Like a boat swaying in the sea storm,
Neither sinking nor reaching the shore.
These are dangerous days;
Days filled with luciferic and monstrous dirge of manifestos.
This imposters lure us to a duet with peanut,
And we cue up, jostle ourselves in a pool of crimson juice,
Scavenging with dogs.
We wear the faceless mask of religion,
Wandering in the market place with implacable faces like ivory ritual masks,
Waving farm tools against our brothers.
Like the smoke from a cigarette,
We watch our hope curl away slowly from us.
This imposters, salvage mother's bowels,
while we sit, and watch, with arms fold,
deep into our armpits.
"Look! Look the storm in the eye ye peasants"
"Let it quell or swallow us"
"'Cause to us, every storm is an opportunity for change "