Page 9 - LockDown Poetry

-------- lockdown poetry --------

The Passion Of The Parched

Masingita Mzilikazi

The old blood new

The old poets knew

The future was like a stew

Low heat, closed lid, tasted by a few

But the many are starving

I'm not hungry, I'm poor

I stopped looking forward to my next meal

A constant guest on death’s door

You can’t even kick me outside

I sleep outside

Under the very stars you wish upon

I take cover and look at nights pass me over

Good Sir, I pray you

I pray to you

Since begging is the fuel of gods

Here lie my hopes and remorse, your cause

Pardon me, I'm just arousing age old neglect

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