"paraded" poems
#*O morning sky of endless blue
Tinged with purply-pinky hue
You tell me of His mercies new
Whose heart pursues my own
O geese in wingèd winter's flight
Your honking cries arouse delight
And lift my gaze to seek thy sight
As wooing from His hand
O softest breeze which skims my face
And stirs with such mysterious grace
My soul to reach for Love’s embrace
You brush me with His kiss
O snowflakes falling to the ground
You pierce my heart without a sound
To crave a purity only found
Beneath a bloodied cross
O setting sun in half-light glowing
Waning day’s last glorious blush showing
You paint with fire my spirit’s own knowing—
This life is fading fast
O stars of midnight’s blackest sky
Paraded forth, you pull my eye
Toward One Who speaks this ceaseless cry:
“I’m coming back for you.”
O creeping fog to dawn’s light clinging
You whisper, Love’s veiled message bringing,
With haunting echoes faintly singing,
“Lose all of you in Him.”*#
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
At an unknown time of night at our cottage in northern Michigan…
My younger brother and I heard strange noises coming from the beach again…
We looked up at the ceiling and then the window…
As the voices from outside, in a lively allegro…
Grew softer and louder in repeating crescendos…
We skittered out the door and stared in fascination…
For what we saw must have been our imagination…
The door closed with a creak as our feet hit the grass…
It was at that moment we got a look at the mass…
Of stubby foot, hunchback creatures from which the sounds had amassed…
There was about six of them chanting like a choir…
They danced and paraded around our burnt out fire…
As we looked on, we saw our fire raise…
It got brighter as they lifted their hands in waves…
As light betook the blue beach night…
A crowd of colorfully masked gremlins caught us in their sights!
Their feet slowed to a stop and they quieted down…
They stood still as the fire flickered off their weird wooden frowns…
One reached out his hand in a come-here motion…
They seemed to stand and wait with an encouraging notion…
As the fire crackled and the waves tumbled onto the beach…
All I can remember, is for the rest of that summer…
My younger brother and I served as the drummers…
For that quirky marching band of lake sprites…
With which our burnt out fire we’d reignite…
At an unknown time of night at our cottage in northern Michigan…
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
The first new star flashed waves of blue tonight ,
securing my belief in the afterlife
A grove of ferns lit my imagination
For I became a shipwrecked captain -
that stumbled upon an island nation
Exploring the deep jungle without machete ,
potable water nor compass
Knee deep in mangrove forest
Tropical winds whispered and moaned
A lean-to of fronds became my maritime home
In the presence of a million stars
An army of sand ***** paraded before -
their newfound master from near and afar
Crashing waves lulled a poor sailor to rest
The whispers of Poseidon
A dream about a lookout in the crows nest
Counting orbs in the tail of the Milky Way-
with visions of mermaids , ghost ships and rogue waves
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
*O morning sky of endless blue
Tinged with purply-pinky hue
You tell me of His mercies new
Whose heart pursues my own
O geese in wingèd winter's flight
Your honking cries arouse delight
And lift my gaze to seek thy sight
As wooing from His hand
O softest breeze which skims my face
And stirs with such mysterious grace
My soul to reach for Love’s embrace
You brush me with His kiss
O snowflakes falling to the ground
You pierce my heart without a sound
To crave a purity only found
Beneath a bloodied cross
O setting sun in half-light glowing
Waning day’s last glorious blush showing
You paint with fire my spirit’s own knowing—
This life is fading fast
O stars of midnight’s blackest sky
Paraded forth, you pull my eye
Toward One Who speaks this ceaseless cry:
“I’m coming back for you.”
O creeping fog to dawn’s light clinging
You whisper, Love’s veiled message bringing,
With haunting echoes faintly singing,
“Lose all of you in Him.”*
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
for the first time
since i was 11
i look in the mirror
and i actually like whats staring back at me
i don't know why it took so long to regain
the feeling of self love
and being content with less makeup
or none
in the mirror
i wish i know what could have happened
when i started looking at my little 11 year old body
and thought i was overweight
Oh my god i'm 75 pounds?! i remember thinking
I could blame my mom
or the boys who paraded naked pictures of me
criticizing my changing body in its early stages
i was made fun of for having supple *******
the first girl in my 4th grade class to wear a padded bra
i hated it
every second of my changing body
i started to get curves
and was known for having a "big ****
and this "best friend" of mine told me she was glad she didn't have one
a boyfriend shot me down
"you can't leave me because no one will want you"
mother and step dad made fat jokes when i was 14
because i'm not obsessive compulsive with my diet
now i look in the mirror and i'm so happy
i love every curve from my arms to my ankles
and my dark brown eyes stare deep into you don't they?
