Voice of the land
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Voice of the land
Haunted by silent faces
of the many Petersons unknown;
The different Bikos with their skulls torn,
I enter into an age where new struggles are born.
I exist in a mind of I alone
that fails to escape the larger whole
Where future Johnsons with no guarantee
of reaching twelve
Sit on tombstones with seeds of teenage
mothers barely grown.
I mourn my own; a mass grave with no name on it.
My soul; I do not have it,
God holds it for safekeeping from Lucifer
who threatens to take.
He threatens to reap where he did not sow.
You see, what I saw were the faces of the many baby
Jordans untold.
The different Thatos with their molested bodies stoned.
Disowned by this land that swallows its own
This land where life remains an illusion
and death a permanent reality
When death actually
swore he was just a visitor here.
But now he has built institutions and nurseries
for his rodent sons to nurture their appetites for
human flesh, now his seed lies deeply rooted
within this land that once held pride in
knowing the soles of my feet,
My feet never once rejected this land
But now she rejects the feet of my soul
Leaving me down on my knees
Yet denying defeat
My heart resides in this land of broken promises
Making it hard for my tongue to escape
the bread and butter politics.
On my chicks tear lines recite distraught odes
of the distraught povo1
On long bread and mealie meal queues,
their hungry smiles exposing
teeth greened by the over consumed covo.2
Sweaty armpits concocting a unified odour:
a defiled scent of a poverty
common to the majority.
Automatically, their shapeless faces
display postures of angry demons
waiting to be appeased when the usual announcement
accelerates their minds dis-ease: wapera upfu!
Hawu, wapera njani 3 when it just got here?
In fear my sight narrowly escapes
the about to erupt brutal scenes,
Only to collide with povertys mean grin
Standing between my home sweet home
and prospects of pastures green.
Now, watch how these urban dreams
scheme against those we
Once upon a time called heroes and sheroe.s
Now her she grows like shadows
in the path of black sons who flow where she floats.
She bloats a pungent of decay inviting in night forces
that molest virgin lasses in the sleep of their dreams.
Now the majestic wombs of yesterday
today are barren buckets of evil that yields nothing
but a disease for death to identify as its next of kin.
It’s no secret: he just loves his skin on skin.
But what lies between
his pants is a castrated version of the future:
All is bleak yet my tongue continues to seek
What once was the dream of a distraught poet
whose heart remains homed in this land
that once held pride in knowing the soles of my feet.
My feet never once rejected this land
But now she rejects the feet of my soul
Leaving me down on my knees yet denying defeat.
1 Povo- Masses
2 Covo- green vegetables, (a much more affordable source of relish.)
3 Wapera upfu! -The mealie meal if finished.
Hawu, wapera njani ñ How did it get finished (when it just got here)
Haunted by silent faces
of the many Petersons unknown;
The different Bikos with their skulls torn,
I enter into an age where new struggles are born.
I exist in a mind of I alone
that fails to escape the larger whole
Where future Johnsons with no guarantee
of reaching twelve
Sit on tombstones with seeds of teenage
mothers barely grown.
I mourn my own; a mass grave with no name on it.
My soul; I do not have it,
God holds it for safekeeping from Lucifer
who threatens to take.
He threatens to reap where he did not sow.
You see, what I saw were the faces of the many baby
Jordans untold.
The different Thatos with their molested bodies stoned.
Disowned by this land that swallows its own
This land where life remains an illusion
and death a permanent reality
When death actually
swore he was just a visitor here.
But now he has built institutions and nurseries
for his rodent sons to nurture their appetites for
human flesh, now his seed lies deeply rooted
within this land that once held pride in
knowing the soles of my feet,
My feet never once rejected this land
But now she rejects the feet of my soul
Leaving me down on my knees
Yet denying defeat
My heart resides in this land of broken promises
Making it hard for my tongue to escape
the bread and butter politics.
On my chicks tear lines recite distraught odes
of the distraught povo1
On long bread and mealie meal queues,
their hungry smiles exposing
teeth greened by the over consumed covo.2
Sweaty armpits concocting a unified odour:
a defiled scent of a poverty
common to the majority.
Automatically, their shapeless faces
display postures of angry demons
waiting to be appeased when the usual announcement
accelerates their minds dis-ease: wapera upfu!
Hawu, wapera njani 3 when it just got here?
In fear my sight narrowly escapes
the about to erupt brutal scenes,
Only to collide with povertys mean grin
Standing between my home sweet home
and prospects of pastures green.
Now, watch how these urban dreams
scheme against those we
Once upon a time called heroes and sheroe.s
Now her she grows like shadows
in the path of black sons who flow where she floats.
She bloats a pungent of decay inviting in night forces
that molest virgin lasses in the sleep of their dreams.
Now the majestic wombs of yesterday
today are barren buckets of evil that yields nothing
but a disease for death to identify as its next of kin.
It’s no secret: he just loves his skin on skin.
But what lies between
his pants is a castrated version of the future:
All is bleak yet my tongue continues to seek
What once was the dream of a distraught poet
whose heart remains homed in this land
that once held pride in knowing the soles of my feet.
My feet never once rejected this land
But now she rejects the feet of my soul
Leaving me down on my knees yet denying defeat.
1 Povo- Masses
2 Covo- green vegetables, (a much more affordable source of relish.)
3 Wapera upfu! -The mealie meal if finished.
Hawu, wapera njani ñ How did it get finished (when it just got here)
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