My Magic Country

My magic country was big
But now it is small
The people are many
But only few may be heard
All are equal
But some may be more equal
I love my magic country
That imports what we have
But exports what we have not
Abracadabra is the language of my magic country
The more you look
The less you see
Abracadabra!

Civilisation

I watched it coming
A monstrous whirlwind of confusion
Riding high in apparent majesty
Amidst blind cheers of innocents,
Unsuspecting,
(alas bereft of sacred vigil)
the aftermath—
thundering guns, blood soaked
streets, a rape of humanity and
a people gasping in streaming ash and dust.

African Lady

They call her washee wo wo
The skin is bleached,
The hair, two layer(ed)
In confounding disharmony
Black upon Black
Ash upon African
Whatever upon Africa
 
Her eyebrows are pin-shaved,
The lips coated pink, red, green
The fingernails are lizard shaped
She walks with thorns in her feet,
Her face greasy, sweat pouring over
 
They call her washee wo wo
You find her in street corners
And under neon light
Dreaming of ecstasy in borrowed Benzes,
Gum chewing in government cocktails
Laughing artificial laughters.

[click to view introduction]