a poem that no name be-fits..

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I’m told a poem without a name is like a child who owns no name; it clearly shows that the parents do not care about him. Maybe I don’t care about this piece here, but all I know is that no name befits this here..


I heard them tell it raw
And without a flaw
That if he gorged your eye to the floor,
You ought to do so too, or even more.
But an eye for an eye
Left us asking why?
We couldn’t see again
We now groped around blind
And had to re-learn how to re-live
Re-live life afresh without eyes..
Someone told us about Sisimonda,
It wasn’t your every day African tale
It was different,
Beautifully and divinely different.
That she gave her own blood
To whoever was in a need so bad.
And a motherly love glowed of her skin,
But most of all she touched
Those who suckled of her breast
Those who fed of her experienced hands
Those who got soothed by her hugs and love
And those who got spoiled by her unselfishness.

But she was evil to someone else
One who didn’t see the beautiful soul
And who knew her tribe came before her,
One who painfully fast-forwarded her pilgrimage to heaven..
There’s a Sisimonda that we all lost
The one that made us lose it all
All except our own minds,
The faith, the pride, the sense of belonging;
The feeling of a soul at complete rest.
We all lost something
While they get ferried to 5-star hotels
For a press conference
To address the ‘underlying causes of the conflict.’
But there’s no underlying, or hidden or open thing;
It’s so plain true that it hurts..
Go on making one superior and another inferior
Then the clash occurs.
Take the pauper’s lone lamb
Then melt it into the rich man’s herd
And you’ve got yourself a bloody pasture.
Plain simple.

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