"The Long Arm of Love"

"The Long Arm of Love"

 In a world wrapped in chaotic darkness

Unexplainable to the human mind

I will be your sea of tranquil affection

Where you can plunge in your mountain of pain 

And watch them melt like ice in a bowl of heat.

Keeping your eyes on your scars 

Are blindfolds to what the future holds

Which restrains your feet from climbing the  peak of your dreams

So unbolt your stars 

And draw a canvas of sparkling lights in the sky. 

Yesterday has had its way

Let's today have it say

While we steer through the darkness

With hope as our light.

"Friday Mourning Prayer"

 "Friday Mourning Prayer"

At the wake of dawn,

As drowsy bodies were yet to stir their tired whole.

They come upon us suddenly,

Like hungry swarm of locusts,

With machetes, arrows, and guns,

Thirsty for blood at no cause,

Blinded by the blurry slides of religion and tribalism.

They shot sporadically at scampering children,

And ripped bare the hearts and tummies of pregnant women.

Brave men who dared to resist their savagery

With bare arms and sticks were butchered like festive holy rams.

Bodies were piled up like heaps of sacrifice to a brute god.

This massacre went on till the sun was forced out of hiding

By the foul smell of burnt flesh and blood

As the perpetrators disappear like the morning mist into their religious huts 

To observe their daily prayers.

"Our Votes will Count"

 

"Our Votes will Count"

The sugarcoated party slogans and their fattened promises,

The lies mingled with a drop of truth and the multiple posters that smear the faces of our streets,

The feigned smiles with a generic pose of hope, 

The crowd pulling campaigns and the brandishing of the magical party wands,

The quickly arranged sombre songs of hope with shameful dance steps to mesmerize the faithfuls,

Some standing transfixed in the scorching sun, other swaying their waists and stamping their feet on the dusty ground for paltry wraps of notes

While the big men hide in raised platforms smiling broadly.

It is the most coveted season,

In the life cycle of a state

When like a snake it should shed its old skin for a new look.

But here the new is old,

Same old faces,

Same old lies,

Same old weary promises,

Everything is old.

The hope locked in the PVC

Is simply the more you look, 

the less your wishes grow

Elections are done in the morning

And selections at night

They cling voraciously to power

Like blood-thirty parasites

But after every duel that leaves us with tired faces

The radio presenter reminds us that one day our votes will count.