For whom the bullet races
When I was little, like a child I thought
Of palaces and kings and no evil.
A beetle or a kite that I got
Would amaze me - daze me out.
Or a tail-less wriggling lizard that I'd caught
Would sadden me with its distress.
I laughed and cried and soothed
And fought and told mama none of it.
I jumped and fell and, well, all a
kid ought
To do.
I did too.
Now that 'am grown of stature and
nature,
Think of state houses sold to the
devil
And am amazed not by official
looting
Only gravely saddened, oh, by
thieves
Stole from the child his dream, and
I scream
and wriggle in the economic grip,
Of a deaf governor with ears only
for wealth.
The chaos beg for tears.
But I cry not.
I see the night-thief look up at the
sun
Unafraid of the sun or day or me
Steal again.
I couldn't laugh.
I see the strangler of childhood
dreams
Snatch the dream and waste it
Could I cry?
He begins to steal the future,
Stow it away for his child,
Crumple it into a paper ball
So I don't notice,
But I see.
But I am grown of mind and might
And I think of a long barreled gun
And I think of good aim
And I think of old thieves
Of young thieves-to-be.
II.
lonely experience
Though my
suffering is emminent,
The
tenor and tune of it evident,
Do
not choke or spill your food-
Or
waste a tear, (as if you could).
Never
by you have my troubles been eased,
My
tenacity's been born and raised
On
the fertile garden of your indifference.
Keep
your care, I've been taught,
Mark
my word and keep reference.
I
refuse to fit into this fixture
These
terms to terminologise my plight.
Am
I bound to victimhood by nature?
Which
moral judge bars me from this fight?
Is
this my brand, my fate ?
Would
the world end if I bared my teeth -
Dispatched
heavenwards my tormentors forthwith?
Even
when I have been taught?
I
shall not be victimised-
By
my sword shall fall him
Whose
turn it is to be victim.
I
shall not be traumatised-
When
I get to direct this gory drama
I
will cast another for this trauma.
For
I've been taught.
III.
Resolve
Verily know thee:
Death shall be served
In a filthy calabash
- you will be a backyard ritual-
Ruined in mid-ceremony.
Before breath is held.
Before time.
The sky shall not tear in two
The heat shall not relent
The world will not pause
But you
will pass.
Verily know thee-
That yours comes yet,
a date with a bullet:
On an unlikely evening,
an unsuspicious morning;
When impatience snaps like
lightening
And, itching with gangrene,
from dark jungle the howls
of injured souls!
Verily know thee-
A poisoned tip in revenge steeped!
Fired
Most certainly at the time you pose
in quiet sitting disarmed by family,
in vanity reposed cozily,
besieged by foe:
Death you shall know!
So,
bar your doors and windows
When
you turn in for… who knows!
Turn
low that TV set and listen out
In
time, I'll be about.
IV.
The Promise
Till the day of
the bullet
I will be
the trouble in your tummy,
this morning
the migraine in your mind,
the pain when
you pee.
I will be
the prickly thorn in the hedge
The draught causing
your sneeze
the rotten
bean baking your wind
the terrible
dream ruining your sleep.
Till the day of
the bullet.
