Thursday, August 23, 2012

Riling democracy on bayonet




By Atok Dan

In the fallacious democracy of our time,
We know that we want,
That we talk of,
Military uniform in action,
bayonet at work
guards on alert
Democracy of the dead,

With riling democracy of nascent states on the continent,
report it the way we say it,
in the perfection of our demands,
we still call it our excellent democracy
having not seen it does less of a denial
of its existence,
Our democracy at work
Nuisance and nonsense democracy of nascent states

On riling democracy, we cry faults
A bullet rivals ballots
A bullet riddles ballots boxes
A boot stampedes peaceful queues of jovial voters,
Democrats end up in cemeteries for votes rigged

In riling the democracy of looters,
Heroes draped like hounds on the race course,
Readied to kill,
To maim in exchange for bloody victory
But multiple orphanages are their offspring
Sufferings,
Destitution form part of a claimed victory
In only democracy of the dead can equality prevail,
Where winners wound off for soil

In riling democracy on the bayonet,
Demos are heavy-handed by the apparatus of power,
Wolves of fixed procedural outcomes
Determinants of the stage,
Of expressions of sorts

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Log of wood on a sailing boat


By Atok Dan

On a sailing boat, lies a log of a dead wood
Lying permanently on the wishes of glory seekers,
On wishes of sycophants
they adore it,
glorify it
But masses are dead logged behind the wood
No way but deadly lies their way permanently
Its removal negates their source of survival
It renders them a dry pasture
Its beneficiaries behave like scabies patients  

Log of dead wood on a speedy boat,
an iceberg on a water highway
On Long Highland and Suez Canal,
On the Mediterranean and Pacific Ocean  
Deterrent on a free flow of Nile water

Log of dead wood on a sailing boat is a liability to progressing village
It hinders progress but glory seekers adore it
Adorn it with ornaments of a village
       The wealth of a village
An occupant of a rotten seat
Liability of a nation
On the mercy of ignorant masses

Log on a running dugout canoe on the Nile flourishes,
well amongst emaciated faces
Guided by a flock of wolves armed with swords of death
Only can they heed orders from a dead log
Only can they execute a flare
For they can only salvage in a mess of a village

A log of dead wood impedes the flow of ideas,
 never applauded wealth of wisdom at its reach
only can it swagger with pride in its own messes
in its mushroom-liked decorated attires,
guards flap their wings in an appraisal
it is the zeitgeist of selfish driver

Friday, August 17, 2012

Plague of our time


By Atok Dan

Our plague, our curse of time
When we talk of it, it fails us most
dubbed in reddish appearance,
it glows with wild wind on our land,
its wings and claws are as hard as cuticle
 on the back of an ancient tortoise under the sea
the plague of our time

Its sharp teeth penetrate flesh like lightning
the plague has shaken our foundation,
rifted our wings of happiness,
corroded our bank reserve
our padlock suffers from its hard blows
peripheries of our nation had never imagined,
the dreadfulness of the plague that renders our yellow star blurred

The two tribes of the nation vow no more patriotism,
the poor and the rich that form our national dichotomy
all are plagued by the abysmal
neither the poor nor the rich secure endowments of our land
all have gone in greed

the plague of our time is the beast of the modern era
pillars of the national foundation became flimsy
we are bound with no bonds of a durable house that can withstand storms
plagued in no time of history,
not even years have gone by to warrant such a mess
In only a calendar,
 our blood is riddled with caffeine,
 a misdeed of failed states