Wamathai
I am this old dude
In this old town
Hiding, covered in a mask
Of my own doing
I am old
Yet still not as much
I crave for power
I yearn for it ever so dearly
Like an infants cry for mothers milk
My cry for power consumes me
I am old
Yet still not as much
“My people” I call them
They respond, followers they are
I love them, they think so
But to me, they are vessels
I am old
Yet still not as much
Wealth beckons for me
Or is it the other way round?
Truly I am not evil
While my people die of hunger
I am old
Yet still not as much
Them youngsters beg for my departure
“You’re extinct!” they claim
I know I am old
Yet in mind am not!
I am a politician
My mind shifts as tectonic plates!
When will I learn?
To respect the lives of “my people”
I lack a heart
Blame me for their deaths
And misery, oh poverty too!
I am old
And I thrive for power!
© Barbra Jolie (Read her blog here)