whispers
in the mausoleum
echo
reverberate in niches
roundly heard
where once death,
the living,
breathing
sighing
calling
speak your word
whispers
in the mausoleum
echo
reverberate in niches
roundly heard
where once death,
the living,
breathing
sighing
calling
speak your word
See how she sits in her high chair,
Obedient child to the last,
See how she sups up her porridge,
Flavoured with history past.
See how she spits out the spoonful,
Proferred by patronage hand,
See how she picks up her own now,
Infancy making a stand.
See how she learns from endeavour,
As natural an act as can be,
See how she grows to an adult,
Independent, self-nourished and free.
See how some children, retarded
By parents who will not let go,
Develop arrested behaviours,
Damaged by some who don’t know
That nothing is worth being stuck there,
Harnessed in chair like a child.
It breaks under pressure from fairy tales,
Sometimes we’re born to be wild.
Wild as the woad on our faces
When history wrote out our path,
But timing is now, and with courage,
Freedom not given, we grasp
The spoon from the parent who knows not
A whit of development’s way.
Our children are free as a nation, come
September 18th, ‘Yes!’, Independence Day.
Watching news,
So many different
Points of views,
Seeking all to
Contradict,
Never missing
Any trick
To overthrow
Or undermine
Credibility.
Lying or being
Colourful with truth,
Quite a message
For our youth.
Give us your vote
On ballot paper,
Won’t screw you now,
We’ll wait till later.
Once confidence
And seats
Are ours.
Now we’re in
A Celebration!
We’ll fix this lot
The whole damn nation.
We’ve got a plan
Just wait and see
We like to call it
Policy.
It’s changed a bit
From just before
Election.
The trouble is
Now that we’re in,
We have to deal;
We call it spin.
Shaving truth
From here and there.
We’re cuddly still,
A hairless bear,
With claws
And teeth
That bite.
But, worry not,
We won’t bite you,
You’re one of us.
Well ain’t that true?
I voted, yes,
I put my mark,
My little cross,
My vital spark
Believing,
Trusting in
Democracy.
I feel though, that
I’m standing by
While you get rich
And pass us by,
Pissing up against
Our legs,
Doling out to us
The dregs.
While bankers
Wanked
And walked.
Strange, misplaced,
This trust you urged.
Some view the process
As absurd,
When what is said
And what appears
Mismatch. The policy
Disappears.
There’s egg
On all
Our faces.
Still, better than
Dictatorship
Or feudal lords
Who, fortune stripped
From workers
Ploughing in the field
Theirs the effort
Yours, the yield.
Oh, wait, that
Seems quite
Similar.
A paper mark
Means nothing more
If once you’re in
You shut the door
On faces who
Extolled your worth.
Who’s laughing now?
Oh, you. Such mirth.
You’ve conned
Us all
Again.
Honesty?,
I’m so naïve.
I listen and
Sometimes, believe
The shit you say,
You pose and preach.
We are all
Just out of reach
Of mattering
To you.
And other you.
Not much to choose from
I see that clear,
With clarity
Not dowsed in beer
That’s taxed
To death
Like everything
That’s left.
Which is
Not much
At all.
So, what’s my choice?
Should I abstain?
Refuse to take part
Once again?
Or trust that one day,
Maybe soon,
An upright man
Will fly from moon
And work
To serve
The job and people.
Excuse me if I don’t
Hold my breath,
Not ready yet
For certain death.
Is this what Aristotle
Meant
When speaking
Of a government?
I don’t
Think so.
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