They began without notice, in the city of Mombasa
By the Al shabab shooting baby Osinya in the head,
Killed the mother, leaving a slug stuck in Osinya’s head
Killing and mauling many others macabrously,
Killing for no other reason, but tribe and faith,
Their victims confess different religion and ethnicity.

They had initially lynched the West Gate Mall
In Nairobi, killing the aged and seasoned darling
Of African poetry and true fountain of peace
The dearest Kofi Awonor, in full watch of his son,
Confirming a trail of the ghastly curse of fate and death
That totted him arduously from his home in the west
Of the tropical gulag that makes the land of Africa
From where the terror maestro ; Boko haram reign scot free
Mayheming, Killing, ******, and kidnapping harmless virgins
Killing For no other reason but tribe and faith,
Their victims confess different religion and ethnicity.

They have now killed fifty peasants in Mpeketon town,
****** them in circles to puncture their virginity
and brutally kidnapping those that are not *****,
Using the AK 47 and the Ak 74 to shoot and ****,
Without reason nor course but failure of mind
Botched down by authenticity of holy diversity
Heavenly packaged in God’s idea of tribe,
Uhm! An African man with a gun is a brute of brutes,
Giving an African a gun is simple mess of the world
In to helter-skelter poise tilting peace higgledy-piggledy,
Killing one another like animals premised by Charles Darwin
As overtly seen in the warring Congo and CAR,
Where Africans **** one another in a stupid dint,
To ape Rwanda or no! To outshine the Jewish Massacre
In the Ammonium chambers of fuehrer Adolf ******,
This stupid Africans baser than wild beasts,
Who told you that your greatness will come
from killing your neighbours; the fellow peasants?
These African men are the modern homoguerrillus,
Which one call cheap war making man
They and **** ! ****! ****! ****! ****! ****! ****,
For no other reason but faith and tribe,
Their victims confess different religion and ethnicity.

Gunshots of the gunmen in Africa are not
A song of the caged bird, no whatsoever,
They are cowardly maneuvers of the weak
As the weak and cowards rarely forgive,
They arm themselves to the teeth
With deadly weapons from Russia or wherever
Only to shoot and **** the old and malnourished
Peasant women, killing the likes of baby Osinya
Shooting a suckling baby to prove your heroism,
These African men are really a Whiteman’s burden,
They **** their fellows from cockcrow to chick roost
For no other reason but tribe and faith,
Their victims confess different religion and ethnicity.

432 was the amount
of a crushing defeat
for 202 Toe Rags.

432 is a symbolic figure
for Ireland and not a
poetic metaphor either,
it was the date St Patrick
arrived here from Boulogne
Sur Mer in Northern France,
where it was a tradition of the
local mariners to paint a shamrock
on their fishing boats.

432 has often been associated with
the 4 provinces and 32 counties.

John B. Keane's "Field" was 3 Acres
1 Rood and 32 Perches, a classic
representation of Ireland.

202, or TOT will become iconic also,
not as a number, more the word!

               <>

TOT  |tɒt|
verb (tots, totting, totted) [ no obj. ] (usu. as nountotting) Brit. informal
salvage saleable items from dustbins or ******* heaps. local authorities frown on totting.

The cries were lynched from wall to wall
Dangling like pastel vowels
And painted planets,
So the air smelled of colgate and snot.
Aw Dan, what a night that was!
You cried for your dog -
I wept for the bow in my laces
Which I knew I couldn’t tie without Mother -
But then the morning came with a friendly knock,
And in a few more nights, we were brothers.

I’ve totted it up, you know
And I’ve watched you wake up over a thousand times,
I’ve filmed you crash your car,
I’ve stolen your chips,
I’ve punched your kidneys
And pressed my eyelids to your lips.

What a long way we’ve come
From those two boys left alone.
I wonder what they’d have thought if they'd been shown a video
Of you and me in 2014,
Rushing a hug over beer?
I almost wished we’d known back then
So that we wouldn’t have been so frightened.

I wish we’d known how much we’d laugh,
How we’d utilise Latin,
How we’d sell those diamonds
Blagging, without a clue- !

I wish every boy had you
To see them through.

