A Few Words To The American Mogul Poem by Edward Dzonze

I don't have the financial muscle
To wrestle the American State President intellectually
If the truth be told;
I don't have half enough in my savings account
To ridicule the financial dry seasons I went through to this age
Congratulations to you Mr President Sir
For writing a new chapter on the American political page
From this angle
It looks like the president elect have got issues with my race;
The African race….my beloved race
And just as it stands
I am speaking for that damned race

Riding through a broken wing of political ambition,
The "money-man" said stuff to undermine the African race,
His excoriation came with no humane moderation
Pardon his prejudice and the indifference thereof
He said a lot of derogatory remarks
The poet's pen cannot scribble out of humility
At least they say the moneyed man is American
But I think the question should be Who is not?
The chosen candidate
Uttered things I would never say to a fellow human being
Most of us felt the sting,
That wasn't quite mundane, nowhere near humane…
Nobody under the sun would ignore the stink

The Zuni can't recall,
Help us a little, where you there
When the Shoshone, Cayuga and the Seneca dared the Appalachian Mountains untamed
With their bare hands and physical strength
The book of life might have missed it
Where you there to object
The template of creation in the face of the creator?
Love was there and black was there too
There in God's mind and unquestionable plan
To beautify the human face with a little black
To be sure enough equity was there in the creator's plan
You were there in the political race,
In your wealthy hands, with all the electronic space
Making your lizard-snake-reptile inference
Whatever the case with my race
At least the US dollar in my purse
Does not carry your respectably rich face on it

Check it;
I envy the presidential throne
From which you make those racial utterances
But then you give me lines and verses
To shelve my political aspiration for this writing pen
Face it;
We are still holding "those" truths to be self evident
‘that all men are created equal
that they are…..
That among these are life, liberty and pursuit of Happiness…'
Feel it;
I regard my African self with the same human respect
You regard your presidential American self,
That feeling is not bound with creed or colour Mr President
Smell it;
Right there in your office
The voice of justice and of consanguinity
Enshrined in your political dogma
So, what's it?
I hear they regard you as a political saint
Some of us do not mind the colour,
Just give us the portrait

Word is a flame
To take them high
Beyond the cloud of weed and codeine
Serve it moderated; that's what civility says
If I may ask, Sir..how is that so
The geese in your hand will turn into chicken
Because you have built a new fowl run?
Politics is fun, poetry just the perfect gun for the game
Think about it;
*'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled
Masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless
Tempest-tossed to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.'
These are the words of the Melting Pot
The real nature and stature of America…
We love your America Sir.