Royal Flush!

We are still biting too much when we claim the ball is on us
When our forefathers' decisions added more weight than doughnuts
It is indeed our play but the ball was left behind in history
Like the death of our leaders which still remains a mystery
 For when the kings died their sons became slaves
And the new masters danced in the center of their royal graves
And on the bodies of their royal daughters, producing infidels
 And on the heads of the princes that got white-washed and baptized in piss
As they crawled under the master's table in search of temporary bliss
Dignity lost, new virtues assigned, slave mentality abound!
We forgot who we were so we know not who we are
Systematic amnesia, now we depend on the system to guide us forth
Towards the glory hole that can fit only one of us at a time
A success story meant to excuse all their crimes
The land is ours but the rules are theirs so we remain on the margins of time
For the real game-changers change the rules
While we run around chasing after a wild goose
In search of a ball long lost in their garden grass
Amongst other things
We were once kings!

The Black Chronicles

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I was Born

I was born and I will die
I am not afraid.
I've seen birth and I've seen death.
Birthing is hard and painful but not to the born
Death is sad and sorrowful but not to the dead

The spaces in between are mine to fill
The emptiness in between is mine to feel
He was born but never lived is the headstone I fear
His birth was nothing more than a painful fart
His life cannot be traced past that pain

He followed the wind and disappeared in the masses
His voice got diluted in the chorus as he sang along
A humble soul, remained seated in blending colours
He lived in wait for his calling, till death came
He died but never lived
Like a terrible idea pushed out into oblivion

He never lived
Birthing pains were wasted on him
A worthless burden to the lady who carried him
A pointless torture to the sad old mother who birthed him

I was born and I will die
I am not afraid of dying
I am afraid of not living

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Love's Grief

Love's Grief

How can I love you? When my first memories of you are of my father hitting your face against the wall
Using your body as a punching bag 

Leaving you bruised and afraid, blue-eyed and half-blind to his bullshit as he kissed you goodbye in the morning, going to work
And you sat mourning your lost tooth but still determined to make it work

How can I love you, when my brother being my father's son believes in the powers of fists in straightening up a women bending out of shape, like a hot-rod banged against the table

And not bang like the big bang theory of how the universe was formed

A once-off bang that supposedly gave way to life.
No no. Not bang like how you bang a drum to produce sounds pleasing to the ears of the little boy in the room next door as he lay in bed about to sleep...no. 

But bang like the sound of a gun shot sending chills down the spine of that little boy next-door knowing that someone is being killed tonight and there's nothing he can do about it except, say a little prayer with his hands covering up his ears to block the cries from the other side while his face fills up with tears.
But he loves her, like his father loves his mother

How can I love you when the first lesson learned of women was how you derailed the progress of the whole human race by presenting that juicy luscious apple to that unsuspecting susceptible yet blameless A-man whom in his loneliness, thirst and hunger failed to resist you and your fruit.
Now all you are is a bearer of fruit, a homeless tree on the side of the street where any man in his journey rests on your shade, feed on your fruit to quench his thirst and be on his way.

How do I love you when I have never seen a way to love that looks more like love than hate?

When my peers impregnate and discard mother and daughter but cherish and treasure if said child be son to pass on their shameful names and carry on forth their shameless genes and live to witness how the poor in mind treat those that depend on them for love and security

What is to love you when lovers fire shots aimed at the hearts of those they claim to love

And not shots like cupid's shots whose shots will set your heart beating, filled with uncontrollable affection, desires and a zeal for life

But gunshots meant to stop a heart from beating

Love wearing the face of hate, they are siblings

Raised under the same roof, born of the same mother and father.
Their looks both resemble the father, sides of the same coin

Both grew up to the same chilling sound of the silently crying mother as father punched away 

Hate became him as he punched at his girlfriend's body like a punching bag just as he has seen how his father did
But just a door away love laid in bed trying to slip away into a safe space and say a prayer that his hand heals all it touches and that his voice breeds life and undo his family curses

Well how can I love you?
 For I am love itself living to rectify the errors of my fathers and brothers?

Taken from the book titled: The Black Chronicles- Reflections from the Dark Side by Eddie Bhila

available on E-book from amazon through the link below:

https://www.amazon.com/author/eddiebhila

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