Friday 21st July 2017,
Poetry Potion

The day I died By Ephraim Zuva

Whipping sticks drew patterns on my back
Fire and petrol consumed my flesh
Spears and machetes gushed my blood
The officer on duty kept his distance
The bulletin-man wanted my photo
As a mob ganged up on me

My brother couldn’t save me
He had his life to save
The mob’s thirst for blood unquenched
They wanted more to drink
The next alien on him they could feast

A thousand miles away
My mother feeling so tired and stressed
Anxiety kept her out of the meadow
Something somewhere is wrong
The spirit communicates it to hers
But what could it be
Still she couldn’t download
The horror of loosing her son
Never in a million years crossed her mind

A miracle how we are consciously sentient
Of what happens away
God communicate it to us
Illiteracy to heaven lingo
In the thin air message eludes our comprehension

In untold agony and twinge
I felt my person departing
Suddenly there was no life in me
Laid I comatose in the cursed boulevard
My cadaver a scary spectacle
Bruised and burned to deformation

Then I started another journey
With one mania in mind
In vengeance I will exterminate

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