SPILLS OF SWEAT ON SPOTS OF BLOOD

SPILLS OF SWEAT ON SPOTS OF BLOOD

The spill of sweat from the hard strain

Under the red hot sun that keeps away the rain,

 I gave it a thought, and now let me take you through

An exhibition of my brain.

Come with me, but beware lest you slip and fall

stepping on spills of sweat on spots of blood.

The ark angel of retribution calls from

 the eastern hills, his voice thunders through the earth

in preparedness for the coming of his wrath.

Corrupt leaders have rebuked his call,

They have poured on poverty road our own spills

 Of sweat on spots of blood, that made us slide

And fall.

They lick our ears with their lies

 yet we never lick theirs with our cries.

They have lied and robbed from you, that’s the

real that you should feel, maintain your pain

as I take you through an exhibition of my brain.

Rich or poor, there is nothing new under the sun.

We wake up earlier than them

to recite the national anthem. Like Rasta would say

“Fire burn them”.

We have been patriotic, till this day of the fiber optic.

Questions still hang on loose ends,

It was said we were from rich backgrounds, why then these poor trends?

We work and stain our cloths with sweat till they smell bad,

Why again stain them with our own blood?

MISS AFRICA

                   MISS AFRICA

Crying babies

empty bellies,

tongues as blunt as a panga

with echoes of devastating hunger

that ooze from a child’s lips as it holds to its mother’s kanga.

Like oxen pulling on a yoke,

so is the thought of riches when broke

floating on minds like lilies that don’t soak.

A land with no rain, thoughts of strain

Pulling like a chain too cover the abyss

of inner pain like Africa with the guilt of Cain.

Strapped to her own bed, calling

for love but given lust instead

now her children lack daily bread.

Her pools were once pure,

to all ailments they held a cure.

I can remember how it was to smell her scent

that now stinks like manure,

and all this she does endure.

Let it be understood that in her cape she

kept food, but they stole it,

covered her lips with tape, whipped, tortured

her that she could not escape then

they made her a victim of rape.

Many men who committed adultery to

this sister, as they laid on her, again and again until all she felt was pain.

Many souls she does now bare

so much that she can’t take care of those

already there.

Subjected to greed that she cannot even

breastfeed her own seed when they are in need.

Unsure steps we do take like the blind as solace we seek to find within our own piece of mind.

Why do we live as poor?

Is it really a curse for sure?

Questions do arise

 Whether we will ever see paradise

without hunger, violence, corruption

where everything is nice and the whirlwind

shall blow off the disguise that covers our earthly eyes.

As we sit and wait for food aid

from companies that are paid to travel,

for miles across tarmac and gravel

so that alms they could deliver.

THE SIXTH SENSE

                                                 THE SIXTH SENSE

There is a half-moon tonight

And I can’t help but notice its lunar light,

So clear and serene shining with dear brightness, a shy

Beam of nocturnal rays, that through the creeping dark it slays.

Surrounding its beams

Are smaller lights woven like garment seams

Tailored by a mighty hand, so strong is its power

That the human intellect it does devour.

As the light of day cowards away the brave

Darkness comes along, bringing with it a basket

Full of stars that shine like a city with many cars.

Beams of my lantern produce shadows that encircle

My script as I search in the inner most caves of space

And time, to unveil the maiden of truth behind her

Matrimonial booth.

Just one kiss on the cheek would bless her with the

Strength of the tongue, and so to speak,

Her harmony would reach the peak.

Questions of our existence on this earth and all

That is pertinent to our natural birth

Would be turned to answers,

Expressed in hymns and stanzas.

A feeling both mind and soul

Covering this big abyss, like a hole that shall

Be filled with evil, all that is wrong

Is the place it does belong.

By morning footsteps are leaving

Only to return when sore in the evening.

Cod breathe, frozen air, morning dew

Reflecting the big light on flower petals and leaves.

Mother Nature’s pure beauty

So soft with its natural purity.

Ladybirds and butterflies flying around

The plants that grow on the ground.

The perfect pure bliss,

What else would you wish for other than this?

Living with no ailment or disease,

No suffering, no rich and no poor

 Where the ghosts of death haunt none

And every soul to the almighty sings for sure.

For this my friends I only envision

To seek it I have to repent and leave on a mission

Where I shall travel,

Over smooth land and hard gravel.

Only with my sixth sense shall I get through

What the naked eye cannot see. 

Vinsense