Devil's own land

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I'd been labelled.
I'd been accused,
Tried, convicted.
Neo-Liberal- the class accused.

When I defended the wizards,
And said they had human rights too.

She'd spoken of a trial,
How she watched them confess.
She never mentioned the burning,
Though we all knew it implied.

And here I was.
Driving north.
Deathly black clouds.
Mythic mists.
Death by night.

A strange feeling.
Elephants. Hyenas. At night!

And though I argued.
For their lives.
Those accused of witchcraft.
Those murdered lives.

In the Northern Country,
I wondered at the lies.

Devil's own land.
And people less civilised.
They'd kill me as easily as their witches.
I told myself,
As I hoped to drive past.

And seeing a hyena.
Right by our car.

I swear he was calling.
His mistress. It's time.

And though I left Up North,
Where the massacres still occur.

Women and their babies,
Children young and old.
Soaked in gasoline.
The child forced to set mother alight.
The child killed also,
As with possession,
With house.

The "New South Africa"
They wanted.
Where witches never survive.

I drive quietly by.
And pray I never here do
Roll fate's dice.
For here, one rolls the die.

And though I'm white,
Not black,
Man, not woman.

Not witch.
Just the God forsaken
"Little White Dog"
Enemy to be quickly shot.

Yet I wonder at our nation.
And the unaccountable lives.

Everyone ~ loves ~ Them

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Everyone a~dores..
Why shouldn't you too...
why shouldn't you three, why shouldn't you more...

Everyone adores...
looks...
Yet no God...

And you've abandoned me...
Siren who tricked my soul...

Everyone a doors,
Close me out of you..

Who am I love,
Poorly humble me!!!!!

Unfortunate- not cowardly- tragic, not worthy of cowards

Poem by Marc Aupiais

A church attacked,
Priest killed,
And grenades,
Suicide bombs,

As America's ghost forces,
Supposedly withdrawn,
Says Agence France,
Were present!

And drove Al Qaeda Islamic State, Iraq-
From the alter of God!

No negotiations,
With those who attack stock exchange,
Then Syrian Catholic Church,
No Negotiations,
With those itching for a fight.

Suicide is cowardice-
But a martyr,
However deluded,
Blowing themself up for a cause!

Is far from a coward!

Lacking sure,
In sanity!

But heck of a brave!
Monsters! They are!

In search of dust

Poem by Marc Aupiais

In search of dust,
Tragedy!
Not dusk or dawn,
No sun for months,
And months,
And months.

The world a damp space,
The world Chilean!
For but a moment!

And into the light of day,
And out of the spotlight of,
Global fame.

Seeking dust,
They found it!

Goodbye to Chilean fame!

The cost of life

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Mommy thought me old enough,
To walk 15 metres from the car,
To the bistro alone,
For that treat,

I objected but walked,
Maybe 10 or 14.

And there he was shaking in the sun,
Covered in a liquid one may call blood,

Hands behind his back,
Handcuffed, as the police did stuff to his shaking form.

He'd tried to raid the bistro,
The grown man.
Clearly lost it,
Desires quite full.

Lying in the parking lot,
By the pavement!

As the police increased the pool of his blood.

I walked past and bought,
My treat.

Soon the bistro,
Would be sold,
And close,
And the nearby butcher also left,
As did we.

Its sometimes hard to drive,
To the shops alone.

And when I see people,
Being assaulted by security or police,
I never stop or interfere.

A true South African- the test of what makes us us!

Poem by Marc Aupiais

What makes a South African,
It isn't blood or birth,
Then we'd be accidental,
No people, no hope!

What makes us us is suffering,
Is crime, death, disease-
Universal truth!

Is deception, is helplessness,
Determination to live,
Where others have not!

What makes us South African,
Our allegiance to our own life,
And eyes and eyes, and lives,
Tainted with harm!

Is that we suffer, and die,
And live our lives,
And paradoxly endure endearing to life!
For our nation's sins!
And our world's last hopes!

Another crime? Another time?

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Bono isn't a sexual organ,
Bono of U2- no not you, or you or you!

Millions he raises for them poor-
News studio journalists, who need gift basket bribes!

Political campaign,
Publicity!

New York Post,
Who'd that be!

Millions spend on political campaigns-

A few measly 100 000 for the poor?