VULTURES

 
Vultures are feasting on the remains of unleavened bread
offered as a burnt offering to God
Vultures are feasting on the carcasses of stillborn
With bald heads on emaciated skin
shivering in the cold.

Nobody cares, kings rule,
The politics kill them, they are led to the pit
They are offered as burnt offerings to God.

The house of God is a rotten den
Infested with epidemic and immoralities.
Dirty, stinking, unswept and unkempt,
The porches and the tabernacles are eaten by termites

So I look up to the sky of lost forgotten stars
I see a weary God
mourning over a bleeding son.

Is there God?
Many ask,
I ask myself...

'There is no God' the most knowledgeable answer
The religious fanatics argue

But I see no God in a weary God in heaven
mourning over a bleeding son makes there be God.

Do I ever make sense?
I am a fool compared to these poets that lack reason
Reason does not bring me spectators
I am not a man

For I see Vultures feasting on each others sinews
Left to die in the drought and famine

How dare God judge any man?

The world is helpless in brute
Killing each other for one God.

I see that the sun shall rule the night
I see that a virgin shall labour in pain,
I see that the lion shall wed the antelope
I see that the dead shall help the living

I see Vultures
When in lucid sleep I dream...
 

A Survivor's Tale

 
We were born out of wedlock,
Out of an unfortunate accident involving two unguided teens.
Our mother abandoned us barely two months old,
two months old ruddy infants she left
For our father denied the pregnancy.

We grew up with grandmother
in a castle made with bamboo and mud
where the thatch leaked in rainy seasons
we lived in a basket dipped into water
our bones creaked the bamboo bed as our sinews shiver and twixt in cold
like a dehydrated leopard hide dried for the drum.

But we were princes with enhanced minds
surviving among rustic people in a jungle of savages
defeating hunger
Nursed grandmother's hopes as we grew in understanding and wits.

Father came late in life to take claim of his seeds
Too late perhaps to tame our demons
for we were already stocked in our ways
as survivors and warriors mold by nature
to be nothing but hard and strong

We grew up unguided as teens
We grew up rough and rouge
We lifted shops for fun
There was no one,
Dad was working and getting home late
Danny started smoking,
As if that was not enough,
One day something happened

He died!

My whole life came crashing like china on a staircase
I was empty and the trauma sank me into the seas of oblivion
Every curtain became bleak and black
There was no silver linen
Every horizon became dark
Daddy lost his reason to life,
Lost his job and pick up the bottle
He lost everything to saving me...
For the car crash that took my brother spared me not without a price.

I had to move on without any aid
Life is a choice, but birth is a fate
Once I had no reason to live
Now I will roar like a wounded lion
And pluck blessings from my curses.
 

ATONEMENT

As Luna glows her glamour beam
To celebrate the dusk,
The water nymphs dance to a ballet theme,
An evening full of musk.

They spread their limbs like butterflies
To greet the changing tides,
A flowing rush streams through widened eyes,
A group of wedding brides.

Between the pines a washed rebirth
That's clean and white and due
Exudes a sense of pax on earth
It all begins with you
As God through Christ our sins atone
Shows at death you're not alone.

SOLD

 

The Lord pushes her slave to and fro
To and fro, to and fro
like the swing as the wind wush into her pride
To and fro for his rights earned a stride.

She cooks for him just as she's placed
And for all minor things she was graced,
Satisfies his pleasures in his cubicle
And multiply as commanded is her miracle.

An African woman sold to disgrace,
They sold her pride, sold her face
Sold her rights at wedlock at a price
That the creator despise.

They call it 'dowry', a customary rite
That quenches the aura and dims the light
of what a true African woman should be
In the ignorance of their forbears they have bent to tarry.

For Hamatterns had wilted, moons changed,
Schools have planted on our foreheads a new eye.
Yet, our parents are still deranged
They still sell us out to die...

They still think the female child is worthless
And is to be dispensed
They send us to school and make us valuable
They feed us a honest lie

They call it dowry
They pretend they love us
And then they bargain on that day even with the men we truly love
They sell us out and drive us from where we grew.

The African woman is a slave no matter where we go
We are sometimes only fortunate to be sold to a good master
We are sold by our parents to him at a price
We are a commodity...