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Ignatius Hosiana Apr 2016
where presidents die in power
the opposition die trying
Musicians die on stage
police in the line of duty
nocturnals due to *****
Soccer players on pitch
teachers while they teach
soldiers die fighting
refugees and paupers die crying
drivers die on the wheel
painters die with a quill
thieves while they steal
addicts die of smoke and pills
nobody wants to retire
even at Robert Mugabe's age
they all cling to talent and power
so tempting and inviting
won't we poets too die reciting?
Ignatius Hosiana Feb 2016
My heart will never cease to bleed
I'll never stop thinking about the life they lead
My soul will keep aching for them in need
toiling for another half a decade due to them with greed
my eyes will never cease to see their deed
and ponder why did them,God have to seed
my feet are tired of wishing they could go an extra mile
maybe take some gunfire, burn for my country man to smile
my back is broken by the weight of my rage
it's a fire that isn't dying out, will I ever turn the page?
I'm stuck in a labyrinth of contemplation
wondering what other illness awaits my nation
besides ignorance, illiteracy, corruption,tyranny and fear
& much more, yet I still appreciate hailing from mid the sphere
There's a throb rooted deep in my mind
pondering what on earth could make one so unkind
I hope someday to injustice I'll be blind
I hope a day will come when I'll leave behind
these whys,hows, whats and whens like it never was
I hope time heals all wounds as the saying goes
otherwise I believe the cut is deep and infested
  by the loathing for everyone who stood by a government
we badly wanted away and a system we detested
I've tried to have the pain excreted but it's all digested
it's overdue and getting me dizzy due to the ferment
the memory is fresh, the election a forgotten torment
to some but to many like me it's here,it's every moment
it's that grass thatched house at angle theta or beta
it's the agony of the teacher, doctor & whoever's bitter
it's a sting worse than a cut by a banister's wrong splinter
it's the south pole in juxtaposition to winter
it's that malnourished barefooted child battling a jigger
it's the starving,and those plagued by poverty with food but meagre
from my position this wasn't a loss to the opposition
it was a golden chance ripped off the feeble hands of the next generation
a robbery in plain sight,hit below the belt in our fight
my fingers will never tire of typing about this plight
for the crested crane was shot midway her flight
fooled to go to the polls and defiled worse than a little girl
my prowess will but always demand for a piece
about the day we totally lost the beautiful pearl
and thence not a single heart ever knew true peace
not the losers as we have been falsely accused
but worse, not kigundu and many more who were used
For God and My Country Uganda
(please sorry if anyone is bothered... it's just a hard time and only this way can I truly pine)
Ignatius Hosiana Feb 2016
Despite everything that's happened
Despite the mistreatment of our own
Despite the suppression & oppression
Despite the mambas in big numbers
Despite the silencing of the nation
Despite the heavy deployment on the streets
Despite the gas that our eyes mistreats
Despite the despair prevailing in the air
Despite the scare,the arrests that are unfair
Despite the government condemnation
of those battling our incarceration
Despite the fact that some are starving
because electronic mobile money transfer is off
Despite the looming loss and fraudulent tally
Despite the gloomy faces we all wear, the sully
Despite the rage burning through us for many a reason
The main one being the compromise of our peaceful
struggle out of the manacles of this corrupt regime
despite many being voiceless in prison
Despite the treacherous Telecom companies
assisting the tyrant keep us on our bruised knees
Despite the malnourished kids along the streets
despite the expectant mothers fearing for their life
because the best Hospital in the country has no doctors
& the disgruntled interns trying to help and teachers
despite the lives lost in the election scuffle fueled by police
despite the opposition constant arrest and release
the rise in the prices of everything but value of nothing
despite the arrogance of those profiting from the tyranny
despite the dishing out of cash to bribe voters
& the lining up of cattle to have more votes than voters
Despite the furthering hope for eminent change
despite the lead of the incumbent by a ridiculous range
I still love my country and I still believe change will come
even if the despot rules for a thousand a term
I still believe a day is coming when we shall say
"At last, the man is history,this country is now for the people"
I dream of that day, it should have been yesterday
But despite the fact that any dictatorship
tends to want power for permanent keep
Someday from the fountains of change we shall sip
I still believe,albeit such freedom isn't a one day trip
On behalf of all who turned up to cast their votes
thank you for not just talking but also walking
thank you for the courtesy you're giving to the next generation
at least we know we shall have answers in clear narration
to our children and their children, each and every question
Don't give up...to me the fight is just started
And still, even a president has got but one neck
Change is guillotine, someday it catches up
Don't give up for you have come so far and see so much
If you were about to surrender, I hope this your heart can touch
Despite all the challenges our struggle is facing
Let's stay focus toward justice and fairness chasing
Yes, we have fallen more than we deserve
it may feel but someday someone will appreciate your love
One Uganda, one people... in change we believe
For God and my country, I love Uganda
I love you all...Don't give up
For everyone in struggle against dictatorship. I'm proud of you
The Tinkerer May 2015
The seconds, hours
The world in a shroud.
There's no where to run
All one does is cower.

