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

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

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

“Longtime and goodbye” saga

By Atok Dan

In the longtime, we procrastinate

In goodbye, we spend time

Fewer doers do spend time in the “longtime and goodbye” saga

They concentrate on longtime and goodbye to a friend

Much time in goodbye to girls and boyfriends,

It is a fanfare of the lazy society

When we go to farms, we say a lot of goodbyes

Supposed it is good and bye

But we goodbye a lot

In public office, we elongate greetings

It is an abnormality of the lazy society,

Though it is a sign of cordiality

I called it cordiality of hunger

We eat none from it

My friend missed a bus in the “goodbye”

Whereas in a long time, I was deemed sluggish for the interview

Supposed longtime had never been an English word,

 I would attend interviews or even a bus was not missed

Likewise, tea-taking in an office does

My visual aptitude at work

By Atok Dan

Under a balamite tree, I’m a designer at work

I do peruse over my design

A makeshift of my blueprint

 I curve it out of modernity

When I twig

I realized I’m a chip off the old block

I represent my African ancestors

They molded me into who am I

Even my design still traces its concept to them

Under a balamite tree, my psyche battles over alternatives

my eyes believe in appearance of work,

yet couldn’t delve into components

I built its concept on seeing,

people who reside around me called it beauty of my mental absurdity

truly I’m a poor designer though I still design

it is my chip of stick and I at work,

the ground is a place board for storage

It keeps my work that I could not retrieve after it rains

I do design my sleeping byre with cows,

It is smoked with dried cow dung,

Insects find it no more a place

My nose and eyes rain with sweat like a baker

hoping for profit in the bakery

Mine is none of a profit,

It is habitual, we keep cows

My toes and nails bear the print of hooves

Cows do step on bare toes,

My nails do complain but I heed much on cows’ complains

Even goats and sheep are less weighty on my toes

I was a herd boy

They are more of a life but life itself,

Their milk used to straighten wrinkles on my emaciated buttocks

Hides make the best of my royal form mattress

Needless do I buy a matchbox

Dung do store fire

With my stomach faced on of lit kiln of cow dung,

Blankets don’t come my way in a cold

Even a litter of calf urine washes my hands for milking

In winter, I cover it with ashes

In a pool, I do water with my cows

We were inseparable

I was in a cattle camp in South Sudan

I’m pregnant with your innermost

By Atok Dan

If there is something I’m pregnant with,

It is your innermost will,

It’s only that you inculcated into me,

 I’m carrying it with me,

It is what others see as my latest pregnancy

Do they bother to know my time of delivery?

None

They only see me occupied by you

Wonders if somebody asks whether nature has reversed it,

I still tell them

A man can stay occupied,

I hold no baby in me but commissioned

To hold somebody’s promise

It is what has occupied me

I love seeing you in me

When tasked, hold on to a promise,

It is a timeless pregnancy

It does not adhere to biological feminine pregnancy

Both sexes can subscribe to it

In normalcy, promise suffers indelible breaches

None deemed it appropriate

If a man can campaign for a green environment,

Man can too campaign for the green promise,

A never broken promise,

 A lifelong promise 

I’m still pregnant of your inmost secret

In it, we will roof up our hut for future

In it, we shall flourish in later life

In it, we shall leave the desired legacy of

Fountain of love

By Atok Dan

In you, I see live

Your love reigns over me,

You are a fountain of love,

Your love glues loosen cartilages of my veins

Initials of your name amount to “MA”

For this can literally be mam,

For now, you are my adult mum,

For I had never known how much I loved my biological mother,

My age was a barrier in love,

But I know how she loves me

In my pathetic, you never relent to love

For you know

 I could be inconsistent but it never bothers you,

You are steadfast in business

Ma you never connive,

Through influence of riches of dishonest

For we are a bond by strong cartilage of hope

You are a natured Dinka

Which the rest are shortage

When one glares at your elegant posture,

One sees jovial love,

And that is me

How much I quantify your physique

I still underrate your docility towards me

How much they abhor your background,

You still tower among the dwarfs

Your dark complexion fascinates passerby wishers

Your smile exhilarates grim faces in cemetery