On the Other Side

Poets: Tzeblon Ft Paciolo Pen Saint Ft Abisola Where numbers were wished to become valuable notes, barrows are made to carter their northern struggles, butterflies dare not tread these places– it wings might see the face of doom/ even lions succumb to its travails at times... Don't walk these plains if you don't have the ear for noise– of thievery, anger, hustle and maybe the audible sobs of an empty stomach, On this side... I am still there, we sell our sweats for a penny so don't come near if you don't have the arm for struggles, an eye for ruthlessness, legs for swiftness– who knows when the men in black will go berserk again... Valour is all that matters on this side and that's why we are still breathing so tell them... these streets ain't just for poets... Like I used to say. (2) The first crack lines On the other side you see, Are butchered fountains of hope Those struggles are driven by "at least" Don't let our grave mock us Dying not feeling at home "again" The second crack noises you hear Like the roars of the OAU lions Pale - sick but weave with fury Yeah, just that - rage - nothing more The crack lines/voices behind the wall of our lives On the other side of the street Ain't for poet / but strong poets Who still can scribe/not the dead ones who've given up but still live (3) The sacred memory_better locked in Oblivion Trembling feet of ill_fated Walls of facade With a glamorous appearance Glittering shone all a mirage Lies the stone_which mustn't be turned For in it begot tools of destruction Sweet sound of pain agonize the dwellers Where death is soothing On the other side lies the most dreadful History of mankind