Millenium poems

I, A POET:

A pen was granted to me,
A sane mind
And a vision
To revolutionalize
My society;

I have no fear
For the terrifying bear,
For the anger of the African thunderstorm
And the attacks of the northern worm
For the eastern sword
And the western scud

I, a prophet
Write my prophesy
For good
For worse
For health
And illness
And to all,
The tall
The short
The stout
The slim
The black
The pink
I, write,
For the master
The servant
And the slave
I write without fear
For death
Because
My destiny
Is written in history.









THE EARTHLY GODDESS:

Prior his arrival,
We heard the thunder storm.
The heavy rainfall of dust,
Shone our homes,
The moneys were spent
To decorate the earth,
The bulldozer flattened the surface
To let him pass,
Without dirtying his golden shoes
The guardian angels came,
Told us to leave the way
For his majesty to pass.

Rat race is really killing us

And the dust is burying our breathing eyes

The trumpet sound,

Left us deaf:
























LET IT RAIN:

Of The Thundering Anger
And the bitter-painful tears,
Of the old ages suffocation
And red waters.

Let it rain.

Of the agony of our longtime sufferings,
Satisfied by their sweet words,
Let it rain,
So that they will be invisible,
On stages.

Let it rain

Heavily to irrigate the fore born seeds,
Dwarfed by weed and hyacinth,
Which have killed them all.

But if it rains.

Of the red lightening,
To sacrifice the good seeds,
To the masamva.
Of fierce hail storm,
And constructive mud flow,
To dry the weed:

O let it rain.

So that every one in a deep sleep will wake up
And be forced,
To take a hoe, a panga and an axe,
Burry the protocol,
And dig:









NKUBA:

Watch out!
You who are lucky
Even Louis II too, was!

You who are strong, be careful
For Caesar was even more,

You who are born powerful,
Even Nicholous II claimed to be.

You who think are the chosen,
For apartheid is there to stay.

You who think the heavenly are yours
And the earthly ours,
Even the creator came and lived in ours.

Watch out!

“Because you never know
When the snake is pregnant”























WE WILL WIN:

My heart speaks;
We will win
Though;
Deprived of our rights,
Denied of our vital rights,
We will move
To meet our needs
Though;
Not valued
And despised
And ignored
But; our sweat!
Will not be lost in vain
For, we’ll spring up like mushroom
And make it
With courage
And the hope, that;
We will win.


























REINSTATEMENT:

The grasshopper,
Too old, too rough
The “gugwa”
Too old, too young.

Dies then arises!

Again takes seat,
In golden regalia and
Old idea of the before –death
Which has been edified,

The idea is now new

But monotonous,
Like the Christian ecstasy,
Of the lantern season.

The new old gugwa
Regurgitates the new idea
Of ruling the grass, while
The eagle is around.











MY TRIALS:

“Don’t miss at the Royal Palm Hotel”
The prosecutor told me friendly.
“I know; you are innocent”
But,

The law is a double edged sword
Don’t miss there; he said
But I, a son of the peasant
Don’t have even a cent
How can I go to such an expensive hotel?

The judge looked at my advocate,
With dry red eyes,
Then turned to me,
With hanging spectacles on his big nose.

He pretended to be fierce,
But fear covered his ugly face,
For shame!
He said in his lordship voice

Take-him-in-as-a lesson!
But our idea of;
There is also right for the poor
Was neither buried!


Nkuba, Sweetbert -composer
Cc: 2008