"alshabab" poems
Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution
Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen,
That tall old man with white hair all over his head
Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind
Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart
But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece
Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade
His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself,
Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss
Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift;
A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary
Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine
But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent
Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution
For you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution
That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect
The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour
He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety
He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda
He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi
All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness,
It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade
His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt
To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts,
His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece
And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution
Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk ****
Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness
They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty,
Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism,
Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs,
Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy,
They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets
Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
I can’t remember when,
The last time I we didn’t cry,
The last time we were happy,
I can’t recall,
When there was no blood shed,
Why do we have to suffer and mourn?
For the losing of our loved ones,
Why?
I can’t tell when,
We'll escape away from our sins,
For the tide will always hit,
And we’ll feel the storm,
Scrape your hearts,
I don’t know when,
We’ll never be found in massacres,
Alshabab? ISIS? Xenophobia?
In worthless clashes many perish,
Religious leaders,
Aren’t you tired of burials?
Haven't we sinned against God,
Who do we expect to save us?
If we don’t see our wrongs,
Air crashes and road accidents
Attack our beloved continent,
Now it’s politics
We fight each other like fools,
The police ****** us like chicken,
Increasing number of the dead,
Disaster after disaster,
Politicians cheat you,
They lie to you with intentions,
They blinded us long ago,
Feeding our minds with hatred,
We think that they are the Bosses,
Yet we are theirs employers,
We should wake up and fight,
Fight for peace and justice,
If not so,
I don’t know when we’ll be free,
Free from problems,
Free tribalism and racism,
Flee from all your sins,
Where are we heading to?
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC