South of Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Namibia, and Botswana, a nation-state exists today, where the impact of unprincipled political leadership coupled with generations of impoverishment and skill deprivation, has festered into a regime so riddled with nepotism, patronage and corruption, that the nation can now barely afford the legal costs to whitewash the scandals away with commission after commission.
Poor leadership has left communities crying out for services and fighting amongst themselves for scraps. Ignorance, jealousies and unapologetic xenophobia, have taken root from the ground all the way to the political elite. Seeing this opportunity, a disconcerting brand of populism has swept into the political theatre. Through all of this patronage, corruption and racism, there was one pillar of the state remaining, stoic and relatively untarnished.
Burning eyes and fists propped on sticks in stark light,
Truth succours ever beneath the shade of black wings,
Quietly in the rear lies Justice, cheesy chalk to poster child
The hedonist smirks a mock behind her hate-filled Jury.
Drop the screen let the show begin, let bleed collective greed,
Fuel up on years of fat, now daily combusting and flung
Bats come to encircle congregants of our generated blindness
Burn red dividing stains and feed our hatreds old.
Gather cloth and ilk, the pastors one and all your sheep
Penitent confessors, your confounded aggressors cheap
Whoever's feasted, fat bleated lambs of cancerous scams
Fluttering swarm on rotting fruit reap, all but the wicked weep.
Grew tall the cowering conscience of the captured souls
Unbridled bats defiled returning to our honoured cove
Dividing scraps with greasy hands, red loot-soiled sand
Peer eyes from dark wings; hark sober words herein.
All Rights Reserved, 2018 - Thomas Clothier
23rd October 2018, Gapyeong
Poetry Collection: Crosstitution Rips