The days go by
Dead men deny
An elaborate lie,
Till the day that they die.

Hope trickles away
Just as blood,
From each corpse that lay
Red runs wild
Wild like the fires at night.

There is no solitude here,
Once, free men, now fear
When their world is run
Under The Barrel of The **Gun.
A military coup. A world in turmoil, the gun is the most vicious ruler to ever come to rise in the history of the human race.
Mother fish sees her eggs devoured
by alligator that gulps everything on the sand
save her own eggs and children.

Mother fish cries her eyes out
and seems not to be heard
neither by the heaven,
nor by the sea (their common abode),
that bore them, and now assists to her boredom
indifferently and silently,

which silence she condemns and curses.
She goes to the beach; she weeps
and seeks revenge in vain.
Now she sees a python that creeps
from the bush around the beach.

The creature she has never seen before,
as immense as the world,
eyes first the alligator
whose blood becomes as cold
as the ice under the sea.

They stare at each other
like someone intruder,
at a home where he is not wished as guest,
who faces the anger
of the owner who would not him host
but from there him usher out.

They look at each other
with sulks on their ugly faces
and fear as each one faces
this kind one for the first time.
However intimidations from each party
can’t touch the other party.

The cold war ends and becomes hot:
The Python and the alligator
get ready to come at each other
like warriors of different kings
ready to defend their kingdoms’ colors,
ready to defend the pride of their lords,
and ready to die for their honour
though they’d prefer to live
unnoticed and live longer.

Furious, the python throws her head up,
her dart flies like flash out and in
between the jaws of horrible sight,
and the beast tests she’s still unrivaled in
cruelty. She gets ready to attack.
As for the alligator, all her muscles she does check,
her arms dig into the sand,
And she flies to crunch the enemy.

She bites hard the neck of the python,
yet her teeth can’t tear the strong scales
of the mammoth reptile.
The python pretends to be provoked;
She wildly crawls and coils around the alligator
and holds tight her body from the tail to the head.
And alligator’s jaws, strong to weaker preys,
become useless.

Her mouth opens wide and starts to swallow the alligator
as the latter did when she chewed the eggs and children of the fish.
From distance the fish watches, admires
and enjoys the scene as the python
seems to be her avenger.

In the end the whole body of the fallen fighter
disappears into the trunk of the strange predator.
Then the fish wonders, “Am I avenged
or this strange creature merely needed food
as did the poor alligator
when she thought to rule over
our lives and made my children her food,
causing my eyes to shed floods of tears,
that she did not notice ‘cause mixed
with the waters?
And she ignored the mightier one existed.”

In conclusion the fish realizes
were herself or her children the first seen by the python,
they would face the same fate as the alligator she cursed
and that alligator’s killer may not be by the Maker blessed.
The most powerful predator
cannot be of the fauna liberator.

The greatest warriors
fight to shed the blood of their victims.
Only their aim they follow,
and they turn deaf their ears to the tears
of any fellow.
And as the fish thinks of this predator,
no ****** war winner will rule better
than a beaten dictator.
Poem for reflection
Henry Brooke Feb 2015
~~ ☠ ~~

A ship sails empty of reason,
captains fear the treasons.
Silent and smooth is how it'll fall
the cabin-boy shall take the bar.

