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A Place Called Home

We don't fear eternal damnation,
we live here,
hell can't possibly be worse.

On those cold hungry nights
children are kept warm by the infernos of hell
lit by angry mosquitoes
dodging slaps from irritated mothers
who not so silently curse absent fathers.

this land was built from blocks of apathy,
the souls of the poor and downtrodden holds them together
so their death is encouraged,
to keep up appearances,
politicians pretend they are outraged.

This is business,
The misery of the poor and needy,
funded by the rich gluttons of society,
accepted and sanctified, “Blessed are the poor...”,
Penury processed and packaged as humility,
Just keep them poor and blissfully ignorant.

and yet weighed down we find reasons to smile,
dance under the moonlight alone
because we can't afford true love,
Can't wait for help from above,
The only Heaven we know is within.

in the shadows,
a vulture waits patiently
for an emaciated child with an ironically large belly
to drop, dead.

So when Extravagant Preachers
who live, “as it is in Heaven”
come squawking about Fire and Brimstone,
we know it well,

Hell, is a place called Home.

*****October 16, 2013*****

I wrote this after listening to a documentary on CitiFM 97.3 on Hunger and Malnutrition in the 3 Northern Regions of Ghana. The Documentary is attached below.

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The Vulture

In times of famine,
The Vulture does not eat grass.
When Leopards are lean
because antelopes nowhere to be seen
The Vulture sits and watches,

Those who mocked his baldness
Will do well to remember
None has seen the Vulture's corpse
And he is secure in the knowledge that none will.

when it rains
And they mock him
For having no nest still,
He holds his peace,
For the Vulture, he's a patient animal.

The Vulture is not vindictive,
Those who mocked will die,
Those who didn't will die,
It matters not.
For when carcasses lay ripe
The Vulture does not ask
If his feast was once friend or foe

*****February 1, 2016*****