1st street-it is important to move from a vantage point of self knowledge

this is a conscious poem rooted in our day to day lives..

   

18 Dec 2008

1st street….Chirenje From the belly of war they stole the glory ,pawned the victory sold us the pain of struggles /common on an uneven escalating plain /lonely mass graves lie  forgotten with no names inscribed / heroes imposed upon the masses /for those that never returned /the tombs of the brave in the gallery of traitors/ some paid with the price of death for first street to be a two way street /1 for the struggle the other for freedom , but first street trans morphs in to a 1 way street trod by mercerdes socialism in the midst of missile deadmocracy and diplomacy Concrete jungles whose corners are now slums to the revolution they  once drummed More this and no to that defacing the peoples walls Land of living martyrs and still born heroes More vice and too much oversight 100 years ago they took mine with Gun and bible Now with polished begging bowl we are back deep into the rows and columns plight The endless journey with no land in sight Home of amputees with placard revolutions Its time we spoke to the dead awake ask for the black redeemers resurrection With borrowed guns they took away heroes and raised colony flags through proxies Steel toe boots ,batons search and seizure weals on youths dying to hear their elders tell them the truth Africa is one big plantation More cemeteries than laboritories genocides here civil unrest there,aids here poverty there christians stoning muslims,muslims hacking of arms of christians rape and murder A heaven for a few and hell for the rest What’s left is for institutions to advocate marriage of the same sex Ngifunga ngo dadewethu From birth we never learnt freedom only how we are robbed of it and how to write it on paper Knobkerries and spears of victory used as banners and placards to hoist lost liberties Metal still melted to make bullets not socialist hoes to till the land and reduce poverty. who are they fighting? we have no peace we only conform to the dictates of the gun. our fore fathers were the only man our daddies just toe the line boys We still languish in the cesspit of a system telling us where to walk and how to talk As liberties suffocate under veneers of ‘deadmocracy’ Now we cross borders to steal their freedoms and make them ours They conflict for positions with change superstition We stare through the doors of death They partition home its diamonds , land and gold its language,culture and religion kalashnikovs are the alarm bells awakening children to misery only to sleep them with lullabys of death Now we are told to buy back what we never sold  what about grandfathers cattle they de-stocked? that story is untold And his beliefs they mocked with books they made us boys in the land of the bold Politicians souls speak from deep within the devils pockets two faced like a coin The devil stares nailed on both sides of the cross System slaughtered the bull of culture at the doors of modernity Spiritual protectorates raped by this “redemption” at the doors of salvation The concept of we a statistic for some diplomat in Saville row and Gucci suits They gamble with our minds and bellies so they can pull triggers The money launders have us as forefingers on insurrection so they can reap from chaos The blood the sweat the anguish, solitude,fear,pressure,disappointment,celebration unified jubilation and we thought we owned 1st sreet Still a corporate highway Teargas ,truncheons,brother against brother father against son mother against daughter Someone sold  us the lie of the freedom we thought we had Define this freedom out of sync with my souls rhythm I could never hum to bullshit percurssion They abuse words of greats  quotes are imprisoned concepts never to be free Makeshift leaders with cardboard ambition selling us of to the highest bidder with hunger and bullet votes We struggled to walk on 1st now we are served five course meals from the bins of the serfs not as free man but slaves When they lynched Nehanda and Kaguvi they lynched a part of we To be free ressurected by their dying last breath How long shall we hang from this tree? while they quench their thirst in the blood of patriots? telling the children they are free The tree of liberty is fruitless ,barren it aborted /its foetus made the formulae and elixir of eternal youth But in truth are we not the Atlas holding up the heavens for turn coat cherubs? ........................................................................................................... For the rains let us go back to Njelele mountains and pray but  for equal rights and justice we don’t need prayers but a revolution against them that sell us at conferences at these private auctions is where we are bought..we need an enlightened way of thinking…from a chapter in my book called 'We the Conscious few'