Life in a Train (Metro Rail)

Life in a Train (Metro Rail)

It is an early morning, the clock is ticking,

 Bosses are impatiently waiting, thoughts are tired reciprocating,

Families are home starving, baby is on her last nappy,

Bills are piled smiling, electricity is on blinking,

 The future is untold; will they make it on time to save their worries?

Welcome to the hustlers corner,

Where job seekers are on classifieds trying to save tomorrow,

Fathers and bread winners privately dropping aces in hope to bring food to the tables,

Vendors screaming apples and bananas with a dream to turn avocados into notes and poverty fighters,

Teenagers are on teaming, the bell is ringing to those with will,

Politicians plead the power is in their hands,

While the insane count less papers playing normal,

The illiterate reading papers playing literate,

The poor ripping notes with a will to fit in,

The government is doing no good to God’s carbon fibres but more harm to this train.

Conversations start with a smile, comes to halt with a frown,

Unions are being formed,

Strangers are called friends,

Communities are kept strong,

Crime is less intimidating,

One’s insecurities are hardly at stake,

Love is bought with peace,

Journeys are prolonged,

The driver is unknown,

Complaints are unheard,

The slogan is “ride or walk home”,

What you think is none of their concern,

Bribe away those tears and worries, then hold peace,

This is a give and take world,

The sun does not always rise in the west,

You become more at ease when you call this source home.

By: Ts Mashile

The Institution

The Institution

Been dragged down the stream to satisfy those in authority,

Been robbed of my future so I can sit and watch survivors eat off my sweat

Dreams I had are revolving in circles,

Plans I made are left unimplemented,

The system has turned my devotion against me,

I’m seen behind loud walls contradicting myself,

I am in a clueless stained battle trying to save my thoughts in this un-destined flow.

I find an organ of mine faced against this institution,

All rights destroyed, my faith reserved.

Temptations are closing in; my faith is now part of an accountant’s ledger,

I’m here questioning the existence of God like a child raised in a sack.

I was born to rise but I find myself on these knees begging the system to be keen and kind enough to give an African child a chance to help fight poverty back at home;

Instead policies and procedures are set upon me,

Lawyers and authorities are brought before me

I am forced to desert what I have orchestrated, step aside and watch born frees play trampoline on my future.

They have weaselled their way into my spirit,

Stolen all what was left,

And helped those in oath fill up the lifeless void within

My strength is lifeless,

Brain brainless,

Even the friendly lizard behind my spine has become a stranger,

I am here asking questions that even Google can’t deliver.

My mind was fixed, I found no plan “B” in my cries,

So I thought of letting the devil in so he finds a purpose for this empty canvas.

No don’t get me wrong,

I tried thinking out of this clueless box for inspiration,

But ended up putting together the similarities of the train rail to the sacrifice of Christ so I can be buried with what I regard sin and forget earth has ever existed.

As this sad monster that I’ve been turned into today, I refuse to end my life this way,

I seek to find reform in this tragedy,

Not give them a shot, act like a convict, and let my thoughts be imprisoned for what I think is right.

By: Ts Mashile

Play Me a Sad Song

Play me a sad song

Play me a sad song,

Fill up these jars with the streaming of blood flowing down my cheeks,

Cut open my veins let every drop of red drench the beast’s mouths in satisfaction of his thirst in this liquidated disguise,

Unchain my heart; feed it to his abrasive servants so I the pleasant don’t feel any abdominal pain on my last beat,

Let them dwell in excitement as my every limb is laid down, the night of the feast, to recuperate their fore fathers in my poetic genes.

Play me a sad song,

Tell the woman, who bore me not to lose strength in my abhorrent passing,

Let her soul regain happiness through this sad song for I wish to mourn my own death in a harmonious way.

Keep dry her tears,

Ease her pain and rather let her running water wash away every abiding memory she has of me,

Give her an excursion to my last breathe,

Expose my blood stains but let her save her baleful intentions for her own passing.

Play me a sad song,

Let my friends celebrate my life like the night I lost my conscience,

Let the last bottle be spilled to the surface as the rounds circulate to the next friendship vow.

Let them not remember the bad but the good I brought in them,

Let them treasure every memory they have of me so we can meet again on obit’s last rotation.

Play me a sad song,

Let those I have erred find salvation in the last limb the beast has of me,

Let the tent outside my mother’s house ablaze my choleric enemies with excitement,

Let my barbarous death be spoken of on every dining table before sunset,

Let the Government Issue awareness campaigns now that I’m gone instead of before,

Let the world become a better place without me.

Play me a sad song,

Let the beast be condemned for taking my life,

Let him stutter my name in different tongues till the mole in him is baffled,

Let him pound his head against torture till he is concussed,

Let him wish back from his conniving ways to the day he was born,

Let my life be re-lived through his suffering.

Play me a sad song,

Let it be audible to my last comfort for me to hear,

Play me this final sad song,

Let those who seek vengeance find peace in this song.

By: Ts Mashile