I Do Not Want To Prophesy Poem by Nkululeko Mdudu

I do not want to prophesy about things
that will happen when I'm dead,
I'd rather be dead sooner.
I do not want to speak of secret files,
and broken codes or nature's call,
for national security's fall,
down the Devil's drain.

I do not want to say anything about the next world
Lest my children refuse to be born.

Suppose though, I could say; for argument's sake:
It's your fault!
Your problems are your own doing.

It's your fault, China; for being where you are
(Storms are automatic)
It's your fault, America; for being how you are
(Oil and economics)
It's your fault, Africa; for being who you are
(Customs and traditions)
It's your fault, Canada; for being when you are
(Volcanic contraptions)

Finland, Scotland, England
Come down to the Motherland,
Or you might freeze while Mexico and Morocco burn.
Canada will crumble with red flooded rivers.
Asia and Australia will blow up,
And blow out like a breathless torch.
Africa will stand; torn to see tyrants
trembling in dusty heat.

Presidents and lawyers will dine with beggars;
Some begging for restoration of manmade powers,
Others begging for a slice of soiled bread.
Money will decompose faster than its roots,
and wealth will be an ounce of fat on a baby's bottom.
Time will rule, or prove me wrong;
and giant buildings will fall to ashes,
Roots for the next germination.