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Dreadful spiced Awful

Let this be the darkest hour before down
When you let my poetry to rain to dry deserts
Of humanity, to replace the fundamental ethic morals;
When the Africa conspire to conceive,
When the Africa comment to communicate,
When the Africa is confused to confident,
When Africa conquerors stop congress,
When communication is disconnected
Send me lord to contain the entire incubus
Acts, to the container of peace and stability.

I will never miss the water before the well Runs dry,
lord I will be the poet in the battle field,
When the Africa’s wounds of confusion are grumbling
In the struggle screaming for help,
Help me not to betray the fight before the fight betray me,
The Africa is walking with a salt sour in a rain storm,
Forty me with the words of legends, word of ancestors,
Words of prophets to save the confused world.

Phinda Mkhonta

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