Today Tore Yesterday Poem by David N. Munene

I took a glimpse into the past,
I couldn’t help but be mesmerized so fast
The man uttered in accordance to his grey hair
With a purity untold as of fresh jungle-green air
An earnest speech equitable to not any heard of
Evidently not envying today, the man was pissed off
He wallowed in the nostalgic miasma of history
Without much strain he created the need for his story
I was flabbergasted by the seemingly hyperbole in his lingo
Alas! It was no hyperbole… just lingo as simple as bingo
With a passion, the past gloried in his speech
Within a session, he had varied intonation and pitch
He wept at the sight of today… he felt it had a hitch

In the gone yesterday, society assimilated the inhabitants
There wasn’t a minute for misfits and immoral combatants
Today the society is lost in the as-you-are absorption mechanism
Where all the society minds are numbers irrespective of symbolism
The inhabitants are now assimilating the society
Intoxicating it with individualistic preferences like a ghost party
This that was the fabric holding the society together as one
Has been replaced with a tattering that is flattering to none
Haven’t ideas of what its tomorrow marks with surprises no more
We are now accustomed to shocks and pains threatening to stay some more
Where hast thou gone dearest firm societal foundation?
The man lamented painfully taking ownership of the revolution

I walked into the streets on boldly-lit Sabbath
What my eyes saw collapsed the spirit of being on earth
The skimpiness of dress code and nudity levels left trap agape
How sad the man was, to hear the religious priest create a presentation gap
In her saying that all were welcome no matter the appearance (artificial)
The old man was embittered that the priest had lips red and an exaggerated facial
How the word had been misinterpreted to misinform and lure into filling the coffers
The elegance of the priest alone, the old man thought was more than heaven offers
I got curious about the old man’s concern; he spat on the ground in lieu of the society
He was offended by my asking; I had neither the moral right nor posterity
They have provided the knife that lacerates the value of our being
In their quest for popularity and populous “sacrifices” they are to humanity a sting
They lead the way; themselves are blind and the royal carpet we for them lay
They stumble and we pick them, rebuking the all Lucifer-like play
Religion is business; business is no longer religion, it’s religious

The old man wept in the train
I sat by him and watched him his satin with tears stain
Turning at me with fiercely looking eyes left me dumbfounded
He had been standing in the bus for half the journey; I sat confounded
The train era reminded him of discipline and reverence of elders
When I finally sat up, he smacked my bottom with his stick in front of the genders
I hurled insults and my mummy discounted him with some strange ones
The old man was not shaken, but his lower lip trembled like old fans
Mummy threatened to sue him; the officer sided with her
Whatever happened to child-raising by the society! Gone really vanishingly far
Soliciting for “something small”, the young boy in blue vomited threats
The old man reclined; off to the “iyak! ” of the coolers he was despite his frets

He had known the ins of the coolers; not the dwellers
To a grieving amazement, his daughter’s age mate touched his whatevers
Before he could smack her, her wares she had on display
The dwellers said she was a twilight, streets and lodgings her office tray
How the man hated the society today! He had cherished it for long
It had been forced to not reciprocate his disciplinary investment by a margin oblong
Her job was what she had done to him, only today she did it for free
Then they began to puff and emit like chimneys in a spree
The old man was greatly disrespected and practically invisible
Even his own flesh and blood had not to visit him been able
“Too busy…” they claimed. “Too silly…” the old man thought
Whatever vehicle left with care for yours, it’d never be back brought
Society has lost care, in its quest for formal care
There is still a lot, but the worst of wrong-doings is what we share