Sitting in a dark room
I flutter mothwing eyelids.
It comes to me
that I was born to be
the hive master of every earthy beast,
and a flock of wild angels.
My moth eyed fluttering pauses
to stare me down,
I was born to be looked at,
born to be the face of death,
a performance, a circus, a pantomime,
deaths own masquerade, a poet.
Sitting in a dark room
I grope for a bottle of wine on a side table.
My angels are thirsty,
the beasts are lapping at the open cuts,
those self-inflicted wounds
upon angelic wrists.
I was born to be this blank page and a pen,
a purchaser of refurbished laptops -
born to be a set of blindly probing keys
for the unlocking of symbols,
fictions real enough to feed
even the thin white blood
of mothwings.
The Non-Sublimininal Criminal
High Priest of Hypocrisy
The Diplomat of Draft Dodgery
The Great Example of Paying Test-Takers
The LoudMouth of Wealthy Fakery
The Main Proof of Miseducation
The Nanocrat of Non-Payment
Potentate of ***********
Sultan of **** Patronage
The Grand Probah of PooPoo
The Big Wheel of Blather
And Salesman of Bull-puckey
High Lama of Skullduggery
The Master Purveyor of Inaccuracies
The Pride of Misrepresentation
The Scion of Misdirection and Nepotism
The Black Knight of Spite
Grand Lizard of Hate and Bigotry
The Fometer of Torment
Master of Catastrophe
The Master of the Quick Disaster
The Worshipper of War by Proxy
Lover of Lies and Liars
The Promises of Pusillanimity
The Handmaiden of Bribery
Worshipper of Massive Greed
The Purchaser of Fake News
The Dandy with Unseen Clothes
The Undead Ghost of the Capitol
The Horrible Haunt of the Presidency
Embodiment of Embracement
The Shamelessness of Gross Shuckers.
The grapes were green and really huge
And surely had appeal
(Forgive the unintended pun)
But they were not a steal.
For when the cashier placed them,
In their bag, upon the scale,
The customer in front of me,
Who heard the price, turned pale.
"Ten dollars for a bunch of grapes?"
Her face reflected panic.
The cashier calmed her down -
"I'll take them off - but they're organic."
I know "organic" makes folks think
Such food is that much better,
But it's not worth it if it makes
The purchaser a debtor.
Scars Left Behind
As a slave I was a product of the broker,
and a commodity as a result of the purchaser.
Both of them made me to be,
valuable and hunted like honey bee.
Hunting and ambushed done in the village,
killing and plundering had become prestige.
As children and women when left died,
I was taken with others and then caravanned.
The Chief and Mtemi had war waged,
For Guns and Cloths were then paid.
The Banyans of India paid the capital,
Whilst Arab of Oman set the arrival.
Some servant some prisoners all were slaved,
With Ivory on shoulders but all day walked.
From Katanga and Malavi to coastal wealthy,
Bagamoyo and Kilwa we laid our sympathy.
Hundred and million were shipped forever,
The Arabs and Whites snatched our mother.
And slavery life had became our song,
Plantation and domestication had been our belonging.
Some died some survived with loosing hearts,
A misery generation maintained the scars.
In the neighboring land with pain results,
As was racist, hardworking with broken hearts.
LUCAS ALEX MKUDE poem.
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