Ramp Poem by Wilson Tinotenda Waison

To have stood firm in this epoch of coercion
In nature surrounded by busy ants and birds
The prognostication spelt doom, hereci outs
And the lands hope flees away, deeply down

No one acknowledge being the calf, all now
Seemingly bulls in the kraal with one motive
Then disastrous turns the odd at play, scary
It projects horn to horn, beast ramps beast

Savages of a life time whom inflicts more
Than they have assured before, Now dancing
In the dust, led to the precincts, survival so
Harsh though on both ends, wish it be broken.

Tempest is the prevailing state of affairs
Fragments of the political apotheosis status
Impeded more as vehement fingers are point
You, you, you all blame each after the ramp.