Friday, November 13, 2009

WANJIKU’S DIRGE

They speak at the peak of their voices,
And their words, always the wrong choices,
They imply in melismatic undertones,
That we simply have to dance to their rhythm, or perish,
But to some, there’s no chance of relinquishing the ethos we so cherish,
Integrity be our shield and defender, in a field loitered by unintegrible souls,
They call themselves the voice of the voiceless,
But in reality they have taken our voices leaving us choice less,
Greed is the fuel, upon which the chariots of their egos ride,
Freed from the need to be sensitive to the needs of their subjects,
They maim for wealth and drink to our health,
And like sheep headed for the slaughter,
We all applause them when they clear the phlegm from their fat throats,
And even laugh along when they grin at our misery,
And call it philanthropy when they donate back our taxes,
The haves are at it again,
Widening the rift,
And we, the have not’s,
Are drifting along to smooth waves of their ill devices, and the brakes cant engage.
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