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

Old age deflects

Own age defects

Oh, but hunger is just a prefect

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