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
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