grandma wasn't kidding when she said people would pay
THOUSANDS!! for these lips
and this square jawline has it's perks
i used to get paranoid when people stared at me
until i caught someone
and they told me i was beautiful
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
Even with a thousand heads and souls around me,
The thought of loneliness always resided with me
I did not intend to fit in everyone's sizes,
Nor was I proud of the bottle that shook with rage, ready to spill
My life disintegrates within a flash of a solution
I present myself and my energy to a dull audience
But the same smiles just stare speechless, gawking at me
I paraded willfully, expressing myself through art that was repulsive to many
Yet, there were a few eyes that presented a beacon, despite my addictions crumbling the floor beneath me
I reached out and touched the flames that singed my hair
Till I landed on flowers
They were not the gorgeous type,
But they were just like me:
Odd, beautiful, deterring, and tiresome.
One of them shared a joke about death,
It forced a laugh out of me, till I realized today was April Fools' Day
A skull-shaped bud cries in front of me, similar to that of a child
I take in the smell of the hole I've fallen in, though the fall was cushioned by giant red flowers
As pretty as they are, their smell is who I am
I look above and see a crucifix in the sky
Then the darkness falls in, and I accept the undeniable truth by closing my eyes.
May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 3:53 AM UTC
as though a small town
beauty pageant winner
paraded through
local roads
tossing sweet petals
like fist-fulls of candy
from her seat perched high above
this fragrant litter
purged in layers
as the Catalpa tree
with its divinely
designed
heart-shaped leaves
plainly remains
an organic shade
for the neighbor's
ratty shed
.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
We stood in front of my grandmother’s
Old almirah, facing each other
The peacock feather and empty bags
Of the square room fell silent all over again,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Then they all came, marched in, reflections,
Paraded in like martyrs of Brute’s History.
I knew them all, she knew them too
They came, touched us one by one,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
She looked confused just like me
Watching life pass by, centuries reuniting
After a very long season break, nations-
Travelled, explorers stood upstairs watching,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Streets strapped the coffee cans and middle-
Aged hospitals swallowed wars. Married women
Bend over like animals and in months, unable
To breathe they gave birth to few number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
The city vomited battles, human heads
And dreams of muted foul slaves. Men and-
Their violent tradition screeched for blue number-
Plates, lean number plates, handsome number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Unexploded bombs bounced happy homes,
My brothers, my kids, my mothers
Blew their windows and ran, ran away,
Ran afar without destination;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
They were all dark, their land was darkness
Or were we all blind?
Like a watchman we preserved darkness,
The vapours that filled their glasses did not speak;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
We are all reflections, ripples and mirrors
Of men-dead and living.
They all stood outside my almirah, million faces
Inside a mirror. She did recognize them;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
She did nothing, an unusable empathy rolled in,
The hypocrite did not even cry.
In quiet hours she smelt pain, blood and
History flowing from confronting corners;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
An insignificant obligation drowned her nerve,
They needed a home, candle flame, cotton and wool.
The land, their land has become unfamiliar
And they stood outside locked gates and laws;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
They all smelt the same blood, the abused blood,
I tried to kiss them and they kissed me back with-
Their cold lips. I tried to touch them, they touched-
Me back with water in their eyes;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
I read an account of a small girl today
"Crunching beneath her feet
Like a thousand stars twinkling in the faint light of Potsdamer Platz
Father holding her hand so tightly it hurt
Sick children chased over broken glass
The Jewish children's hospital ransacked
While staff beaten for tending to the unworthy sick"
You can feel the fear in her words
The darkest November
Hatered had now found a new form, a face, a sign
The ********
Men paraded and followed ******
Revered like a demi god
They worshiped an ideal.
MIEN KAMPF
It seems now implausible that one mans belief and struggle that he apportioned to a race could be bastardised into a purge of races that divided mankind and almost ended it
From that night to this there have been many acts that again raise that spectre.
Sarejavo Iraq to mention but a few.
Tonight Jews Gentiles and others will shine peaceful lights at Potsdamer Platz.
What have we learnt in 75 yrs
The world watched the **** machine grow
The world did not act
What do we now watch
Who are we now failing...
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 7:34 AM UTC
The professions of our leaders are paraded across longitudinal and latitudinal vistas. However, I have to ask: Whatever happened to the possession of that which is professed in our contemporary shell of delusion?
A princess may depart from her Celtic docks in order to sail back to her Anglican roots; and the fabric of high society may display an appealing veneer which covers explicit nakedness in the name of mass psychology.
