Words from the heart

Wait For It


Wait here.

Wait here as I find the hem

Of the fabric that will

Hide the flaws we have birthed

And nurtured

The flaws so putrid

We can’t show our faces in the world

 

 

Wait here

Wait here as I lay the cloth

Over your uncle Tom,

Whose lust has led him

Under the skirts of little girls

He is ours, he must be hid

For the world is after his head.

 

Wait here,

Wait here as I find the keys

To the glories of the past

Where we were one and one

Was for all, in sickness, in health

In the rot that’s humanity’s bane.

 

Wait here,

Wait for the whip

To draw paths of distraction

On your back, your calves

On your children’s brains

Wait for the end to come calling

You may wait forever but

Wait here.

Crippled


 

Fathom

The embrace of the wormhole that steals

The visions of generations

Chanting after Mheshimiwa who

Should never have been

Born to governance

In the minds of the colonized

 

Chai for the man in blue

At the corner of this and that

Fed, appearing whole, entitled

Unga for the man on the street

Cleaning the trash of the entitled

Enriched

By ego fed and bred and cultured

Meets, meats and fermented vegetables

 

It’s all in their mind

 

Collectively

The generation has no way to turn

The elder, a result of the white man’s escape

From the truth of their demise

Thus, the elders tasted from the cups of many

What to choose?

Conform, little. It’s all you

Have

The ones after, lost between the conversion

And the resurrection of the them they should

Have been.

Conform

 

To what?

 

Signs? I wonder


Signs and wonders

What is this guiding light

Sought by many, ignored by even more?

What is this coincidence

That plagues incidents born of nothing

But sheer luck?

What is this path

Chosen for us, by us

For the greater good?

What is the greater good?

Who is it greater for?

Where does wonder lead?

Do they all meet and talk

And plan the deeds that seek us,

The end that we surely will meet?

 

The Same Old Story


We burnt ourselves

When ticks upon paper were laid

And ballots cast

 

We killed our progress

When we refused to move forth

And leave the chaff that littered our past

 

We sealed our coffins

When we sealed our lips

On those that shouldn’t have been

 

We will do it again

When the chance is once more given

We’ll choose to stay in filth

The Works


Working to find the edge of their seats

The secret place where they all go to dream

The windy roads that lead them home

The source of their souls

Working to raise their cost of living

Working

So they forget they ever bought the lie

So they deny they ever laughed at this line

So they rely on the pie for life

So they swallow the bile

Working

 

 


Where do they go

When their shadows in purple hues

Follow in sluggish strokes

Of underbellies on blue set canva

Like extended limbs of

The jacaranda warriors rising to heed

Their cause On this dusty October

Do they go to meet their maker

To feed their makers

Whispers of undoings and apothecene ramblings

Temptations fought and Cthulhu’s enchanting thoughts bought

Are they listening to this fleeting thought

Will they answer the quest in song?

Filth


It’s fifty times a hundred

The weight of the filth around

It’s only as heavy as you view it

The filth of the wait about

The colour of the filth in sound

It’s only as you see it

The feeling of filth on the ground