Poetry

Dorah Ntunga/OI photo

By

Stephen Obella

The Weeping Africa

This is Africa,

Not the one you knew before,

Beautified in those colored maps.

But one laying on a deathbed,

Whose future is not in the future.

Come with me, hold my hand:

As I show you this land,

Where political liars win the voters;

Yet those who speak the truth,

Fall, with legs facing upside down

(Truth are political lies, and lies are political truth).

This is Africa in reality,

Where politicians bribe skeletal voters,

With poisonous alcohol

From ‘Kill Me Quick’ breweries,

So they can vote when drunk

Chanting mad slogans;

‘Long Live, Our Dictator!’

‘Give us more devil’s tears, not food!’

Do drunk masses vote for good leaders?

This is a dying Africa,

Breathing on her deathbed

With eyes sunken into her sockets,

Like HIV Aids infection.

Those who overthrew corrupt leaders

By splashing blood by sword

Became twice corrupt while in power.

As their elastic stomachs-

Grew wider than bigger water drums,

And their teeth became yellow egg yolk

With the poor man’s taxes.

This is Africa,

Where justice is injustice

And injustice is justice,

‘Let the criminals stay free,

As the innocent rot in jail!

Build more prisons, not schools!’

Our leaders chant,

But then, did they ever know?

That an open school closes a prison,

And an open prison, closes a school.

This is Africa,

Where frowned peace talkers

Hold pistols on their backs,

Guns first, peace later.

No blood, no power.

Leaders must rule until they die,

Or even rule after death, if they can.

(Yes, we can!).

Children are born in war, and die in wars.

The Supreme Book of Law,

Must bow down to worship money,

No money, no justice.

This is Africa, my beautiful land.

Bony Masses, Fat Leaders

Rule fools, but lead the wise;

After all, hungry rats pounce on innocent mice:

Political gods; widen big bellies from our tax granary:

Eat our sweat, so we may only graduate in nursery.

No one is born a ruler, no one rules after death:

Old man; cling to power till final breath.

Build prisons and jail the innocent,

Only give justice to those who speak by cent:

On judgement day, you shall pay,

Kill by gun at night, pay by day.

Only the dead know torments of grave worms;

Fight for power, but power will kill you:

Love your office more than voters who put you to office,

Also kill by sword; but by sword thou shalt die:

Women you force for sex, shall too kill you.

Raise No Weapons

Raise no more weapons; nor glittering swords,

For the poet’s pen wilt rust ’em by liquidic words:

Fold no fists; knock no man down,

For he who started war, digs a grave of his own.

Divine’s thy ink that preaches peace so fair,

Love, unite from toe nail to thine last hair:

Let no big-bellied politician rape the Book of Law,

‘Tis thee who fooled the masses to fall to graves below.

‘No blood, no power; and no power without blood!’

‘Art echoes that melt like ice-made flood.

O, let bright swords have no blood to spill;

Lest inkpots use’t on sad scrolls and quill:

He that starts war, pulls a poet’s tail,

In historic pages doeth he fail and fall; or fall and fail:

Let world peace, as candles; burn on and on;

For we desire a world with o’erwhelming hate gone.

Black Shadow

O, black shadow;

Why do you follow me?

Step by step, pace by pace:

I try to run away from you

But you run towards my footsteps.

Do you want to pull me to the grave?

No, do a favor, and never kill me.

I fear death; I fear you, shadow:

I run and run far and forward,

But you drag my soul backwards.

How stupid you are; ugly friend

With a black heart; yellow teeth:

I hate you; I hate you!

But, I beg again; shadow

Do not turn my mind black and blank:

Be kind, do not kill me.

Stephen Obella

Obella Stephen is a twenty one year old traditional poet, novelist and lyricist from Teso region, Eastern Uganda. He has written over 2,000 poems and two complete novels, ‘Struggle to see Light’ and ‘The Hard Judgement’ that have not been published due to financial handicaps.