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Paul Mburu Watex Poem
THE IMMIGRANT'S CRY
They refuse to let me in.
Say its normal to be left out
That I should not protest e'en when no way I see.
Because I think different
Autonomously,
They are scared of me.
Haven't i not wailed hard?
But red is all they see me veiled
Like Lady Bathory bathed in virgin blood.
This is hell! Tailored for this lass
No Virgil guide as lucky Dante has.
I am doomed to watch my children pass
As Death's wages for relief that ne'er comes
I cry as they behind desks innocently hum.
Copyright © Paul Mburu Watex | Year Posted 2016
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Paul Mburu Watex Poem
TELL THEM,ACHEBE TELL THEM
Tell them,Achebe tell them
That with bullets they may kill our bodies
But our proud spirit they will never fell!
That blind men too soon come to notice
The true self of those in office.
Achebe tell these politicians
That though we appear daft,we really are not.
And soon all shall see
The true extent of their rot
And greed insatiable even by the world's largest pot!
Achebe tell them we know
that this is not how to run government
And better a brother's sharp tongue
Than a peek under the Illusionist's tent.
We know.We know that this is not what Mama Africa meant.
We see,Achebe tell them
all the pomp and glitz and false glories galore
Tailored for Africa's able-bodied sons
To slowly lure them away from virtues of lore
So as to flood home with blood and rot.Into Africa's core.
Achebe tell them,O great Achebe
That we know what comes after this bend
Like clever,greedy hyenas
Dressed for the weekend
They will take you in with smiles,only to revel at your life's end!
Tell them,Achebe tell them
That with bullets they may kill our bodies
But our proud spirits they will never fell!
That blind men too soon come to notice
The true self of those in office.
Copyright © Paul Mburu Watex | Year Posted 2016
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Paul Mburu Watex Poem
THE BAR ON BEER STREET AND GIN LANE
Come in quoth he. Ye weary poor devils
What is mine is yours he quipped with hands a-flarin'
T'ward his barrage of demon drink.His eye smiling
that Succubus hint gleaming
just behind his light like in nightmare dreaming.
Poured he proceeded to fill people's glasses
who were now shouting for his Wiley advances
care abandoned.How's about ye young lad,
care for a taste that keep gentlemen glad?
And my cup he prompt filled till more then i want had
please enjoy for small pence you can sit all you want
and engage in mindless stories all day long.
'Yea' said a wrinkled face much young than I
'Let the world kill itself.We be content with this.'
This, my friend,was the last i saw of that dreary place
that will forever haunt my face
with images of the living that be dead
and the dead that think they live.
All night I keep vigil to guard my tempted soul
against that wretched wolf's howl of a call
and pray Lord keep my faith whole
so not to fall in that infernal hole.Amen.
Copyright © Paul Mburu Watex | Year Posted 2016
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Paul Mburu Watex Poem
And he talks; and I listen
O how this ever goes on!
Quiet sometimes,others loud as train whistles
Why not let in peace my wretched soul?
But as balls t'ward theirs goals
So our savage joust goes.
He pulls ever at my strings
So that the white cloud no longer sings
So that a white thought no longer swings
For that drink of relief
Amidst my desert of torture.
Copyright © Paul Mburu Watex | Year Posted 2016
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Paul Mburu Watex Poem
ONCE I WAS FREE
Once I was free; now I am a slave
Now I am a coward, but once I was brave.
Once my counsel was sought afar and near
Now ‘midst Moon’s army I march; in madness and rant and rave.
Once I was wealthy, held sway many a vast estate
Now I sit in ashes; long turned bitter for others’ taste.
Once my face was brilliant, shone by laughter’s tears
Now I sleep with monsters who t’ward my grave aid me make haste.
Copyright © Paul Mburu Watex | Year Posted 2016
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Paul Mburu Watex Poem
THE INDIAN'S LAMENTATION(OR A DEDICATION TO JOHN TRUDELL'S WORK)
We felt it,but we ignored
The wind as it blew: dry? Yes.Cold?
Perish the thought!Still we felt it.
We saw it. In the coif of a bison's coat
Dancing in a forced ritual to an invisible master.
We saw it. In the lone leaf. The one
Caught by Nature's Messenger
And blown into our wretched stoked fire.
We saw it and we knew it but we ignored it.
Now we remember times we ignored,
When you looked around and saw
Upturned, frightened faces
Seeking answers that none wants to hear
And the color of their eyes was fear
Once a hundred? A million? A myriad!
But now I sit alone. By my self by the shore
Waiting for Nature's Messenger.
Waiting for Nature's Messenger.
Copyright © Paul Mburu Watex | Year Posted 2016
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