And to crown it all we're all going to die!
Or not. Despair is the flare from the barrel
Next to the six-foot deep hole holding my stare:
I can't climb out of CNN reporting in quarrel
After quarrel that the air is filled with ire
Not fire. They crawl up hands, to faces
And dig into alveoli where life lies waiting
To exhale through foetid mucus, a James Whale scare
As the doctors bounce of beds defibrillating
In vain or with success, but all in phases.
No I chose hope. New phrases like social
And distance breathe oxygen into more men
Than the global promise of living without care!
Oxymoron is the new hope for this ill omen!
Greet-distance, Meet-noone, Work-home, travel-local.
Hands-clean, touch-no face, calm-panic.
But how not to panic in the face of a pandemic?
The old, and vulnerable are main victim to evil's fair,
But all carry the burden even in transparent tunic
Taking some under for failing their civic duty.
Stay safe. We can beat this. Wash hands, follow the hygiene and other instructions. By minimising the spread, we make more healthcare available to the more vulnerable. Don't panic, God's got us, and we got this.
In a conflict, the more sensible person should call for a negotiation, whoever that person is. Guns only call more guns.
Where the sunlight gives a dying kiss to the watery ripples
Of orange despair, my mind wanders like a lost soul.
Souls get trampled under dusty boots on the drying
Bahama grass, bent over and trying to recoil when
The foot leaves it; it has lots to say but its lips are sealed:
Children played here under hopeful stars yesterday,
While their crease-browed parents argued about the
Next stop in their journey to nowhere. The neighbours
Looked at their Cicam cloth on the floor in jealousy;
Theirs was bare soil, and little food for their brood.
Children sprayed bullets at soldiers yesterday
While their wide eyed friends laid in red cells,
Staring into the distance, avoiding the sight of
Brother hacking brother. The macabre sacrifice of Cain,
The macabre machination of Nagato Pain unleashing
Upon the calm Harmattan smoke-laden wind.
My mind wanders where hope and despair clash with rage.
Everybody's right in the painting. All that's left,
Are corpses, explosions, revenge, decapitations, and a
Government that threatens extermination of vermin
For foiling their plans of total control and greed
Makes you only vermin to be eradicated, cost what may
Come what may! Vermin is vermin even in a cradle.
Why did you forsake the Roman empire?
The Egyptian Empire? The Ottoman Empire?
The French Empire...every single Empire!
You got comfortable and forgot your role:
To point the sword away from human ire
And build towers to the highest spire!
The words become banal, and the world
Becomes masculine debauchery now hurled
On the walls of the castles, battles unfurl
And you get the grass treatment when bold
Warriors wield gashes into history's burl
And curb progress: all speak "ber ber ber"
You got comfortable, you who heroes check,
You who feed us from embryo to adult wreck,
And soothe, and build. You are she who make
The human race, and decide which way it goes
When you set your eyes upon your role. But heck.
It gets boring pointing the head as the neck.
When did you forget your strength to chase
Hammering out resolve to each case
As would men? Why down the staircase?
Oh, while you aim out of your cross-hairs
Remember that every civilization's fate
Equals the height of value its women encase.