Poetry: The State of the Nation


Crawl, scatter, gather, run
Fall, stagger harder on

The hands of promise are frail and weak
The faucet is empty, the drought draws a leak

Nothing better stands ahead
Something is bitter, glands are dead.

The harvests are plenty for a few
The gatherers are me and you.

A warrior silent is meant for the grave
…And everything dies leaving nothing to save.



Created from part of a whole
This new plant was a desired mole

Fuelled to reach towering heights
With plans to cut it in the dead of nights

The parent faltered
At what the child coveted

Giving room for all kinds of plans
And in its wake all kinds of plants

So this new mole burrowed a hole
Where all thoughts were a complete soul

Jennifer Dafwat


A strong boy with a future of assets.
Crippled by unfamiliar treaties of debts.

Saying yes to all light skin words.
Little did he know that words are sharper than swords.

A bright future now turned dark.
From where should I fix it?no trademark.

I have to fight back,but it is still night.
How possible will this be with an unstable light?

Maybe I should wait a little.
But with the frown on all faces,I’m not sure I’m set for this Battle.




Locked in the embrace of singing bees
She becomes a thousand palm trees

Like ponytails, like jingling bells
He loves to dance with pretty girls

They vowed their hearts, they promised dreams
Their love flowed like ceaseless streams

Everyday they curse and fight and wish for flight
and fight and curse and pray for respite

Today he longs for her as she for him
Tomorrow she flees from him as he from her




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