So, my articulate propagate of conformity, I urge you to don the profound tuxedo at your avoidant desire. But please do not seek for me to enter into the denial of our core identity.
For those who are willing to rock this boat of ludicrous salesmanship, I raise my glass to testicular rectitude which transcends gender stereotypes.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
He was never your daughter,
not since the day he was born.
He was an identical twin to his sister, sure,
but your daughter? No.
I am dating your daughter, sir.
He has an assortment of ways to please me.
I love him, and he knows it;
he orders his ***** online to please me.
He was never your daughter.
Couldn't you tell from the way he looked
awkward in dresses?
The way he always cut his hair short?
He was never your daughter;
I am dating your daughter, sir;
but he is not, never was, a sister
to the brother who just wanted a hug.
"She feels like she's wearing the wrong decoration;
how would you like it if I put you
in a dress and paraded you around
in front of your friends?"
He was never your daughter, ma'am,
but you knew it.
He is not a lesbian, he's something different.
He is not your daughter, any more.
Certainly we all know
he wears things to hide his *******
And while I know what's down there in his pants
he won't let me see it.
He was never your daughter,
but I knew that.
I knew when he said, "FtM,"
that he was something different,
something special.
"I want to be a pelican
and have a bag for a face."
"Baby, baby, baby."
"Where's my ****
I've spent a month with your daughter,
and he cannot wait to tell it to your face
that he's moving out.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 2:41 AM UTC
I have grown to forgive you. Whilst you have grown in resentment. Why is that?
Because you think you deserved better?
Because you know I deserved better?
Because while I went through all the motions: the hurt, humiliation, anger, sadness, setbacks, crying myself to sleep, wanting to die, wanting revenge, wanting you back;
you were pretending you were ok.
And now that I am fine there’s a hole in your heart as you’ve come to the realisation that you no longer have a hold on me.
And now it’s your turn to go through it. Alone. Just like I did.
Except you’ll truly be alone now because you’ve paraded around like you’re fine without me this whole time, there’ll be no one checking on you.
And now you’ll understand how painful it feels to be deserted.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
The sad day was soon to come
When voices forever fall dumb
The bell will chime but one last time
And I recall that last sad mime
To write a speech I was requested
Or at least it was suggested
but on looking back all that I saw
was shadow memories, ever raw
Happy times it seemed had faded
Smiles not again paraded
Since I was a child of six
And what happened then betwixt
Twenty-three years had passed
And the thought made me aghast
Because through the time I could not recall
Happy memories at all
Threads of memory imbued with sadness
Even better times I still felt downcast
For you are a family of five, and I am one alone
With no place to call a true home
I have lost something that I never had
Could I really be so bad?
The collages show the five of you smiling out from luxury
The five of you, but never me
Holidays to far-flung places
Happy looks upon your faces
Where are my shared memories?
Dig through the ephemories
Now they will never be
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Dear Harry,
I see you're doing well these days.
One year later and I still watch as you grin and laugh with your friends.
Sometimes I just grin as well knowing the truth behind the plastic you call a smile.
You once told me that you feel like you don’t belong.
You get a burning in your chest thinking of how awful humanity is and how you wish you were a robot so your brain would match your body.
But when I told you from the anxious walls of my heart that I sort of feel the same but I'm not making a metaphor, I'm transgender
You said that I didn't feel it as intensely as you did so my identity wasn't that important.
I suppose I can tell you now that you became the reason why I agree with you about humanity.
Your face sickens me.
Sort of funny how everyone calls you Harry Potter because of a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on your cheek and it was a big joke and I always laughed because what a coincidence even though I never read the books or watched the movies and now because of you:
I never will want to.
I don’t know if you realise that you’ve shattered me.
Shattered me like the board you can cut in half thanks to years of karate and your hand crafted swords are part of the reason I never crossed you because if I just change myself hard enough maybe you would stop saying you could use them on me if I kept talking about how much I love everything if everything isn’t you.
Sometimes I would wonder if you could hear my knees fighting not to snap in half.
I would wonder if you knew that you are like a hurricane; strong and unpredictable.
And like a hurricane, you came storming and when your thunder rumbled and rain paraded all over me it left nothing untouched.
I could say you're a forest fire but that would make it hot and quick and emotionless.
No, you are a hurricane because hurricanes are wet and windy and raw and wild and it left me drowning.
Unlike a hurricane, your damage can not be fixed with teamwork and donations from those that feel sympathy.
The damage you’ve done is permanent and even with all the repairs I’ve made in the form of therapy sessions and promises that I shall overcome,
I.
I am still in ruins.
You are bitter but not sweet.
But for 17 torturous months I only saw it the other way around.
