The Troublesome Generation Poem by Cliff Phiri

Two things life seems not to offer; rest and peace of mind
Being a fruity tree is dangerous; more stones on you.
What you see they do not see.
What you feel they do not feel
My trust fails for the hot water drinking beings.
Where is the finish line to a man's sorrow?
The more you wish for rain, the more the sun scotches you.
Who can stand this test of time?
Work an elephant's portion for an ant's wage.

What I see they do not see
What i wish they do not desire
Do they have to learn out of scars?
But why?
No rest to the man on earth.
His rest is after his breath is nomore.
Painful indeed
The ones i love are perishing
They are running to the sword
Like a cornice to the snake
Who shall deliver them?

Surely this is a lesson of life
That its not everything that i wish that i will have
I now fear feeding people with my hands
For my fingers might be bitten

The prodigality of this generation
More painful than labour pains
Who shall grace them?
The voice to my loud screams is nomore
The springs of my tears are dry
All im left is the mourn of the heart.

How i wished to see them grow.
Feeding the same table together
Now the wish has faded like dust
They are vanishing into the air
Just as the smokes they swallow
May the Lord be merciful upon them
As i build my tower they come in the name of help.
Only to remove mortar from my bricks
That my tower falls and they laugh at me

I ran to the queen, wishing that she warns them
Only to find out she is in support to their acts
Oh, shame is on her forehead
Her food is my poison
Her poison is nutritious to me
What a wicked generation!

They say there is no proper home without a junkyard
But pain comes when the whole home becomes a junkyard
A man's ways seem right to him
But ill choices gives birth to scars
Deliver this perishing generation oh Lord!