Andesikuteb yamusa

I wish Africa was a country,
And I wish it has 54states,
With heaven as its capital,
And madiba,
...

Me, myself, I, you, yourself and them can write this poem,
Pure with no prejudice or self elation.
We will write it beautifully well like an Arabian sonnet.
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I will have to wake up early to think,
Cos i need to submit a poem this morning,
A beautiful poem for that matter.
...

And to you Gaza.
Too much, too long
Have your women wept.
Wearing dark gowns with swollen eyes,
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Some of us are poets of conscience,
For we don't just write,
Except when injustice strikes or
Maybe when good tidings knock.
...

My son,
Let nothing worry you.
Something you can't change?
Don't let it disturb you.
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Motherhood is a spiritual affair,
Those of us who know it have affirm that a mere mortal cannot breastfeed,
Even an angel i very much doubt.
...

I will let her go,
Someday, but definitely not today.
Not while she is young,
Not when milk still flows down her mother's chest.
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It is hurtful that we are long forgotten
Children's, daughters we are.
With hearts and mind that love and a head that reminds us of our misery.
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Arm yourself with your gun.
Kill my brothers and rape my sisters
You demon.
Do your wicked deeds with pride,
...

The grave has never given anyone peace,
For after one journey comes another.
The battle within are great, greater than the one outside.
Keep calm, the solution is not far.
...

To be frank it is senseless to fight an idea,
Better a people,
And worst form a religion.
...

When all your plans drift away,
All Within an inch of completion,
Having invested so much in planning,
And so many hours in prayers
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If all you know how to do is to degrade angels,
The womenfolk amongst us,
Those pure souls whose lives are just,
Then all of us are prostitutes.
...

I am in love with the dust,
That settles over the green fields.
That dry wind that flows in october,
And make my beautiful voice hoarse.
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When they won't look towards you,
Cos you don't own a name
You don't own a house.
What a vain world,
...

We worry too much about tomorrow and yesterday
For we generally don't live right and we hate reality
Not facing the blunt truth
Preferring to claim we are in a struggle with our past and future.
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Mortality has a way of talking
With it's loud voice
The best of sermons one can hear
The perfect reminder
...

The thing about growing old
Is that age mounts on you
You know when to cry
And why to cry
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As they come
You should write.
Don't let God's message
Go unheeded.
...