My eyes tell a story
I have spent sleepless night
Cooking a country in chains
Been so long enough
Seen a leader glue in power
Not willing to let go
Till death part with them…

My hair tell a story
Of age
Born today
Lived today
And died today
While the yesterday’s ruler still ruled
With Guns and iron fist for tomorrows youth
And with a lying tong
He smiles to my sufferings

Wrinkles around my desert like mustache
Tells a story of pain
Of a jobless educated youth
Who chants praise to his emperor
With a yellow T-shirt
I sing to my pain
2 bonga nawe
Is it worth it?

I must cook something
To let go of today
I must tell a lie to my self
To let go of today’s pain
I will lie to the future generation
Chant praise in distress
Humiliate my self
And just then I will tame my self
Hunt my future in a cunning way

I have been long sited in this forest of books
Some have greasy ideas, dark and dirty
Some sing numerical ideas so boring
Others tell stories of stupidity
Books are nothings but stains of beautiful and dull colors
Of fat and thin emaciated maids
Who wonder the street of wisdom
In search of gnosium

But leaders are like a baboon attacked by black flies
They Chant threat amidst pain
The yesterdays wounds must only yield from the outside and rot from the inside
That’s what politicians are
They treat our heart with pain
Pain can set you free
Especially when you are in need
Pain make you forget that you are the determinant.


Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.


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