Tuesday, 5 February 2013

a martyr for nobhule

i push
into the darkness of my
known unknowns.
scraping and clawing against the
idols of truth
that adorn your walls.
i am wailing,
at your walls.

My master was
Mc Master
and London my lord
i clawed my way to the top of your tower
sliding and tripping over the heaps of bodies at my feet.
they look like me.

my brothers
i see her smile, she shakes my hand.
i go - i am going, i am rising
where she cannot.
rise, she says
whisper into the ears of the gods
who doll out
for my children, they are starving.

so, quick, give me my crown of thorns
degrees will surely keep me warm
or at least the
laboured tears that pour down my cheeks
they burn and give off some heat, while they 
sting the back of my
third eye
who always sees,
what i fight so hard to deny
that my deepest
fears are my
deepest truths
in the deepest
places of my soul
that sees and knows
some paths are meant to be walked alone.

i may not find
solace in
mantras of modern men
or in the kind of light that
radiates from such
but who else will seek to feed the mouths of 5,000
they so quickly turned into millions.
I cannot feed the multitudes
with my degrees
but I may whisper in the ears of the one who can
those lions in the Suits of gods
those self made Goliaths

i push into the dark
i push into the rage
this is my deepest
this is why i sold my soul.
this,is what i buried
my unborn babies for.
this is why i learned to love
i have been staring into the mouths
of lions and giants since the day i was born

i would have named my son David.

just give me my crown of thorns.
just give me my sling.

i have many tales to whisper.

Surely, now, i have earned the right
for you to call me doctor

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