The Prediction Poem by Wilson Tinotenda Waison

Tis in this epoch of coercion
Where the prognostication
Spells doom, so clear like lime
As time cringe past each day.
To know what yester held for us
With the visions, tis indeed a predicament
Since evolution has barley been seen.
What an illusion? - Brother*
For how long will you love these delusions?
And seek deceitful resolutions from the wiles
For the deeds are filled with destruction.
An encounter, with communal restrictions
Drawn to the margins of the citadel
Yet the liberator now the tormentor.
The question still rings,
Was it out of love or deceit?
To stamp the figure alleged to have lured
This black blood yet now
The comrade strives for his survival
Drawing a blank on this kin.
It would have been declared, now
Complacency ruins the motive with
Nobles bulldozing through the bayonet
Only to pierce this brother, Sisters we are
Vulnerable in the hopes of an assisting hand.