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Dec 2019
It may work with your lot

those wiped and made in your image

those grown as another urban minority

your indentured populace picking up after you

those lost in your lust and Gomorrah offerings

them brain washed drones missing cores and identities

For the son of sons of the land born blessed in fore-father's land

time tells the sane that you on the ground are ineffective and dull

just shams putting on a show for the benefit of your empty crowds

your underbelly exposed and your rabbit seen hidden all in your

tattered moth eaten flat caps

******* magicians milking applause from bribed bored audience

the irrelevances begging relevance in insignificant faded arid


your days are over, your time long past, a powerless nothings now

riddled with jealousy and envy, fearful of talents and distinction

nothing but an international joke, the eccentric onesΒ Β with good

humour, deceptive, sadistic, ***** bad lovers.

Good at playing with themselves, leading exporters of play toys

Jingoistic Major Toms go do something useful, go drink your cha

Terrorism isn't your game stick to Cricket and play it fairly

if you  can,

get that black one to bowl them all out for you.

Your task is pointless, tell your comrades to stop stealing from


ain't you big and matured enough to do what is right

I haven't taken anything from you, I don't fear you

I know what and who I am

Colonialism ended years ago, my mind is not your mind

we don't think alike
Written by
Yenson  M/London
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