If I must say,
Thy thoughts aren’t mine,
Then the nerve to wipe
Thy Mercedes with mud,
Smearing its dark panes
With madness of thoughts,
Has to welcome the storm
Of teens in rags
Amidst hue and cry!
A lost friend,
I call you,
But a found foe,
I baptise thee
In the name of parallel Thoughts.
Among your peers,
You sit sipping Western grape wine,
With your bulging stomach,
A Budden to both parties
But as you dance to the hymns of corruption,
We are rehearsing karate
Amidst pep talks to liberal youths
For we think parallel,
Dear friend.
We are waiting,
To meet with thoughts at crossroads
Where we must separate
To let a new born swear to a new oath.
For a decade, you have been driven,
You have attended luncheons,
Thy children have attended international
Colleges-all on our sweat
Yet our children have gone to local
Schools with devastated rooms,
With poles staggering in muddy
Halls for elementary education.
As you think of facing us again
When rallying starts,
Do you bet we are doing fine
And blissful?
Labass Sebastian Degro
+256 700 133 179.
Poetry isn’t dead.