Best Politicalwater Poems
I am Africa, I am man
Hear my drums, know my heart beat
My sorrow is not metered in iambic lines
Life does not speak that way
So artificial this enumeration of joy
So false this constant rise and fall of tone
I fish the tides
Sometimes the water rises above the rock
And stay a long, long time
Like a dream that won't give up
Sometimes the water recedes far out
Lingering at the bar
Waiting for the moon to show her breast
Watching silently like a star
For one ear Nana Oba to divorce me
From this culture that is my hell.
I am Africa, I am man
My fingers running fast on antelope skin
Cross the bata light and sweet like a caress
Like rainfall on the Serengeti
Like bird call for Nana Oshun's memory
So when I put my hands around your waist
Sliding my finger over the contours of our embrace
Searching for lake Nakuru under your dress
Down from the Kilmanjaro of your breast
And whisper my feelings in your ears
In cross-rhythms, kora and mbira playing
Hot like khamsin, passionate like the yamo
Sucking on your tongue for life
Seeking the umbilical water for my pain
What care for anapestic sentiments
Trochaic promises, dactylic stories
I need you in all the wonder of your loveliness
In all the moods that living tell
In our orbiting exodus of earth and hell
No time now for phony precisions
I speak as I am, as I feel emotions
Dancing on my finger tips
Dancing on the velvet smooth of drums
Ladling at your Nakura, lapping at your lips
All tribal, my body hums
For the stolen glory of my history
For the cinder of theories
That make me victim twice in my misery
I am Africa, I am man
Hear my prophecy, I will succeed!
In My Bed Dreaming
{For Ken Saro Wiwa}
When i shall be dreaming,
Who shall be there?
Who shall know about the dream?
Who shall speaks about the dream?
On whose mouth shall it be heard?
I have gone through this land before,
I have swam this water before
Even i have made the fishes,
Sucumbed to my prying hooks.
In my walked through the land,
I have seen the sunset shine through
Over my head into the path,
Of beautiful rainbow flowering plants,
In my swimming through the water,
I have seen the wave washes surf soft over my body,
Likewise the pisces bobbing up in my belly,
This land i have gone through before,
This water i have swam before,
Theses fishes i have caught,
With my prying hooks,
In my walking through the land,
I have seen them dying,
Dark murky sludges covered all of them,
In my swimming through the water ,
I have dark murky sludges covered me,
And the fishes have all gone dead,
I have seen them all,
I have seen the land dying,
I have seen the water going murky dark,
I have seen the fishes all going dead,
And i have seen them ,
All have gone dead,
I have called my own,
I have shouted it out,
I have cried to those two ears,
I have stood in the gap,
I have stretched forth my hands,
To gather those who have no voice,
Won't they hear me,
The land, the water and fishes,
All have gone dead,
Won't they hear me
All the dark murkey sludges,
Are to our horrible existence,
And i shall be shouting,
I shall be crying to them with ears,
Until our land, water and fishes have been cleansed,
Then i shall be on my bed dreaming ,
When i shall be dreaming,
Who shall be there?
Who shall know about the dream?
Who shall speaks about it?
On whose mouth shall it be heard?
By the way, Have you felt the stick today?
Missed a support payment or alimony?
How’s it feel to live in the land of the free?
Surely, this is NOT civility.
By the way, can you afford the heat?
Does your menu include gene-altered meat?
In a civil land, surely all would be fed.
In a civil land, all would have roofs and beds.
How’s it feel to have no obvious choice
run by a government who won’t hear your voice?
By the way, have you paid for the water you drink,
because you don’t trust, the kitchen sink’s?
Certainly civility should and would decree
a clean, functioning place to simply pee?
Would a civil nation arrest and detain
so many strangers to receive a water boards’ pain?
Does civil society require your passport chipped?
Does a nation of laws allow phone calls clipped?
Each country claims to be this mythical land
where the masses are cared for, given a hand.
In this Never Neverland no one would stay sick.
We'd all live good life’s without carrying the stick.
In this Never Neverland we'd live proudly free
represented by goodness in grand civility.