Penge Wa Kibombo

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Not much to write, really. I'll let the poetry do the talking.)

The Best Poem Of Penge Wa Kibombo

A More Human Face

Guns and knives are not the enemy.
I say, guns and knives are not the enemy.

MAN, (I use the term loosely) ,
Is
The
Enemy.

He is the great
I
Am
Here on earth

Planting seeds of dissension
Wherever he goes,
Poisoning our minds
With his thoughts of depression,
Sowing pain and suffering,
Throwing out respect,
While violence, he ushers in…

Man
The
Great
I am
Here on earth,
Is the enemy.
I repeat, man is the enemy.

Man, yes, I am afraid to say,
Is the enemy.

I have a query.
A nasty query:
I venture to be more specific,
Much less terrific
Than Shakespeare
With his words that used to (and maybe still do) cut like
Spears through the forests of our minds
With ethereal sounding phrases,
Like the ideal-inducing monologues
In a Mid-Summer Night’s Dream,


-

Who is this man?

Who is he? Where does he come from?
Where is he going?
For God sake,
What on earth is wrong with him?

Let’s be specific.
This is called analysis of the enemy,
Much like Hitler’s Goebbels’
Analysis of the Juden,
Except we turn the tables.
For, we are the oppressed,
He, the oppressor.
We are preservers of what really matters,
He is the destroyer of all that’s worth keeping.
He hates nature.
I tell you, He hates nature. He hates trees.

He really really Hates.

This is a sad situation,
For in this juncture
Of human affairs,
It gives us a glimpse of our forthcoming
Destruction
With a greater clarity
Than ever the philosophers did see.

We philosophise less on morality,
We philosophise on war,
On capitalist consumption,
On ready made assumptions,
On Hugo Chavez,
On the orange revolution,
Which came as quickly as it went.

We philosophise on terrorism,
On Islam,
On fundamentalism,
We feel nausea,
And we the saved few,
Are content to trample
On the human face!

They call it: The war on terrorism.
Chomsky calls it: Greed for oil.
Take your pick.
In the meantime, let’s toil.

Why should it surprise us,
Therefore, brederin,
Given how violent the world is,
That we listen more to Fanon
Than to Martin Luther King?

Let me be more specific.
I never claimed to be a G,
But G’s keep it realer than the
TV reality.
Except maybe eMpTyV base,
Where Blackness Boasts Cars, houses, women,
While their true society
Owns none of these…
Slaves to the Capitalist King,
We sell our own women to be synthesised
In the visual processers of Hollywood,

Claiming weaves and blonde hair,
While the natural blondez
Deny them true freedom,
The chance to possess a human face.

Fanon would say:
It’s a case of the oppressed
Wanting so hard to become like his oppressor,
Believing that this is the source of true freedom!

Now, you see why,
We’re more likely to listen to Fanon than to Martin Luther King?

Man is his own worst enemy.
He lives a fantasy,
He hates himself so much,
He hates his own source of life –
The woman.

He hates his own nappy head,
His brown eyes,
His big lips.
His confusion sends shivers down the Ancestral spine
Of Mama Afrika.
He toils for money,
Boasts of rivers of blood.
The diamond on his ring,
Sends many to an early death.

The woman on his side
Pleads: I want you to love YOU,
I do not ask for much,
Yet Man pretends he cannot hear,
And lends his fists as overseer.

The struggle for a more human face
Starts right here.

It's a simple struggle,
An idealistic struggle,

A struggle to know
YOURSELF!

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