THE BARD: WHERE IS THE VOICE?

THE BARD: WHERE IS THE VOICE?: WHERE IS THE VOICE? Someone, anyone; Please indulge me. Please tell me; Where is the voice? Where is our voice? Who do we run to? Wh...

WHERE IS THE VOICE?

WHERE IS THE VOICE?

Someone, anyone;
Please indulge me.
Please tell me;
Where is the voice?
Where is our voice?
Who do we run to?
Who do we turn to?
Who can speak on our behalf
When neo-colonialism and capitalism
Cut our economies in half?

Who is the next Kwame Nkrumah?

The next Jomo Kenyatta?

The next Muammar Gaddafi who will tell it as it is.

Who will have the guts to say "NO"

To western faces who benefit

From the destruction of many African places.

Who has the guts to Mandela
Our motherland; Africa
To a great PRO-AFRICANIST effect?
Whose bold words and coarse voice
Can coerce our corrupt leaders
To reflect on the fact
That Africa is alive?
That Africa is a living, breathing being;
That SHE is free to be herself.
She is not a slave.
She deserves, no!!!
In fact, she is owed
Dignity and respect.

Who can tell the rest of the world

That we have our own culture?

That we have our own music

And our own tulips.

Who can voice our concerns

About the dangers of GMO?

Who can stand on a hill

And proclaim to the vultures?

Saying;

"The concept of human rights already exists

In our cultures"

"Whoever said that we are insufficient?"

"That everything that we do is wrong"

"That we cannot take care of ourselves"

"That we need to dance to the tune of Uncle Sam's belt"

Who can speak for us?
And by us,
I mean ALL OF US.
Yes, Africa is one;
In her full, splendid
Beautifully shaped body.
...For a body that is divided
Is the true definition of death;
Different parts of the body
All wanting to go their own way.
Each part of the body
Being controlled by different nerve endings.
This phenomenon causes her to feel hurt.
Can you hear her?
She lies there in the street.
She is wearing a torn African print dress;
Screeching, screaming;
"Mpwera!" "Mpwera!"
Why is she screaming?
It is because she has different men holding
On to her dress, wanting a piece of her.
They are men of strange colors;
White, brown, yellow et cetera.
They are holding on to her
Like they own her.
Inside the get away car,
There is a man of native color.
He is the get away driver.
He waits for the men of color
To bring HER parts and their asses into the car.
After this is done, the get away driver then drives
Them into the white night.

Where is the voice that will unite us?

The voices that we had have either been killed or dethroned thus;

Where is the voice that will put humpty zulu back together again?

Where was that voice

When it was needed in the streets of Cairo?

And in the streets of Benghazi?

Mother Africa's heart froze in the wake of 2011.

She refused to pump blood to her left shoulder.

...Where is the voice that will hold her

Firm and steady in it's righteous and zealous hands?

Where is the voice that will whisper into her tingling ears

The sweet romances of a devout lover?

Who will speak on her behalf?
Who will speak on our behalf?
Where is the voice that will

Bring us together?
So that together,
We will raise HER.

A poem by Bruno Edgard.

THE BARD: TOWARDS MIDNIGHT

THE BARD: TOWARDS MIDNIGHT: TOWARDS MIDNIGHT ................................................ She looks at me And I look at her. She is beaten and disheveled. An...

TOWARDS MIDNIGHT

TOWARDS MIDNIGHT

................................................
She looks at me
And I look at her.
She is beaten and disheveled.
And I can't properly breathe.
Our feet are both grey and cracked
From war.
Her battered dress is a short, dull red and yellow,
Though it must have once been bright and as long as the Nile flows.
I can't see what I am wearing but my shirt and trouser feel torn.
We are both sitting with our backs against the wall.

We stare at each other in silence.
We are in that place,
In a place beyond violence;
A tired, dull and emotionless silence.
The fire that is in between us is steady
But it is slowly running out.
So we sit there,
Looking dryly at each other.
The hut that covers us has walls that are painted with soot.
I cannot move,
And from the looks of it,
Neither can she.
What are we going to do?
Are we just going to sit here and whither?

