Mark Meck

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My Beloved Lost

I have had pain in rain
With aches from sprains and strains
I have endured labour unattended
But I found strength to live

Begging To Live

The sun scorches his feet blistering the sole
But the son knows it cannot break his soul
He wearily takes the journey towards a shimmering point
Might be an oasis to quench his hunger

Africa Xenophobia

Cradled under the burning sun so far from the cold would say our ancestors
Its rays like spears by Chaka, straight to the point
Warmed and cooled by the breezes from surrounding seas, a womb of creation
She brings fourth offspring lush and supple, strong and firm - its flora and fauna.


Little invitation for existence
Life's short
Shorter than breath itself
For Life cannot last longer than loss of breath

Decorrupt Me

It could be the sun scotches the system black
For black is the colour of vice, ‘ n all ills
Black Africa is black of its people and their vices
While virtues are white, for white is innocence!

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