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Tag Archives: politics

There once was a sociopath name Zuma
Who couldn’t fuck up the country any sooner
He raped Kewzi, then us, we applauded, even jumped on his bus
File that in the annals of protest humour

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we want, demand new government
but then we will want, demand again
and again we will demand to be free
free from the choices we previously made
and the circumstance that followed
we, the ungovernable
wanting to be governed
by a government who are themselves endemically ungovernable
demanding that they themselves are to remain unaccountable
to govern in freedom without external controls
uncontrolled by those who demand to be governed anew
to be governed by those who will listen to them
and do their bidding
so we vote again
and again
again

– seconds out!

round number: one million, six-hundred and twenty-eleven & three thousand

pop! go the cultures

*

the crowd are on their feat

suddenly, an unscheduled happening…

lights fail momentarily, but not unexpectedly (that’s the way we roll with Eskom)

the microphone squeals and the commentator takes the first press-ing swing

it’s a stiff jab and it finds its mark – well exceeding the quota system

the self-crowned champion stops in his tracks for a brief moment as if to catch his breath

“hehehehehehe” he chuckles smirkishly

he staggers back and shakes his head

everyone waits,

no one dares to speak

nobody thinks

*

then suddenly he scrapes his toe like a cleft hoof in the dust

defiantly, he charges…

like a bull…

CRASH!

*

round after round

objection after objection

rebuttal after rebuttal

head buttal after head buttal

back and forth the battle rages on

the champion stands firm

but – out of the crowd someone shouts

“the champion is falling…”

“the champion must fall!”

but no, he only stumbles for a brief moment

and then staggers

he turns to his corner and fires a few of his ‘seconds’

“he must fall” some spectators shout

“no, he mustn’t” say others

*

the judges object, …eventually

“we must go according to the rules!”

“what rules? …hehehehehehehe!” says the champion

*

points are taken away

…and then added on mysteriously

*

the battle rages on into the night

*

will cultural tribalism triumph over constitutional democracy

or will it all end in unresolved conflict outside the ring?

*

[break for advertisement – Big business make their presence felt]

*

new replacement seconds out!

round number “AGAIN!”

*

the battle rages on

sweat drips,

runs into blood

(thank God blood is a consumer commodity and easily tax deductible)

*

the clock ticks on…

years turn into days,

days into centuries

decades turn into decadence

unwritten history rewrites itself

*

deadlock

both contestants drop to the canvas

bloodied, exhausted, frustrated

fights break out in the spectator seats

*

chaos

*

the fighters leave the ring momentarily

while local boxing clubs realign regional constitutions

the janitor shuffles amongst the overturned seats

all that can be heard is the slow swish, swish of his broom

*

“a point of order! a point of order!”

“the chairs have been unseated”

*

“when the lights are out its the janitor who is President”

…the sweeper mutters under his breath

promises are promising
when the promise is made
but time is the judge of most things it is said
speaking with a forked tongue
cuts just as bad
as a stab in the back with double-edged blade

but who is the culprit
who could it be
the double talking promiser
or those who promise to believe?

a chameleon remains a chameleon
regardless of its colour
though it tries and tries
with all its might
to become like another
we can close our eyes
and clench our teeth
and hold our breath forever
but everybody knows
that culture grows
regardless of the smelly effect
it has on the nose

they speak with forked tongue
cleft of lip
a jump to the right
on a slow sinking ship
it sounds like drunkeness
but is far, far worse,
a snake would be envious
of the hiss of this curse
honey rots
before hitting the floor
no more sweetness is left anymore
bitter tastes on the children’s tongue
but the swines puke on
their bile not yet fully sung
they dance on the graves
of those gone before
they stagger to the trip
it’s the dance of the whore

flapping lips
flapping lips
giving us those useless tips

useless lips
useless lips
until the flapping finally tips

talking heads
talking heads
empty sleep on shallow beds

flapping lips
flapping lips
rudderless sailing ships

without a keel
without a hull
life out at sea is never dull

until you hear the deafening lull of…

flapping lips
flapping lips
giving us all those useless tips

the emperors clothes
being stripped
off to the dry cleaners
for cleansing
from blood spatter
…and other bodily fluids
scrutinized for lice
…and other parasites
off to the master seamstress
like brand new clothes
for refitting,
refashioning

and all this by our hands
the hands of the many
those who first fitted him out in finery
who sang the songs of beauty
who laid the red carpets out
appointing the praise singers
joining in on the chorus

a brutal man, yes
of vile intellect
and little understanding
walking the crooked paths
tearing at the threads of civility
molesting the boundaries of wisdom
filled with wanton greed
a rampant power monger
intoxicated by lust
for power, control
and any other pleasures

our hero then
but not for now
he has served our bidding
we have no more use for him
only perhaps as our scapegoat
no longer the tool in hand,
the fool in our hand

we, the commissioners of the oath
we, who made the mark
who voted him in to do our bidding
we gave him his new clothes
we praised him at the parade
we, who are now in search of another
another fool to try our new garment on

and there will be many
many takers
many makers, and breakers
the eager to use, and be used

it is all the rage
it is all the fashion
a fool for fools
and there will be no end

until it is over

it’s when the defect strikes
and it all goes wrong
that little slip
which goes on and on
repeating itself
for all to see
the beginning of the end
for you and me

but we think just enough
to believe we know more
so we cover the glitch
we patch over the flaw
and we all raise one voice
in a united song
we talk to ourselves
saying nothing went wrong

we rewrite the maps
we alter the course
celebrating aloud
that it stopped getting worse
but just underneath
where the eye cannot see
is the future we’ve made
that we’re too blind to see

we’re all in it for ourselves – on all sides of the equation…

if we could see this we might start on the road to a better future

maybe we should be majoring on Human Responsibilities rather than Human Rights?