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Friday, 1 December 2017

Who made me a slave


Who made me a slave
In the 21st century
Who locked me in chains, caged

For Africa, as a slave
Trump over Hillary, seeking refuge
Everyday, anyday; oasis in dystopia

She is the reason
I am being sold as a slave
In Libya in the 21st century

For those that talk
Are not as dangerious
As those that act

Oh and Obama
Is no son of Africa
An imposter

He Killed Gadafi
For a place at the table
Of opulence, a con artist

Prosperity
Will not  judge him well
Time will be a pain to his name

He wasted the opportunity
A con artist, with a Noble prize
He killed so many, blood on his name

"When you try desperate
To be liked by all,
You disappoint those that matter"

Death is when legends are born
Expensive for cowards
A true test of value's resolve.

And religion has failed us all
A dirty mirror to clean
With no reflection on morality

A weight in gold of riches,
Stolen from the poor
In daylight of blind men

Plagued by the disease
Of self preservation of politics
Hallow, my material wealth so much

Assembled, butt sat next to corrupt men
On high tables deep in conversation
On common grounds shared

Why should I sugar coat my my pain
I am a slave in the 21st century
My leaders have failed me

I am back in the hands
Of my colonial masters
Who refused to let me into their land

Master, Master take me back
My land of riches
Made dry by corrupt men

Master wouldn't open doors
So at the gates of exit across seas
In my own land I am made a slave

We slaughtered all our heroes
And went back begging
To our old masters

I am a willing slave
In the 21st century
My leaders sold me cheap 

Saturday, 18 November 2017

The Debt Collector


I have stopped
Doing good for now
It is costing me too much

Like the sales seasons
Reduced to clear of summers
Wear no longer on the racks.

Debt collection
Has become too much
Of a hustle now

As agreed rejected now
Having to chase
Dear old regret

Just to put things back
In their rightful place
Back to order

Loosing on opportunity cost
Where whole meal is now
Reduced to piece meal

I am forced
To pick crumbs off
The table

Less than bite size to nible on
When it is my own cake
To have

I called a guy
Who owed me one
He did not pick

The next time we spoke
It was all awkward
Why awkward

When I am
Just taking back my own
Owed me

Why gain interest of stress
As value added
On loans given



Friday, 17 November 2017

Legends of the outpost


Case in point, Frank Matthews
Like a page in a chapter
Opened in a book

Verses, what I have read in pages
Are pages to my left, flipping
Reading like a testimony of events

Functionality of  blurred lines
With reality, stranger than fiction
And you can't write  like nature

Even Shakespeare wouldn't try
And if there are masters
To be mentioned he stands

Suspense volcanic tendencies
That keeps one at the edge of seats
Closer each time to the tip

Hearts palpitations
Of  mounting notions
A slight change in the atmosphere

Third eye, sixth sense, web energy
On vibrations, the winds have picked up
Fair warning is like insider trading

To be given an unfair advantage
To fold up on poker tables with poker face
Cash in your chips and walk away

The house always wins in the end
But only against the greed that got stack
That stayed for far too long in the end

There are legends in this game
They are the ones that lived
To tell their stories that excite

Old school, that say we owned
This town and painted it Red
In our days, red in our days

And left some raining day money
We living on fruits of planted seeds
Raining day money, raining day money

And like Shawshank redemption
We walked away, clean exist
Into the sunset as legends of the outpost

Wednesday, 15 November 2017

City Life


City life,
We are all guilty
Of the crime

And yet we are all
Victims of the crime,
Be it for love or greed

Honesty is knowing
The moon has no light
But who cares

When saying
The moon's light is beautiful
 Just sounds right.

No oné seeks to be clear
On the sides we stand on
As black or white,

We just want to know
How to handle grey,
On cloudy days

For that is reality
In the míst of it all
All around us

And what remains after
In the míst of it all
When all is said and done

When all is said and done
When all is said and done
When all is said and done 

Sunday, 12 November 2017

In love and war


When guns are pointed
 Even in peace times,
There is always the risk
Of friendly fire.

The enemy within,
With itchy trigger fingers
Always looking for a reason
To execute excuse actions

Where innocent souls
Are lined up on firing squads
On pretence of an invite
To break bread at Sun set

There will be tragedy
When perfect aims are taken
And shots fired on command
By Generals sitted blowing peace pipes

As strategy in war games
Awaiting news from the front line
What gives, what gives
Am I to fold, waiting news from Waterloo

Sir your heart is not in it.
And it is bad games manship
To sit and keep watching time
Are you in expectation

Sometimes Trump's character
Is needed giving fair warning,
He may sound rude but fair
Enough  to give fair warning

Than to pull daggers
And stab while talking peace
And demand medal of honour
As a brave warrior a soldier 
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