Lets make a veil of this beauty
Hold it in this moment
Until the life we're living
Gets lost, its like we're stolen
From the strain of everyday living
Always fighting what we're given
Forgetting that we're sinning
To get on with the mission
Of peace in the world, peace in our words
To change what we heard,
About the money and the gold.
To change what it means to be sold
I give my soul to the message
Of a new kind of blessing
That is teaching a lesson,
Of time that's passed, in the sand of an hour glass,
For the mass that's trying to save,
The way in which we should behave,
Instead of writing about the grave,
That's brought by a fames shallow wave
That drowns our children's idea,
Of what it means to be raised
In a subliminal dream
We should all rank supreme,
In this life where we all give our strength
The moment we breathe in this air
Knowing someone who cares
Is willing to give us their share
Of what it means to be human
Showing their strength
Its all in the way we are raise
So I can never hate
On people who forget
About the light of our fate
Give me no curse
But give me a lesson
Give me a blessing
Teach me about resurrection
Peace be with all
So that I can withdraw
That I've finally said some words
That can be for us all
No one might listen
Though I still go on with this mission
Until I've formed a vision
Of a poem with no killing
A poem with no beginning
A poem with no sinning
A poem that makes poetry be remembered
Even if it goes out in embers
Giving  something that's well tempered
Instead of someone's temper
To spark ideas of a game change
Feeling no rage
With all the demons in their cage
Page to page,
rearrange
The day.
So it stays a strayed,
Endings that fray
Creating new lines,
Of a perfect day
Filling their minds
Leading by example
So maybe one day all their demons might lay trampled.
And their voice might turn
Into a constant flow
Of words to know
Instead of words thrown
If I'm on my own
With this mission, Than I guess its all for the eye of submission,
An eye within us all,
That's always there to recall,
The reason why we're given gifts,
In this daily free for all.
So I call
Hoping someone might hear
Someone might see
Someone might understand
What it means to be human being
What it means to say words
What it means to spit the curse
What it means to **** the curse
In the peace of our words
As the night approached once again
Maybe dreams would be filled with light again
Where we all win
Where we all see
That there is no difference between you and me.
I heard your words
And I've spoken by example
Can anyone hear that I'm laying here trampled.
By the thoughts of change,
By the ones who upstage
Let their demons out their cage
Than speak in rage
For children to hear
For children to lead
By example but you never heed
I can never change your past
I can never change your grasp
I can never take your curse
For I can not even rap, But if you hear me
Could it be enough
For you to understand that I cant be as tough
As a gun that's being totted
Later written in a poem
Than blasted to the people
Impressions burned in the temple
Dreams destroyed by beats
On constant repeat
Something I can never beat
Some frost melted by the heat
Assassins creed as my words get lost in the vast,
Land of tormented souls lives put on blast
All I'm saying is if we change the game
We change the first impression
Of a life that's a blessing,
Not an ear to be messed with
That's why I chose to be,
Ebony Rose.

Sorry
For holding  yourself worth hostage for what you could provide
You yearned to protect  others from knowing your pain
Sacrificed relationships for the sake of sounding sane
Sacrificed your dignity and humanity for a few dollars
Yet I can still see the dollar in you  through all your pain
It's exhausting...

Sorry
For giving your a false sense of pride
For isolating you  when you felt the most pain
I just wanted to protect you
From drowning in all the  self-doubt and pain

Sorry
For trying to find whatever comfort a bottle could provide
It felt safer than being viewed as weak
I felt stronger when I had a few drinks
But in reality, I was just trying to disconnect from everything
It's not your fault it was what you were taught

Sorry
For all the bad decisions and relationships we damaged
Who knows if those relationships were real
Maybe they weren't since they aren't here
But were you really there or just existing I can't answer that
We will just call it even I guess
I can't change the past but I will always wonder what could've been

Sorry
For all the self-hate
You weren't shown what self-love looked like in the first place
You can't blame yourself
You were a blank canvas just seeking validation
You ran to find it but instead, you found anger and hate

Sorry
For letting others write your narrative for so long
In reality, it was already being written at the birth
Totted as smart and strong in public
But dumb and weak in private
The lines got blurred from time to time

Sorry
For tolerating and letting those narratives hold you
Felt safer to comply than to fight
I can't blame you
Because those narratives were reinforced every step of the way

Sorry
I just wanted the best for you
I did what I had to protect you
Once Again I am sorry

Thank You
You did protect me and I will be forever grateful
But its time to let go
Some dreams die but others are about to bud and bloom
I love you but I am no longer you
I don't want to miss another season because I couldn't accept what we have been through
I will forever miss some parts of us
But its time to start anew

And there I am again the week end warrior,
Stood at the far end of a swooping bar
Back against a pillar waiting for the reassuring eye contact and that question like a nice warm jacket,
‘What’ll it be then’
Just a cider and black is all that’s on my mind between bouts of craving a cigarette.

And as always you are there at the other end of the bar,
Forever unable to synchronise our whereabouts in relation to one another.
The fluttering, feverish thought ***** through my mind of maybe you’re painfully aware of me and choose the opposite end.
The stunning innocence of your smile shot across the room when my presence is finally in your eye line suggests otherwise,
And then again who could possibly be as neurotic as me.

I obliviously cast my mind back in an involuntary tearjerking tale of a chance not taken.
Sat on a dodgy bench, in our dodgy pub, having a dodgy conversation.
We sit drunkenly telling secrets until we stumble across a kiss.
That perfect moment could have made time stand still but in the nature of the real wold everything carried on rotating.

The night panned out into our separation to our different locations forgetting to grab a number or even a surname.
That moment forever to be a memory rather than a relivable situation and that casual smile being the last form of communication, constantly holding on thinking maybe this week the weekend warrior won’t be the weekend worrier.

A sudden flash back into reality by the name of ‘£3.80 please love’ the quick change of hands and it’s back to the tribe of mine in the smoking area and you’re back to the pool table.

Maybe your smile is worth the change I leave behind distracted by it, I wouldn’t know I haven totted it up.