May God Guard My Head Poem by Thabani Khumalo

May God guide my head
from reading up a harmful science -
may God guide my raging heart
from rocking with the tidal whims of my utter dismay -
may God exempt me from the fear of God
that I may try to locate the way of my own freedom -
may God gather his good sheep home one afternoon
and learn to leave me alone under my own care -
may God guard my broken and bitter soul
from lurking out in dark paths for human blood -
may God guard my hands
from reaping the guts of the enemies' progeny -
may God guard my arms
from wreaking menace upon any living flesh.

I don't want to particularly command a goblin
to slap a powerful man at his acceptance speech,
I don't want to send a lightning bolt
to burn his home down before he goes to sleep.
I just want to thoroughly enjoy
the amount of silence my head can create.

Only if I could be serene enough
to be able to remember back home, in paradise:
we have mothers there who boil peas for a staple diet -
and they serve them in with eggs and honey milk,
yes we drink chocolate flavored honey milk on a Holy-Day,
we chew raisin-textured resin gathered by the Nyasaland widows,
they know which ones tastes the most like the biblical manna,
they are widows who mourn not from a heavy heart
but celebrate the legendary lives of their bygone men.

The old men of Nyasaland,
yes they wish to taste of the great produce of our land -
they weep in tears when they see our finer people,
they are willing to show us their apathetic pity -
yet we grow up there behind the windowpanes
made out of a thing you've come to call diamond,
the window frames are made of gold,
the walls are built out of ground bone from game -
the whole structure is a civilization of the next future,
and the children there are very intelligent;
they are curious a lot about only the good things.
It is a place that holds together in the mighty name of Laden Omen Barmby:

When he had created everything he had imagined in his mind,
he measured every corner of it and he smiled.
He had seen that it was perfect
and he branded it 'The Cult of Radical Power.
He is the great architect of life,
and he knows how to measure a land of a deeper happiness -
every woman there is absolutely beautiful and lovely,
and loneliness is a thing of the ugly political propaganda.