the House of the Lord-the Psalm says: ‘Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life!’
Dear innocent child, with a heart harmlessly clean Does it know the monster is the wolf in sheep’s skin? The perpetrator, is the priest-the sheep’s sheer shepherd It is he who feeds on the fattened flocks of his Master’s fields Unsuspecting, unknowingly he gets closer with him, The priest, the sacred of peoples modest mediator It is an old age adage in faithful ways of thinking: ‘Whoever gets closer to a pastor earns firsthand priority To touch and share in his consecrated ointments!’
O my child, to darker places he is-she is sent To collect vestments, ointments and sacraments And quickly without resistance or hesitance ****** splints, timely and servitude is an altar’s teaching Behind, swift too, the sinister minister-monster fast follows And in darkness shush! He touches him-he touches her holy places In return he/she is hushed with gifts of craved church’s wines and wafers
Confused-is this pastor N… really, or am I dreaming Before long the child goes into silent phobia and depression To who does he tell of the dark tales behind altars, vestry and sacristy The man behind the Eucharist, the revered man of the church! The blessed bass behind the mic, deeply unleashing The Holy Ghost: “Bwana asifiwe, pokea Roho!” To the convinced convicts-faithful brethrens is a satan, a monster Is he who really touched and touches her in the wrong places? It is he who forced into his baby’s brittle red bottoms It is him who stole, vilely robbed his-her virginity and virtues
Who will listen to his/her sad story? And it is the mothers-parents blame-consumerism connive They are liars to tarnish the church’s good name And when he says and cries and refuses to attend the Sundays services The mother scolds him with felines’ violence ‘I am not raising pagans in my house, It is either you go or go to serve the church! Am I clearly heard and understood?’ O poor child, silent suffers this sacred soul!
With rigid society ready to absolve the ****** priest With the parish ready to excommunicate the fighting family With the church-Christ’s body-willing to go any extra mile To save its priest and salvage its worldly rotting name The state eager to close one eye and let the church rule After all it is they that say-‘the church will outlast everything!’ The church is always innocent it can never wrong its attendants and congregants
Quickly the ******* priest is shuffled and reshuffled in all earth’s parishes And the innocence stolen child is left alone to find its answers- To sad solve and resolve its mysteries-objections, rejections and excommunications: ‘Who is God-who really is He and who are His consecrated men And where was He while we were being ***** and molested By the saints we thought sacredly serves in his vast fields!?” O *****! O sodomized! Sacred sufferings!