Blood can be found on every street,
both death and life here meet.
Life is a walking misery,
pray god has blessed your destiny.

Outside the people's empty homes,
fathers, sons, left alone.
Big Brother dominates, he commands.
A billion voices in one hand.

The ocean itself is a burden,
your dreams will taunt the sugeons.
Twist well open the sails to Rome
if you flee the country, flee alone.

Between the alleys at this mass
the cross's shadow isn't cast.
Those booklets burn easy, use them well
let vain ideas fry in hell.

Our viscious masters do predict
the fall of  Troika and rise of  Six.
A crew who drains such futile ink
is sure to drown us down the sink.

Save me from the grim Tomorrows
full of hate deceit and sorrows.
Oh, it's not about tyranny,It's human kind.
Justice is never really blind.

Behind the money lies our pain,
into fields fall the rain.
With empty pockets walk the road,
a thousand stories left untold.

I hope one day it could end ,
just by cutting down his head.
They hunt down anyone not in line,
should we attempt this, is there time ?

Unfathomable ,
his hungry stomach calls for meat;
rotting, green, foul and sweet.
Rank food from the kitchens will be served,
for all the glory
he deserves.
I wrote this in quartrains, because I really like how a decent structure helps it all.
Tara Marie Dec 2014
Although I haven't witnessed
Darfur's eyes run red.
Rivers full of skeletons,
and bodies torn and bled.

I've read about the pigment
of fearful hearts so lost.
A dreaded world within a world;
there are no lines to cross.

Money paid for power.
Power, bodies, bills.
The Janjaweed at noon,
are cleansing for their drills.

Washing down stern orders
with blood on unclean hands.
Babies and their mothers
decomposing in sand.

Weapons worn like diamonds.
Lust and **** colliding.
Torture becomes normalcy.
Living only hiding.

So long as Omar al-Bashir
sees families as roaches,
death is understated.
In greed, he people-poaches.

Pity is for damsels
parading in a tide
of much needed attention
with ego on the side.

To you, my friend
who listens, but fails to comprehend:
Those who live for nothing
are nothing in the end,

I ask you, pray for Sudanese
fed horrors for their lunch,
their bones becoming rubble,
under tires they will crunch.
Darfur, Sudan is an authoritarian state run under the rule of Omar al-Bashir. Not only is the political makeup a ***** dictatorship, but ethnic cleansing is normalcy. The United Nations is a trusted alliance that constantly excepts donations and aid. Follow the link for more information..
https://donate.unrefugees.org/ea-action/action?ea.client.id=1873&ea.campaign.id;=31208&ea.tracking.id;=EA6A14&gclid;=CNLaqozApcICFc1_MgodoigAqg&gclsrc;=aw.ds
Henry Brooke Jun 2014
Absence of imagination,
the End of independent thought.
Cities reek of corruption, ******
and the greatest of sins.
They raise and **** in
by the millions
yet onlysome men
seem to win.

Glorious eyes
of curve-free posters
used as wallpaper
for the cleanest streets.
Looking up
to their Father
all good citizens
try to weep
the plain and empty tears
the Party demands
them sheep.

Maybe it will soon end,
but I'm never able to trust us men;
maybe weeks will tell,
but I still can't seem to hear a bell

Inside the people's empty homes,
Fathers, sons left alone.
Big Brother dominates,
he commands,
a billion voices
in one hand.

Behind the money lies the pain,
into fields fall the rain.
With empty pockets
walk the road
a thousand stories
left untold.

Blood can be found on every street,
death and life here meet.
  

Maybe it'll someday end,
but I'm never able to trust us men,
maybe years will tell;
but I still can't seem to hear a bell.

A hungry stomach calls for meat,
rotting, green, foul or sweet.
Rank food from the kitchens,
will be served,
millions of peoples
have reserved.

Between the alleys at the mass
the cross’s shadow isn't cast.
Those booklets burn easy,
use them well,
let vain ideas
fry in hell.

Maybe it's will oneday end,
but I'm never able trust us men.
maybe our grandhildren
shall one day know,
Their grandeparents wept
but did not
sow.
It's about freedom, or rather the abscence of it.

— The End —