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The Audacity


The Ghetto, the living Quran,

the povertious and facades,

the Biblical puns, the guns, the

purity of some, the dying minds,

the girls and thighs, the enslaved,

the uneducated tribe, the slime

and the abortions that murder my

kind, the robberies and bribes,

the sermons when semen still

leaks from Moses’ staff, the

silenced deacons and staff,

the beacons, the scorching heat

of the sun, call upon father, son,

and holy advocating sigh, we

fathered the sun, the death

of the lies, slavery and colonial

confusion, look for retribution,

retro is the exclusion, immune

to these institutioned delusions,

corrupted officials preaching

colusions, in parliament it’s cousins

coughing family feuds for national

views, it’s statistical, my satire is truth,

my pregnant earth carries poverty in

her arteries, it’s a never-ending series,

diapers and martyrs of untreated

anxieties, this is Babylon where

babies are found stranded alone,

with rape condoms on that Roman

Catholic lawn, we’re pawns infused

with concepts that lack a laymen’s

explanatory poem, it’s the way

we live the norm, it’s us chunking

on brown bread and a taste of cause,

always a need to mourn.


It’s the continuous tone, it’s conned; we’re

torn and still shelving and cleaning

more Surbuban homes, it’s houses

with pearly gates, we’re feeding

on inequality wages, illiterate

pages, smoke the pain from

burning shacks with a screaming mother,

screenshot the drama, it’s trending

more deaths and less changes, so

it’s death and flowers placed on

ashes that carry stench of scorched teeth,

toes detached on smelling feet,

it’s a different diet when you’re

feeding on yourself, the pain grows

into something stiff, a tangible

face with sharpened teeth,

the political science behind the

corruption is too thick, it’s trick

or treat, and the manifesto is the

playbook with different phrases to

tickle the cynicist, it’s sadists clenching

on black fists with bribes within.

Black toddlers hodling on cryptics;

absent fathers and absence is nuisance,

single mothers called African Queens

while their living standards are excused,

cure the element of corruption, this

disrupts the path to changing the times,

is this where ancestral bones rise

steadily, increasing shock as the

rising show restraint against the elite.

The Proletariat feeds on the Bad and Bourge.


The slave still drags the chains,

make a way in the maze, still

brokenhearted; segregated majority,

allow me to shuffle books, find a working

philosophy, savour sanity, revolution

proudly brought to you by Nestle,

revolution institutionalised, maybe

things are changing, or they’re pricing

the freedom and the dignity, where’s

the integrity, the internet is purging,

slaughter the menaces on timelines,

bloodlines still bleeding, the holy

oil still leaks through shirts and sheets,

ask for forgiveness, while the sinner

prospers and gains more winnings,

find truth in incarceration,

considering our population as

pollution, say the towns looked cleaner

without the dirty man, so they die

of a heartburn while we wilt of heartbreak,

we’re descendants of those stuck

behind dead ends, so here allow

me to live my beginnings before they

shall snatch my fate.


By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’


Artwork by Bruno Pontirolli


℗ Philosophistication Poetry ℗


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The Audacity

The truth is plain to see!

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