Reaching out to try to catch onto something worth fighting for
But this isn’t worth fighting for
Because my hands hurt from writing I’m sorrys.
Because my brain hurts from pushing out reasons you’re not worth it.
Because my soul hurts from fighting the back of my mind that still loves you.
You have rendered me obsolete.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 3:34 PM UTC
The foretold episode is ripe
And the childless dawn is now flowering,
The awesome parrots of Africa
Have began swimming in the heavens
And singing the verses of the paraded bees,
For the warrior of South Africa
Has ultimately impregnated the Godsbaa
Without violating her divine virginity,
The black star arouse from Ghana,
Journeyed gorgeously through Zimbabwe
And has decisively descended on South Africa,
Bu this is just the divine seed
Yet to grow into a full black African moon,
For the black star of the black man
Is the religious light yet to radiate on
The colourless naivete of mankind,
Ah, the premise behind this
Exhibition makes a perfect sense,
We did begin it all,
Pilgrimage through it all
And shall end it all,
For the wreckage of
Humanity flies with time
And the megapower status
Of the African is a fact of life,
Today, a new voice has been
Added to the joy of the black women,
Causing the dry bamboo flutes to buzz
With the pantaloons of the ancestors,
Adorn our emerald embryonic pride with
The ambrosial smiles charms of the sunrise,
For he pelts of the peerless mid-night
Has been remodeled with our dark gore.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
Today bears the weight of erstwhile trepidation.
Uncertainties exhumed only to be hung up as ominous flags.
Black as night my widowed heart paraded through the procession.
Garbed in ash encrusted, sequinned frock, hemmed train all tattered in rags.
Herald the face with no features yet obscured behind a chiffon veil.
In hands, a bouquet of black roses, worm-eaten to the stems.
The mourning sun only gave the weakest glow,
feeble attempt to rejuvenate all that is stale;
to imbue the shimmer back into forsaken jewels and dulled gems.
Her entourage kept up with heavy feet; all grim and sullen.
Also faceless... Armed with pitchforks and torches.
Today they will draw much; having thirst for crimson.
Today they witness her death as the black parade marches.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower, if you like woman with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.
Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.
But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opening suture.
At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.
Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration,
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her explosive, acrid indigestion.
No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And in several places, impaling her scaly flesh a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.
The last of the kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast
She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as she in unexpected agony died: “I thought, I truly thought, I was god!”
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
meadows that stays so green at spring
and so bared in autumn
magically white in winter
scorching and gold in the air of summers
perennial.
how do they do that?
to stay the same on the foundation
yet ever-changing on the surface.
what difference does it make really?
what kinds?
of the surcoats of hazel and acorns
or the blankets of snow on the slender branches
of trees?
don't they, even once
feel weary of all the undercurrents,
of shifting shapes of shadows?
and stand their ground
and shouted their demands
and push at intractable walls?
and flop down
and sift like flour
and grate like mozzarella?
to toss the gauntlet
say
'enough!'
doesn't anyone ever muses then
of whether the slideshows of nature
being flagrantly displayed and paraded
before their soon indifferent eyes
would feel of their performance.
but oh,
those poor meadows,
those poor meadows,
those pitiable meadows.
continue with your acts and scenes
that shall never pauses nor halt
oh no, no.
for you are impressive actors
on the forested stage
and the eyes, belligerent
yes, they are
will be watching the other way
never straight to your eyes
your artic, chilled
encasing a turbulent, melting, whirling
hot caramel core
yeap, right there on your irises and pupils.
so go on
go on
my delectable
my neglected
my pushover
my poor meadows.
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
You're so dangerous with your profane paraphernalia
Your pelvis postures pandering favor
The line of your stomach embossed by the fire is like a pasture for me
So paranoid with your pacifistic lust
As you proceed to please me with your posture so slightly
And I attempt to pursue oh so politely
You make me perk up like a peacock just with one peak
You're aware of every petty palpitation you can feel just under my sleeve
You play me like a piano, so plush with your lust politics
Pandering for a pardon of my ***** talk poignancy
I part you like Pluto from your orbits serene hum
I'll pleasure you, pleasure you until you're purple like a plum
A pastimes poetises to be written with pleasing lead
You plan every move like a predator in my bed
You're polarizing, plump, and pampered like a pageant doll
Pilfering every plausible pause with a pose of voice, your moan
Seizing the post with your post - modern pompous pouncing
Prompted like Pisces to postulate your prognosis
Lifting your posterior like the pun of a phaliccy
Pillaging me like a pandemic, a plague
Something to be paraded by paganistic plauds
Your pale skin is like playwear for sins
You're pinning me plastered with the play of your grin
Such a pretty motion picture to paint in the prison of your promise
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
The courtroom was buzzing,
Deals were struck,
Before Her Worship
Heard from the docket.
