Poetry At Its Best Poem by Lungelo S. Mbuyazi

If poetry was war,
I would be a soldier on a stage,
With a pen and paper on my hands.
Ink would be my armor-bearers;
Pen would be my spear;
Papers would be my shields,
Waiting to plunge hates and feuds
At the backyard of their hearts;
With thumb holding the triggers
Aiming to shoot them with words
That triggers and indoctrinates
Them about racial segregations

Speaking of shooting,
If poetry was war,
My poems would be a killer instinct
Like a Zulu grinding stone,
Grinding stories to be told, told,
Re-told and fore-told stories
Of our freedom wrestlers and writers,
History to be written and re-written
Of our mankind for the next generations
And trans-generational inhabitants
Of our shrinking planet Earth.

Grinding slowly, but refining fine,
Evoke thoughts while tackles emotions
That forces the reader to stare at
The realities of our global economic trends,
Provoke the deep feelings of emotions,
Democracy, peace, love, lies and corruptions,
Rippen out hidden details of truths and knowledges
Like a prophet exposing, explicating and distilling
Imposing them in candour without favour and fears
And yet, shutting down race segregations