Before you became
Few were they that knew you
Fewer were they that heard you.
Before you arrived
Little was that spoken of you
Very little was that read of you.
When you arrived and became
Amidst the agitated cries
We all were here.
We all saw you
Your only riches and wealth
The well-rehearsed stanzas you recited
Your only strength
The well-rehearsed chorus you sung
The message; well packaged and parcelled
Well polished and blossomed with hope
You kept saying-
From one stand to the other-
"I will bring your lost sons home
I will make your babies men
I will clothe they in rags with silk
I will multiply your bread and butter"
But! Are these that we see?
Are these that you do?
You sell our sons into slavery
You reduce our men to babies
You clothe they in rags with thorns
You divide our bread and butter for your dogs
You keep echoing
"You are not doing enough
You are not yielding enough
We are running at serious loss my dear friends"-
You ride in the best chariots
You parade yourselves in the best suits
You eat the best loaves and drink the best liquor
Hmm! That deafening laughter
Just makes me remember your arrival-
We surely are running at serious loss in deed!
But why do we make you?
Gods too high to reproach
Why do we keep you still?
Gods too proud to care
Why do we all speak of you?
Why do we all read of you?
Why do we all suffer to see you?
Why do we keep standing in the sun?
For you who arrive late in gold chariots
Is it your well learnt stanzas that excite us?
Is it your empty assurances we seek?
Whenever I saw you, I wondered...
Are you anything worth keeping?
You crows in suits!