Of Insane Acts - Prince Mensah

- In memory of Lucky Dube

I read of an act most foul,
a man slain like a fowl,
his blood colored these streets,
the hour glass crashed into bits,
He was a man like you and me
with dreams and longing to be
in company of loved ones always,
obeying whatever love says.

You took his life that night,
O what a sad and bloody sight.
You know your reasons are humdrum,
Just tempos coming from trouble’s drum.
Your unfortunate lives give you no right
to cause, to another family, this plight.
You think we owe you everything;
we owe you jack, nothing!

Our hearts bleed upon this tragedy;
poor children mourn their daddy.
This tragedy that refuses to end,
it takes man, brother and friend.
So guns have taken the place of speech,
violence has become that fattened leech,
brazen, shameless yet so vague
in this bizarre, bloody vogue.

We breathe the same air as you do;
we are bodies, souls, spirits, true
semblances of an Eternal Being;
so why do you vent your spleen
on innocence, on unknown people,
absent and oblivious to the scenes
of your misfortune made simple
by your choice to commit this sin.

The man you slew was a father,
a man who worked, no matter
the excuses of past failures
or shame of poverty’s dentures.
You are weaklings, doomed to squalor
distilled in breweries of dishonor.
See tears in eyes of his dependants,
wear shame on your faces, defendants.

Our hope is that you know and in knowing,
you will show remorse or something
that attempts to compensate sorrow,
mere seeds for a better tomorrow.
You took a life but may your lives be lived
by fireplaces of contemplation, revived
with sparks of his warm songs and memory;
his life becoming your own history.

Poverty is no reason to lose reason,
plight is meant to push a person
to seek heights that shadow valleys,
to seek life beyond those dark alleys.
My wish is that you eat wisdom’s scone,
as your lives march to Justice’s trombone.
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