#Philosophistication

Take the canvas, poems on
ouija boards, ivory pencils;
words sounding like elephants’ groan.
Caterpillar chewing and butterflies
flying within, hyena laughing
at the poverty life that I’m seeing,
this life seems similar to ping pong,
more cynics waving their ding dongs
with no consent, this is the rough
sketch of Africa’s dry bones,
politicians and priests with
erected groins, where corruption
is hidden behind constitutional woes,
sisters are whores, ancestors are
wild boars, demonic souls, can’t
speak at a grave they’re already
gone, Boko Haram leaving cracked
bones and religious fiends, the
Quran echoes in these violent
streets, Friday it is, burnt malt
and slaughtered chickens in the
fridge, full mogues, stolen cellular
phones, babies with seven toes,
immunization made to radiate
a living folk, radioactive folk,
die of a diabetic sickness at 44,
can’t live an African life with no
knife in your torn drawers, don’t
expose your paws, they wanna see your claws,
it’s taxi wars and girls having babies
at 12, ropes slit throats, the mops
kiss the floor filled with ejaculation sauce,
roaches in open pots, huts and
cultural foes, African history is folklore,
truth is too gore for my kin,
robbers cracking teeth, rusted
M-16s, ATMs bombed, receive
your insufficient funds receipts,
tippy toe after enjoying at the strip club joints,
pinpoint your ancestors on the
tooth DNA of an Afrikaaner’s dog,
you’re enlightened, then start a
blog, oh no, in Africa no one reads
no more, that’s Steve Biko’s road,
your fate is rewritten by these economic
fiends, it’s connections or you’ve
got nothing at all, this is where humans
fall, pole dancing, here strippers
hit it raw, their pimps slit throats.

Torn shoes and lunch boxes dusty within,
foreign folk; stone his groins,
we’re a tribe; tribalistic and it’s a
Xenoverse it seems, phobias of
having jobs stolen by Nigerian folks,
or Zimbabweans who’re humble and
unemployed, called apes by those
from European high-walled homes,
banners telling us to back off;
“Beware of the Dog” or the ones
telling us that “There are no jobs”,
penis enlargement posts, love
doctors with some droplets to
poison your soul/mate with that
frozen doll, love you too from
a mime stuck behind an invisible wall.
Kick ball, then a broken toe,
mama says no more tendency of playing ball,
passion crushed by mother’s paranoid thoughts.
This is the right place to die broke,
or invest in some trader promising
some Bitcoin or some household
filled with some Forex money scrolls.
Sticks and stones, African artists
trying to copy some American tone,
you sound less African, criticism
spewed back and forth, what rhymes
with orange; sight of a African bastard
scorned, fatherless and trafficked to
some sterile foreign privileged whore,
spores screaming Jesus lives, then
Amen, but not knowing what Amen
really means; Amun or the Ogdoad
frog, what is truth, many are merely
Twitter woke, calling themselves
n words and all, what about Negus
from our Ethiopian folk, what does
being African really mean, Afurakan
sounds better for most, dictatorship
has been experienced here before,
voices lost, the king of the jungle
stole our roars, always keep walking
before your blood clots, trying to
feel alive with every breath we breathe,
or with every weed blunt we sniff,
it’s a native foreign world to those
watching from BBC’s eyeballs, broadcast
the beauty in Capetonian shores,
or speak of flora and fauna for
tourism rates for the corrupted industry.

Bent trees from where Nehanda
was lynched and became a spiritual being,
or mass graves from a Rwandan shallow ditch,
here there are no masked fiends,
here they smile with their unbrushed
yellow brown teeth, with guns leaking
bloody fluids, soldiers with bloody
tunics around their throat cavities,
various cynics, critics questioning
things, dictators like Rob… Wait
Pan-Africanists would chew me raw,
lack of equal laws, bones snapped
and votes rigged.
World Bank and debt feeding
institutions, Chinese building railways,
get out of the way you African
impoverished wild boars,
remember Africa after the Lion
King hits your screens, we have
ghettos and shacks with no concrete
floors, it’s dust and all, rats feeding
on your sausage while you snore.

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Photo by Ken Herman

Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©