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25 Banana republics By Mbizo chirasha 1 We are waiting for Lumumba to tell us the true story of ourselves Of puppets who lost their gods, the story of bastards licking capitalistic crumbs, Of vulgar bovines drinking oil of hot ripe virgin Africa, Africa moaning out loud for another madness with its pants down Smelling the sweat of unfinished struggles, of silent gorges that buried heroes, sand and the sun Story of the gun that ate gorgons and martyrs of the sun Africa enjoys a pleasant fart of uranium in its bottoms, gun salutes and sirens, When slums dance in the mist of want Africa dance for promises and drums with feet of daughters freezing slums Africa yawn with valleys of cotton, when children walk the streets naked and ragged Africa coughs sugar and coffee, villagers breakfasting kwaito and slogans Africa sneeze in the delight of Zambezi, when its skin itch with stink Our slums reek with gossip and tabloids, smoke filled slums born out of emotion and sex, with goofie generation grown to enjoy borrowed bread and stolen cookies, motivated by hate and greed Alcoholics, smelling with opportunistic wounds Slums filled with crescendos of verbal assault and crude lingos, with novices bunkering for fame and gain. Slums empty of totems, choked by crap graffiti and gutter slang Slums sitting on diamond, when people are demented by poverty Toothless slums that will not sing the anthem, with puppets tweeting scandals, 26 Bullet riddled slums seeing life through the bottom of the bottle, waving goodbye to freedom, sniffing their lives in beer bottles and wine jars Gossip is the unpleasant fart of the slum Somalia, blood is welling up in your once smiling mouth Bamako, howls of laughter sink in claps of gun drums, Slums coughing pollution Kibera, your children lulled by the staccato of grenades, grenades bruising the soft palms of this earth Gorongosa dancing in rain, stench of death lingering in raituri, smelling rotten typhoid 11 A slum is a fart of a dying city, smelling the scent of aborted republics with hoodlums burning republics in charcoals of hatred, while republics beat their burnt flesh, mothers wince, licking their stab wounds A slum is the wounded soul of a burnt republic, it is rubble haunted by propaganda A slum is a ball of saliva released from the tired scarred chests of parliamentarians, It is a township castrated by verbal diarrhoea, slang and skokian Khayelitsha- you are the golden sun setting over hills Bangui, you are the dance of a puppet A slum is a republic in intensive care infected by propaganda diabetes and slogan asthma Eczema, itching the skin and the soul of the state It is a gang of roaches drinking the super cream milk of the state, it is the howling laughter from booze scorched throats. Slum! ...


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MARC Record
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