The Capital of the Pearl of the Orient Seas,
Owned by hypocrisies,
of every Rich Family,
Where most are Slave of Poverty,

Oh! The Pearl in the Pacific,
Once Magnific,
But its history became Horrific,
Now filled with Wild Traffic,

Ye! The Orient Sea!
Shall also belong to Thee,
For Everybody,
For Tension to flee,

Up north
There's this thing called queuing
Down south
It looks more like ******* looting
I can see the trouble brewing
Squeezing on the tube – can't even get my ******* shoe in
Some of these miserable ******* look like they need shooting
Stuck on the northern line back to Tooting

The scale of my ambition.

It’s getting too large to construct on my own.

Like many Africans, I’ve had enough.

News coverage showcasing this region.

Does nothing but reinforce the legion that you bring forth.

Continuously.

Now, I’ll spare you the analogies and set it out clearly.

To all those that are out to “end poverty”.

I applaud your initiative, your drive and determination.

So bear with me as I lay into you. I’m doing it out of love. Trust me.

Whenever I hear your mission.

I think “here we go again with the bare minimums.”

Nothing but bare minimums.

I yearn to be part of a new breed of Africans.

Who want to do more than just end poverty.

What about all those who have escaped its deathly grip.

But still live precarious and unfulfilled lives?

My mission is to build an empire.

To empower. To nurture innovation and prosperity.

One that surpasses anything you could ever imagine and conceive.

If you think that’s ridiculous and absurd.

Wait till you see how I plan on going about this deed.

If I hear another **** politician talking about “ending poverty.”

I swear I’ll ******* snap.

But don’t worry, it’ll just be a picture.

One more to my growing catalogue.

Reminding me of your never-ending plan of world *******.

“So remember guys, bare minimum. Say it with me.

“Bare minimum.”

The Aftermath of Injustice

In Memory of Neil Aggett
1953 - 1982

You crossed the border to offer your expertise
To render a service to a people without a voice
A people in hell
To a nation stripped naked by gross injustice
Like a tree with no leaves
Stripped bare in autumn
Left with no shade from the scorching sun
The fruits had all been stolen by wicked men
Devoured by the debauched in khaki attire
Swollen and puffed with pride like pastry in an oven
They took you captive like Jesus once was
Punished for doing good
Until your heart cried out with an inner voice
Why the whips and chains
Wet and cold electrified feet
You knew then ... You wouldn't get out alive
Your passing cruelly induced
To end your life ... Your only relief
Like a whisper in a crowd
Who would hear your cry
Of course the papers had to say
He did it himself ... He did it his way
Oh how I wish I was invisible
There in your cell of hell
To name and shame the faces
Who unjustly got saved by the bell

Written by Sean Achilleos 25 January 2019©

Additional:
In this life it may seem that there are people who get away with almost anything and everything.
And perhaps they do.
However, only in this lifetime.
But sadly not in the life thereafter.
Like an alarm bell that breaks the deathly silence early in the morning.
It's not what you want to hear, but a necessary truth.