Saturday, 29 September 2018

Dung Beetle's

In order to fly,
A dung beetle does it's magic
On a piece of a cow or elephant dung,
And when it does
It flies far over to another kraal where peasants
Have rustled their cattle behind merchants
Of hatred and dreaded little scented
Beings of our own brethren...
A dung beetle traces
Its essence to the trashes and ashes
Of haste and date when days
Of its sacred intentions depleted...
A dung beetle follows its sense of smell
To dwell over stools abundant.
For fools forgotten
Their cleverly desire to empower truant
Friends and friends of their human,
For bulls and herds headed
To the eastern worst as west
They had already excited their land,
And found it hard to have existed
Between ages of this dung beetle...
Pityike pityika o pityikela gauhi when instance
Becomes the moment to roll with decent
Blushes and blouses of their thickest
Smiles and skirts of their weakest
Males denying this dung beetle a deep sense
Of politicking narrowly beneath the public sphere,
Fear? Never. Clear? Ever. A mere
Piece of the little beings we are my dear...

Onalethuso Petrus Buyile Ntema, 2018

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