my brother the messiah



By these dunghills, they stood  
By these morn Mecca, we paid homage
Daily to the papyri gong beaters.
Singing   a litany of   collapses and failings

Of  a  revolutionary  government  that  sit’s  on  our  sacred  stool
A  stool  that  had  fattened  legs  which  imbibe  our  sweat, 
Polished with elaborate designs,
and on  it’s  head, sat, the  rump and rotund  figure  of  father  Christmas; our  veiled liberator

Yes, siblings they did roam our streets  
With cohorts carrying sacks of decoys and bric a bracs
Blowing  rhetoric  trumpets ,calling  for  a  tune  of  pipe dreams and petasos’;of  an eminent  land to be called  Alexander the great

hmmm! Manumission, manumission
Art thou just castles in Spain?
Why doth we dream of you in vain till we are slapped with the saccharine taste of propaganda and the dulcet tunes of equality?
lay our stockings out for the jolly man and shed our thumbs as ransom
for the imminent sovereign

only to know that our fathers had given birth
to fighters who fight against us
vampire bats that drink our blood 
behind the murk of deceit`

and in the words of trust
we plant them in our hearts
but they blossom and cause harm
fatten up and green fracture the wobbly legs of our consecrated stool