They all promise to baptise Hillbrow.
Clear the streets of Jozi and make them as clean as the president’s speeches.
Nkandla is now like the white house in a distance
In this instance, my politicians are a disgrace to this existence
These politicians come with speeches stormed, drafted and edited.
Words directed slowly, word to word like stuff uninsured.
In parliament these men and women take the podium with pieces of paper.
Each stands to make their presence felt as they wrestle with big words.
How identical the speeches sound when you listen closely.
I have little respect to those who think their well-prepared speeches can ease the hearts of those who struggle daily.
Empty promises for your vote, a promise turned to may be.
Voted with hope but now we mope; shout out to cope, they too struggle daily.
My poverty is now used to close deals, my joblessness they promote in the name of key notes.
When they speak I note because they often quote, far from original, fake politicians.
They are criminals.
They campaign for your blink, this power houses.
To one another they wink.
As your vote of hope fills their pockets, your dream sinks.
They are like the organised mafia gang with just a speech they make you tender and award one another with tenders.
That is the only service they render.