Bio coming soon…
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.
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.