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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Monday, 20 October 2014

Our concrete jungle

52 years of "independence"
trying to forge a way past our drapes
as if sinners on botox repentance,
whilst we Feed on shadow games like grapes;

We are like Romans by the pool side, "Yeh Sebo!"
Busking behind a "good life shadow."
yet behind the curtains; we are drooling,
longing for change like it's going to come in cargo.

Ayeh this is our jungle,
where by stature we need no streetlights,
where even if we are 50 years behind we're still humble;
like crested cranes, yet find no need for our traffic lights.

This shadow we play in,
is one cast by our colonial God fathers,
the caretakers of the landlocked jungle we are in,
"the leaders", "the animal whisperers."

Our concrete structures,
on delicate foundation,
rot from within with fractures,
beautiful outward like "US"
yet within; it's a disgrace..

The king of the jungle has pawns,
hyenas that laugh away in the caucus,
a pride, some of which like hippos sit and yawn,
hungry for what we know yet ineffective like carcass

Don't get me wrong,
we have giraffes that see and report live,
they bring us the news so we script; a thong as a thong,
and among us, yes there're rhinos that take charge of our lives.

But us, the monkeys swinging on branches,
hanging low like melting snow off eaves
we are cold and famished like we have munchies
so we struggle like artists yearning for a show;

Ayeh, is it guaranteed?

The king kongs in their towered thrones,
thrived but who knows if they were thrifty?
Who knows who they had to sleep with like drones?
Or was it that they caught a case of lucky lefty?

Our roads are not murram, they are jungle like,
the only thing they lack is that malodorous stench;
although, in comparison to animals we're unlike,
in our own shit is where we sleep and drench.

Excuse my French but these are the habits of our lives-
they aren't underlying, hey are overflowing
on the surface out in the open like bees to a hive,
we are untamed, it's a shame but we are trying!

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