Poems by Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st

Poems by Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st

 

Complete Metamorphosis

Once upon a time,
Demons had no skins,
But now they have bones
And flesh and red blood,
And incomplete dresses,
And a complete nakedness.

Once upon a time,
Virtue was considered beauty,
But now synthetically,
Artists own their new skins,
That demean God’s beauty,
Localized death of tissues,
Fascinated by father death.

Once upon a time,
They were peace mongers,
But now even their babies own toy guns,
For practical sophisticated lessons,
Their innocence lost to modernity,
For wars are the only peace left.

Once upon a time,
They were guardians of orphans,
But now they let orphans loose,
Like free ranged syste chicken,
To scavenge streets for survival;
They sleep on their own skins,
Everyone for himself,
But God for them all.

Once upon a time,
They looked like Mother Theres,
With big hearts for givings,
But gone are the good old days,
These partridges have lost their old colors,
Black wild thighs, white sacred faces.

Once upon a time,
The Wise men came from the East,
But now they’re from the wild West,
From where wild suns elope,
African tree frogs h wild thigh,
For leaping from Africa to America.

Once upon a time,
The Saharan sands were mild,
But now they have grown wild,
With bedroom politics systems,
With sycophantic transmogrification.

Once upon a time,
They said Amen before food,
But now, they say Amen after food,
Good singers but bad dancers,
They used to wear pants in trousers,
But now they wear pants on trousers.

Things have changed their directions,
Like smokes, they fly directionlessly,
People used to use things,
For pepole still mattered more,
But now people use people,
For things matter more than before.

 

The Lost African

My little dying voice in the dark,
Sored by static winds of change,
Planted in the land of the black,
Circle of hunger, guns for door-frame.

Who will ever hear my dying voice;
As the power starving ignite battles
For fame? the poor have no choice,
Squatting on their lands where guns rattle.

Africa, my beloved poor fatherland,
When will the good God uphold thee,
And you, steadily, by yourself stand,
Free from ugly debts, wars, but liberty?

New cults, dear agony made in Africa,
Laboratory manufactured lethal diseases,
My blood sells like holy rice in America,
We who, on compounds, scatter faeces.

Imported rainbows and hair scotch the coasts,
Like June sunshine; we now greet with eyes,
New morality — women in love at costs,
Over the contract, they burn the ice.

Africa, when will their greed betray you?
Imported brains for backward progress
Strike the match of job seeking, stagflation on yew,
Strewing hands of falsehood strangle the progress.

Africa, you would be like the Indian flowers,
With your natural beauty tasty like kitchen,
If it were not for the hungry coercive powers,
You’d be richer than your corrupt children.

(From “Voices in the Dark“)

 

Mathematical Love

Like a shot missile,
I saw myself fall for you,
For those angelic eyes,
Only to find a roaring beast,
You were too beautiful.

In our diluted love,
We both lived a lie.
I lied to keep you,
You lied to milk me.
We were both too honest.

First, addition,
Then, multiplication,
Then, substraction,
Finally, division,
We were both good mathematicians.

We liars tell a lot of truths.

©Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st

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