Dear Santa Poem by Thabani Khumalo

Dear Santa

Greetings... dear Santa!
I hope I find you in a lighter heart.
My name is Thabani Khumalo of the fallen Barmbyan dynasty,
I am writing to know if everything is in shipshape order.

There is debilitating chaos here around us,
only debilitating chaos and nothing more.
It is an ana-logical way of tooth and claw type of survival;
we either murder or be murdered as the hospital cherishes
a nourishing harvest of poorly sanctioned souls;
and we are still the objective product of the flourishing mortuary.
In this minute alone, as I write this letter to you,
they have made a bumper harvest -
reaping from the bodies, what they have sown through the doctors' medicine,
yet I have handsomely survived to this age.

I am sure you do remember exactly who I am,
you should vividly recall when you sled down through the fire flue
in my house, where I lay alone -
a little baby on a sleeping log, crafted by my father's majestic hands.
You took my personal gifts to shower your common children with stolen goods -
you were suited in a red coat of evil and
had a facial veneer with a nasty beard like a goblin;

you made me cry until the palace walls had crumbled down to a mound -
a mere plain like the desert highlands,
and everything was lost without recovery -
my heart is still supperated with boiling sores,
yet I know who you really are:
a shameless thief that's sustained by stealth.

Dear Santa: soon I'll be a little taller
and able to perfectly perform a cruel low blow;
I am soon about to don my dark coat with indomitable pride.
All the naughty-nice children must know that
I have been thoroughly violeted by their lovely Santa,
therefore I've become Santa's worst enemy.
He chose to have me as an enemy and
I will only yield if I am passively craven and phenomenally foolish.

In the very end of this tale about a sterling back and forth history,
I will swaggeredly walk towards the reddening sunset
from a story narrated as thus:
"Behold the North pole; what does it symbolize? Pallid incompetence hanging in the snowy clouds.
I question all his moves on that flying sleigh.
As I work against the festering
and glorified facades of your haughtiest joyous holidays,
I write thereon in letters of blazing scorn:
Lo and behold; all this is fraud!

I gaze into the glassy eyes of your awesome Santa,
and pluck him by the ugly white beard;
I uplift a broad-african axe above head,
and split open his worm-eaten skull!
I assail him again for the gifts of his notorious children,
I blast out the ghastly contents of philosophically whited sepulchers
and laugh thereon with sardonic wrath! "
I am he, Thabani the king of Barmby.