Winning Poet’s winning Poem – Allahu Alba

Zewande BK Bhengu, #CSPSlam Ch.2 One on One slam winner’s winning poem.

Enjoy.

Allahu Alba

 

We build our lives on the bones of infants.

Children taken by genocide

Orchestrated by serpents.

Essentially,

These mass graves will eventually become pavements.

But plastic and leather fabrics don’t age well.

So when the rain comes

and peels away at these shallow graves

All you see are shoes coming up to the surface.

 

Children of Palestine

Daughters and sons of slaughter

Children of suicide

who grow up eating blood and mortar

children of genocide

Who now eat bullets and torture

children of land-mines

Explosions are coded in your laughter

children of atom bombs

who have to go looking for their parents the morning after

Children of firearms

whose story ends in Gaza

 

There was life here

Where children now lay

without arms and without legs

where earth is a burden

and the sun never falls

where the wind is a tyrant

and the sky never dawns

where fear never sleeps

and breath is a torment

where children never speak

of their mothers

who are raped and totured

 

Peace has no profit

so war is the answer

The media is an accomplice

‘Cause money is an anchor

Silver spoon children are apprentice

on how to make banter

of a country that’s in tatters

and God never answers

 

These apprentices are taught how to weave

music from the sounds of screeching beings

their fathers are conductors of symphonies

They compose music from the sound of bombs, guns and screams

 

In the silence, they let go

A smooth crescendo

From the music a child loses his torso

His home is turned to a No-Go-Zone

and in the army, this tune is well known

from the front-line to the back-row

 

They stand in an orchestra

Playing guns in kill minor

and bombs in explosion sharp

Their wind instruments are tanks

That blow homes in thunder

the back riffles drumming attacks

Families torn and ripped asunder

This Orchestra is funded by corporates and banks

so is it any wonder

The media dances here.

It gets paid to pretend to care.

 

Children do not C4 themselves.

The carry explosion packs

laid on by foreign hands.

Can you imagine

Your own children?

You can see it in their eyes,

A part of them wants to forgive and forget

and move on.

The other parts are still splattered on the wall.

They were bearly foot soldiers

who died not knowing they were at war.

Their mothers exist

only to cradle tears to sleep.

Who are these Goddesses

who dare to give birth

in the barren parts of the earth in search

of the luminous serpent

the florescent purge

of a soul, born to a virgin.

between these crumpled infant bones.

A heart she can call home

long enough to watch him stand on his own.

 

 

Pregnant women are tortured to miscarriages.

They miss courage in missed carriages.

the media comes and massages

the minds of those who listen

now listen

The soul of a miscarried child never leaves the womb.

Gardens of life are turned to heavy tombs.

Collecting dust that never shakes and never moves

But the music keeps playing.

It’s a musical.

And the coiling dance of Palestine is in display.

This play

plays music that begins and ends in dismay.

This may –

be the last song heard by this herd

These conductors are also DJs

They scratch this song back

and keep it on replay

 

 

Now the streets are morgues.

Where crows come to feed

where peace is at war and death comes to breathe

Limbs hinged in place by the wind

bodies rocked to sleep by this symphony

wrapped in explosive hymns

Natives rigged and trapped in violence

and border-line perpetually thins

Souls ascend to the sound of sirens

 

They bomb your schools

and the dreams you keep

They beat you in your dreams

and poison you in your sleep

They break your spirit

and white phosphorous covers the scene

Where has the UN been

Paid off by the US who has been

Obsessed with Osama Bin

Laden citizens with fictitious drama

Thin prayer lines flood the Gaza

Skin made slave to pain, it’s master.

And they keep this record on replay spin.

 

Allahu Akba

Allahu Akba

Allahu Akba

 

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2 thoughts on “Winning Poet’s winning Poem – Allahu Alba

  1. Pingback: AND THE WINNER IS . . . – Radikal Xpression

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