At the corner of my eye,
I feel a stinging sensation.
The cause of this sensation
Is a very bright light outside the hut.
It is probably from the moon.
It towers over all things
And conquers all darkness
By dispersing it with light.
..........................................................
What do we do?

Is this what fate has led us to?
Is this what destiny prepared for the year 2022?
....Her eyes are still beautiful,
They are colored a dark brown spectacle.
In this still night,
They especially seem to have a poignant glow,
Beauty and sorrow mixed in radiant flow.
They forge together to form a rainbow.
Those eyes;
They have no more tears,
No more fears,
No more nightmares.
All they have is a blank expression.
........................................................
Where do we go from here?...........

THE BARD: WE WILL NOT BE CIRCUMCISED

THE BARD: WE WILL NOT BE CIRCUMCISED: WE WILL NOT BE CIRCUMCISED We will not be circumcised; For as long as I can remember, We have been undermined, Disenfranchised and para...

WE WILL NOT BE CIRCUMCISED

WE WILL NOT BE CIRCUMCISED

We will not be circumcised;
For as long as I can remember,
We have been undermined,
Disenfranchised and paralysed.
We have been stigmatised,
Brutalised and quite frankly sodomised.

We will not be circumcised;
For a very long time,
You have held us at gun point,
Eagerly pressing the finger joint of the trigger
So that you have our guts splattering all over like dropped coins.
You have called us names,
Names that are devoid of praise;
Musiru gwe,
You say.
You have called us lazy, crazy
And rumour mongering chimpanzees.
You have riddled us with shame,
Showered us with blame
And stripped us of our manes.

We will not be circumcised,
You have broken our hearts,
Spit on the creative arts,
Stolen our body parts,
Showed us death charts
And soiled our breakfast.

But we will not be circumcised;
For our greatness lies
In our identity.
In what we see, what is before our eyes.
What is in our spirits, souls, hearts and minds,
And not what is between our thighs.

We will not be circumcised;
For our minds are awoken to the path of the token,
Our spirits may be unhinged but they are not broken.
Our chins are chiseled  
But are firmly lifted high up into the sky.
Our countenance is steadfast and will never die;
We hold our confidence with pride.

We will not be circumcised;
You will have to attend the ritual cleansing alone
Because our fortitude,
Our minds and our foreskins are set to remain on
And strong!!!

A poem by Bruno Edgard

A LEADER CANNOT BE TAMED

A LEADER CANNOT BE TAMED

A leader cannot be tamed!!!

Step forth into the great domain

And look onto the horizon

Onto the lush savanna plains,

And you will see that

You are meant to conquer, multiply and not maintain!!!

A leader cannot be tamed!!!

Once that halo is above your head,

A different path you are destined to tread;

One with rocky paths and short nights on your bed.

You know that you have to wake up early in the morning,

That at that time till late;

The sheep need to be fed,

Need to be bred;

You always need to keep a steady head,

Because!!!

A leader cannot be tamed!!!

Multiplying influence is the game

And in this game;

There is often a lot of criticism,

Often a lot of cynicism,

Often a lot of sarcasm;

But in your arsenal;

Sacrifice and countenance

Are firmly in your stead,

You think with your head,

On paths of knowledge and wisdom you tread.

A leader cannot be tamed!!!

For it is written as part of all our membranes

That we must multiply sustenance all over the world

Without any restraint...

...A leader cannot be tamed!!!

For the world is counting on it,

Counting on YOU!!!

To lead the sheep to the shed,

To lead the heavens down softly to earth's bed,

To open the eyes of those who are engulfed in darkness,

To feed the hungry who sorely need to be fed,

To bridge the gap between the can't do and the can do,

To bring faith and prosperity to the weary

To be the shoulder that everyone lean's on...

...To be the light that is always switched on!!!

You see a leader cannot be tamed!!!

For the world is counting on you

To multiply your influence!!!

A poem by Bruno Edgard.