Will Luke be saved.
A line of roguish consorts
All on Legal Aid,
Paraded before Her,
In judical chains.
And the lawyers are asking
About The Game of Thrones.
There are too many cops,
All creased and shiny,
Carrying file folders,
Outling the crimes.
I was a spectator,
Small in my corner,
As Luke went to stand
Before his maker,
Before his deal breaker.
All charges dropped,
As if a matter of course;
Except for the charges
From the laswyer and court.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
I feel like a trophy.
Something to be won,
then thrown away once I begin to dull.
I feel like a trophy,
Paraded around when beautiful,
Left alone to rust and dissolve away.
I feel like a trophy,
loved at the start,
then kept only for the memories
I feel like a trophy,
Marveled at in the spotlight,
then slowly forced to share the shelf space.
I feel like a trophy,
naive enough to think
that that my next owner would treasure me.
I feel like a trophy,
non-living, replaceable,
and disposable.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
White polos and navy blue pants and skirts paraded through the narrow classroom door.
Red and yellow chairs pushed back from the small wooden desks,
Neon tennis ***** stopping them from scuffing the floor.
"Waxing floors is so **** expensive,"
The principle whispered to the wide-eyed teacher.
Backs turned to the large ears on the small bodies.
Nose deep into the latest Barnes & Noble purchase,
Fear struck me as the two gray haired women ushered me into the hall
Where two navy blue pants and one navy blue skirt stood,
Eyes mirroring each other’s knowledge.
“Now apologize.”
Embarrassment burned red in the six cheeks
That mumbled confessions to their victim
A victim unaware she had been voted most blessed in the chest
Oblivious to the whispers of nerd, pizza face, and giraffe
Brace face, frizzy haired freak, and loser
Friday’s vocabulary quiz asked what the definition for friends was.
I left it blank.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 1:15 AM UTC
i would compromise
--i compromise. i appear to i mean,
with peace-demeanor customized for show
paraded there and there, obeisant nonsense
in a confidence of meek to render compliments
crowding infancies of all
for the sake of art
i bend my frame about cliche
to have a human dragon claim
"the real persists unknown"
and gather at a sacred dolmen
fascinating morals sung beneath the stars and sun--
you said there was a butterfly
tasting at my skull, shaking with uncommon music too..
its skinny, immigrant feet abuzz
within the world they called a One, wings on pause, my eyebrows in flight.
a blanket iris cries warmth
in clusters hung ripe, filming over all
a native ceremonial, falsepolitik
i pluck at them atop a fence
obscure for comforts masking truth
discarded, found, fashioned
into furniture for candled houses
built with children's sons
where families try to see
a clearing in the warping
mirrors saddled with a dripping time no illustration comprehends
. wooden beams help it rise and dim,
the sunny lie, genuinely fake,
authentic trick of aeons hidden in the true
-- growing young, stemming back
to foil brighter undiscoveries for otherwisely
patient basements full of heirlooms,
sheik dining areas all
nodding over cheap wine we still manage to squint up at nothing at
in apple layers
symbolizing tidy crimes invented ceaselessly,
serving existential voids--
grace, fall, stumble catch
acquired tones of oak or berry--
other fruits would do, or none,
as i still feel
praised by your rejections --
when indifference gains a sweetness
like a novel vengeance won
i am indulging villainy
workshopping staling norms,
garden dark as cultivated loam.
where i am words
mooding intellect to torment,
faun complexity awry
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
In these last moments that I breathe,
tell me why you made this plea?
That my touch was a forced one,
when you knew it was consensual
Before I could blink,
the world had gone bizarre
they came, they beat me,
paraded me naked on the street
Do you think I deserved this?
A punishment for an uncommitted crime?
Don't forget that you have killed me
in an unfair public trial
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC
A man who fought for freedom
Is frail and old yet remembered
For all his contributions and sacrifices
He made to rid all types of discrimination
In the early years a Law Degree
Seemed perfectly suiting
Boxing made him tough like a brute
But his soul-passive, polite and caring
A role-model to everyone
Who said, "Debate, no guns!"
A peace_maker for all
A teacher for all
Even in darkest hours
His humilty, nobility and responsibility
Is but a few of what we can reap of his success
27years of incarceration
All for the fight of discrimination
His sacrificed time
In quarries of lime
A day that they remembered
A day that they paraded
With happiness and delight
1994
People in queues of snakes
Waited for a chance to cast their first vote
*We salute you TATA MADIBA
Thank you for your valiant services*
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:10 PM UTC