DEAREST COMRADE MUGABE! The year nineteen eighty, not alien to - TopicsExpress



          

DEAREST COMRADE MUGABE! The year nineteen eighty, not alien to you Born and raised in that and this same abject poverty In those days some were in love with life, you were sailing To that direction of an opener to the listening ears and thinking heads To the walking legs and the very begging hands of today To those mothers suckling in pain without milk, their babies in jail cells When the oppressor came your legs were not yet that fast To run from torture and to salvation of sanctity- a pure dream They never taught you imperialism, the throne The court of arm, the flag, the constitution and priorities When they came flag followed the cross in jest, not zest People chanted in unison and jubilation your democracy, modesty Slave owner inflated more and more money not for But shut you up from asking them out of African land The Black land, the cradle of mankind, the mother of resources: necessity The sun woke and slept in your praises to the capitalists: move on Mugabe With little premonition I asked my instincts, “Why did the ship capsize?” Because you told them too late to give back ours, is it so? Because you said no Africa can be in the West, yes? Because you shunned away neocolonialism, not so man? And because your antagonist boot licks and tail wags the oppressor They begin to unravel their own inquisitive opinionated froth Oh Colonel Robert, I pity you could have snatched from them Doctors not soldiers, sympathy not apathy, glory not mockery In the African socialism you swore to keep vigil when the wheel changed hands Then Ruganda said “When the union jack was lowered……you held me tight!” We now look to you as savages in bondage for food, security, identity- human, Infrastructure, love, peace, and unity- in the foreseeable future our acquired land Dearest Mugabe I’ve now known who took firewood from the Iroko tree Save us from this carnage so we can cross our paths to your house Now that the oppressor speaks not in the pot, but out side Let your bloody spear droop and shake hands beyond the elbow Of this I mourn in protest, for you are my comrade, yes you are!
Posted on: Sun, 20 Jul 2014 07:49:46 +0000

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