MZI MAHOLA
Three Poems
Hearken my Children
When we come to this world
We each carry a package
To use sagely
For the long journey ahead.
The life of the wise is tranquil
Like silent water of a stream
Now and then obstructed
By falls and cataracts
Yet getting stronger afterwards
Steadily swimming
Towards its destination.
Wisdom eludes those
Who use theirs lavishly,
Throwing caution to the wind.
With accompanying misery
Their futile turbid ways,
Are like violent waves,
Continuously
Going coming and crashing;
Going, coming and crashing.
They Won’t Listen
They still point their fingers
Accusing me of seeking glory,
Of course they do.
I gathered my people,
Chose a silent stone
To sit myself upon
And mouthed my warm tidings,
But those who came with ears of gossip
Charged me for looking for fame.
They force me across rivers and mountains
To tell my stories
On foreign soil,
But each time I sing
They plug their heads.
They won’t tell
Why I sing best
When I suffer most.
They don’t show me a praise singer
Who heaps praises upon himself.
They don’t advise me what to do
When I choke from unsaid humps of thoughts.
They don’t tell me
How to frustrate the wrath of cysts
That will invade my tongue
If I shut up my mouth.
They think I’ve supped of poisonous mushrooms.
They say soon I’ll tire
Of never catching my tail,
Flip belly-up
A dying lizard in surrender.
But the wind’s flapping wings
Fan my lurics away.
To Be Hollered Before Elections
Countrymen!
Elect me your president
And you’ll learn
The art of grovelling.
Make me your president
And I’ll open the locked gates.
A paradise for high-flying birds,
A desert for creeping reptiles.
Here I’ll mould tentacled thieves
To guard your welfare;
Rapists with hearts of steel
To sing you lullabies,
And murderers
Laughing with bloody teeth
To watch over you
As you sleep.
Countrymen!
Elect me your president
And you’ll be Olympic champions
In chasing your tails.