~From Where I Come From…
People don’t care about people;
They walk past, eye above your head, closing their eyes so they don’t see your tears. They kick of those who tug at the helm of their well pressed suits, brush of a stain of your drooling spittle , turn up their noses from your stench, roar obscenities and make a circle of dust ,leaving you to cough , searching for breath as they speed away.
From Where I Come From…
Animals, Money, properties are cherished and loved more than a child suckling at their
They come in their numbers, a teeth for a tat, but in this case a sickened cattle for two hundred breathing souls. Or in their armoured cars leaving a trail of thick red blood as they jyrate in their filled up bags of a labour’s sweat. Or they take and take, the little we managed to build up, knee bent, nails filled with dirts, empty stomach and days of hoping that “E Go Better “… But they take it all.. Afterall? Wasn’t it said that…
“Only the strong would survive? ?”
But yet those strong are the ones who take what isn’t theirs and claim it. Who trample on the ones on the ground because they are high on the ladder, food chain and money don’t matter.
The Rich Becomes Richer, The Poor Poorer
and The Worst Offs Are Thrown Away, Taken
By the floods, pilled up in the gutter while the
vultures takes turn in tearing their flesh up for food,
And they, in big cloths, agbada, coloured suits with belle protruding to the ground, full of the masses spoils and face of a corrupt entity with tinted glasses of equally another’s sweat would cast their coins even far away from the beggers who managed to stay alive and brace this already harsh world.
From where I am from..
You praise the ones who loot in your very before, whose bank accounts where filled with the blooded souls of a labour’s tears..
And you lynch the ones, a tyre here, a match there and a flicker of fire there to chant them to their deaths;
the small ,the old, the young, even that child..
Do you stop to think.. that maybe, life is much harder than you think. who knows if the pains of having a starving brother
or mother without eyes propelled their legs, their hands to reach out for
for what isn’t theirs.
Who knows if their last meal was was a fourth night ago, a few grains of wheat, rice , bread or even water should be cautioned not a bonfire lighted despite the scorching sun and the men with faces smiled as he was sent to the land beyond.
From where I come from, ..
There is a lunatic in every town..
They are no masked men in arms, but that smiling stranger with no desire to harm. That friend.. that sister .. even that mother without a doubt .
A barrel of a gun, an ambush even under the sun and that smoke, which seemed to be a new game of taunts… while the lynch activitivists goes home, a good meal , maybe stolen, a good sleep, maybe not their own home and a good dream. .who knows what the future holds for them.
From where I come from…
No one cares about you.. and how do we come out of
this desolation which we have inflicted upon ourselves. .
How do we change the crumpling of our society .. how do we remold and reshape a place that we have tarnished and ruined with out tongues, the actions of our hearts and the thoughts of what we aim to achieve.
What ever happened to law. To peace. To love. To compassion. To Right. To wrong..actually wrong.
what ever happened to your hearts. ?
What ever happened to you
From where I come from….
Hell is empty and
all the Demons Are Here.
FROM WHERE I COME FROM….