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THERE IS FIRE ON THE MOUNTAIN

The travelling ghost, your house is ablaze.
The sleeping giant, your armour is on fire.
The flying serpent, your skin is peeling.
The snoring warrior, your quiver is stolen.

The biting adder, your land is on fire.
The smiling crocodile, your water is boiling.
The dancing python, your bush is burning.

The stinging scorpion, your wood is decayed.
The tweeting bird, your nest is gone.

The ignorant tyrant, your gun is rusted.
The illiterate teacher, your school is dilapidated.
The aged suitor, your bride is dead.

The poor millionaire, your money is valueless.
The wicked lover, your concubine is sick.
The jealous partner, your colleague is buried.
The envious neighbour, your boundary is ruined.
The heartless friend, your companion is lonely.
The mean man, your family is bored.

There is fire on the mountain
The burning bush, the razing house
The falling roof, the collapsing building,
Indeed, there is fire on the mountain.

Flying without perching, scattering nests
Spiting and biting families,
Cruising on top, cursing souls.

There is fire on the mountain
Flying mamba, raging beast
Horrendous monster, anti-people
Green snake on a green grass.

Living in bondage, inhumanity
Hot oil frying dreams
Burning hopes, boiling futures,
There is fire on the mountain.

Flames, yellow and red
Smoke, thick and dark
Choking, suffocating
Killing, mortifying, and burying,
There is fire on the mountain.

POLITICAL MONSTERS

They are the gangsters
In many disciplines
Cooking the youngsters
To poison their wines.

They are the tricksters
Misguiding the populace
To feed the pranksters
At their own pace.

They are the masters
Playing every card
To suit their plasters
And make it hard.

They are the ill wind
Blowing left, right, front and back
Destroying the blind
For them to always lack.

They are the undercover
Wining and dining around,
For you not to take cover
Until they send you underground.

They are the chameleon
In beautiful colours,
But the real Napoleon
With cancerous odour.

Political monsters, the cankerworm
That stir the storm
And trouble our form,
The termite that eats our norm
And destroys our reform
Political monsters, the beast after our peace. 

SECOND ASH WEDNESDAY

This island of hardened indigenes
Floating on a lagoon of timid owners
A sand-fill of tribal oaths,
Bursting banks of bloody rivers.

Beams and columns on fetish lands
Pipes and steels on dusty air,
Blocks cementing shallow love.

Hate above the jagged edge
Deceit onboard the deep courage,
Anger beyond the chosen tribe.

Dirty cup, poisoned wine
Raw food, broken glass
Bounced cheque, foiled contract
Burnt, razed, complicated view.

Just after the ash Wednesday
Marking the beginning of lent
You came, crashing our tent.

Rulers without rulers
Leaders without leadership
Laws without laws.

Regulations with manipulations
Stipulations with exploitations
Ordinances without ordinations.

Misconduct, malpractice, quackery
Incompetence, negligence and forgery
Ignorance, illiteracy and fallacy
Ash, dust, ash upon dust.

Green blood, purple eyes
Brown legs, green womb
Fertile future, yellow lips
Blue field, rich voice
Dust, ash, dust upon ash.

Heated polity all for politics
Cold population all for their pocket
Games, games upon games
Blood, blood, upon blood
Tears, tears, upon tears
Land, land, bleeding land.

Innocence, innovations, imaginations
Poor, mild, tender, lovely
This land bleeds blood
Bloody land bleeding death.

Heads, models, leaders
Heads wasting heads
Models muting models
Leaders leaving followers
Ash, moody Wednesday.

Parents in coma
Siblings in agonies
Relatives in dilemma,
A land of stigmas.

Poor land, helpless and hopeless
Unequally yoked, unevenly ploughed
Violated, humiliated;
The oxen of the dead
None can lend her help,
Just a second ash Wednesday.