Lost Course Poem by Ndina Kamaro Muofhe

It's a journey of servants of the servitude,
And so, the desert's wrath continued peeling off skins of children born to learn lessons only about past pains. Heroes they are taught to celebrate, had long parted ways with the breath.
Those alive, are painted ruffians by hands of selective media mouths. To steal all the faith and hope they have in them. It's another lost course of a flock in quest of lands promised.

Along the way, like leaves, one by one they fall. Many, their bloom were ignored. As they wither, champagnes are popped to celebrate lives they never enjoyed. Placed under graves more expensive than beds they used to sleep on. Their burials cost more than their birthdays' celebrations combined.
It's a show of who was buried in style. Even when they never lived in style.

Oh, sufferers in spirits,
Are you there yet?
Oh, wanderers of spirits,
How is the quest for god?

Like farmers hoeless in hands, expected to turn the magic around and pop some corns on these barren sands. The devil's parodies misguided the whole flock by arrogant beliefs. Another brawl breaks out and sheep be slaughtering sheep and it's blood streams that run. All in argument of who is the better sky daddy.
Their cracking throats, from prayers to gods forced down their hearts never dismantled the silence of heavens. The heavens' hands are folded in times when they are needed the most. Yet, they called and still call with their dying voices. But, the heaven remains unshaken.

Chamelion men in suits,
Trick the flock to polls
In promise of wealth
But around the circles, make them run
Will they ever get there,
Or it's just another lost course?