"bashir" poems
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.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Mading relieves Manute from guard duty.
They share a meagre meal of millet porridge before
Manute returns to the refugee nation of southern Sudan.
The noon sun is a harsh sentence for a parched tongue but
they talk not of coffee or juice-laden fruit and
rice and lentils are mountain memories their stomachs can ill afford.
Instead they curse the clear skies that rain only strafing jets and
pray for their dry-breasted wives on pilgrimage to the aid station
carrying children swollen with the promise of death.
They snarl rumours about al-Bashir’s lapdogs
in Khartoum growing fat on food intended for them.
Jason waits, informed by cell phone of Laurie's imminent arrival.
He orders a wheat beer, its earth tone inviting on a silver tray and
its musky sweetness washing away a morning of phone business.
The noon sun is a warm blessing through the picture window but
they talk not of haloed hills or the light-laden river and
recession and retrenchment are market memories their ulcers can ill afford.
Instead they debate '63 cabernet versus '74 chablis and
moan about their reconstructed wives driving halfway across town
carrying children swollen with the promise of private schooling.
They snarl rumours about Key's cabinet
in Wellington while wolfing crayfish and Steak Diane.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
Am Moses Makau Muthama a.k.a Triple M or M cubed bt simply known as KASHLINK!!! A Kamba by nature,born in Mombaxa around 1993,a saved christian wit God given gifts. I like socializin alot that guys mistake me 4 a 'player'!! Hobbies include: chilling wit pals,crackin jokes,watchin soaps n muviz,lstng 2 cool RnB's n Riddims,swimmin n playin soccer!! A die hard Man U fan indeed,skuld @ Bashir primo 07' n went 2 Kitondo Boys High xul 11' n did well thx 2 papa God! Currently @ JKUAT 15'. Am now lukn 4ward 2 leave a mark in the globe positively very xun! May da Lord bless de work of ma hands!!! Amen.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
Some people say the man is a strange host.
Whoever invited by Moreno
His legs become heavy, will not his guest
There be, and if he can, he will say, ‘No!’
Waiters in his service to Interpol
Company belong, in his hotel’s room
Talks held are hard, one shakes like a trapped mole,
And his big eyes furniture and walls zoom.
Al-Bashir he invited, and his trips
Were reduced. When out he goes on tiptoes
He walks for fear of the boss, who pays tips.
Kaddafi he invited, and his foes
Chose his life to close, as he feared to end
Like Slobodan. But Gbagbo hide couldn’t find.
Excerpt of Delenda Benghazi, Said Kaddafi
http://www.amazon.com/Delenda-Benghazi-said-Kaddafi-ebook/dp/B0077K010K
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 1:01 PM UTC
Black Matter is a potent drug an induced state of existence omit the lives and the possessive of matter and meaning what you find is a body black in phenotype detrimental maybe even dangerous to the self or a world in which porcelain dominates every form of the masses easily influenced.
THE BLACK BODY IS DOOMED TO DISINTEGRATE.
Death automatically consumes its soul because it was destined out of the womb.
When I die, the consciousness I carry I will to black people,
when I die I pray that God takes our souls to his kingdom- reviving us of our natural death, on the deadliest land an exact clone of hell in its purest form. Will we find heaven? Or will we find ourselves burning too?
The black body must know hell before heaven, has known peril before redemption, has known...
Blood: lift and drop; a sudden breeze.
Bone: the other was looking at —
Bone: cradled to catch drips
Has known policing of the body and has always known “forgiveness”.
Beware
Beware
But do not be weary
“Let us see the bodies,” they say.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
aged 17 started aiming to be the man of his dreams
last year of high school finally he could do good deeds
and not worry about the embarrassing comments
aged 20 second year of uni and now he's boundless from freedom
he studies his Islamic history and engineering
a mind full of knowledge he's beaming
aged 23 graduating at last he dreamed for this moment for years
steps on the stage grabs his diploma
bold Thank You God for this moment
for happiness sake
aged 25 married to the most beautiful bride
promised her years and years of satisfaction
he was going to be a man who loved affection
goals were to raise a family with no negative distractions
loved this beautiful country
lots of liberty and safety
no denying it was near impossible to feel like a threat
there was no trouble
aged 30 had a daughter named her Zayna
beautiful young girl , he knew she had lots for the world
taught her how to read write and be free
a carefree child is all he wanted to see
Zayna grew with open minded views
viewed the beauty of not judging a man who seems as bad as the devil but inside could be like
the ying yang sign
aged 43 Zayna is now 13
witnessing her father loosing his dignity
after every racial comment that comes beneath his ears
he starts to fear
maybe soon he'll be a victim to this racist society all over his surrounding
beard so thick
wet because of his
tears
aged 45 ; 15 years have went by and never has Zayna seen this
her father screams and yells 'im innocent i have not been dealt with these accusations'
'free me please I'm not what you think you see'
Zayna hides behind the door begging God to do something about this horror
aged 46: a year in Guantanamo couldn't get worse than this
he went through beatings
force feedings
psychological torture
his heart is becoming softer
brain is hallucinating
tears are flooding his mind
body's shaking
weaker and weaker
becomes his state
first name is Ahmed
last is Bashir
his mind full of knowledge
his knees weak due to fear
first name is Zayna
last name Bashir
lonely teenager
wishing her father would be there
-gz
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 3:33 PM UTC