THIS BEAST

A hound in the wind for pounds
Let me lick my bleeding wounds
The cold sweet darkness of it all
This life is nothing but a hustle
A human revolution in a bustle
Anarchy in the street of chance
At times written sounds of tense
This wounded beast in me is
A distant roar heard, from a lion
A marching worker’s battalion
These wounds are mine alone
Steps solid in slavery times zillion
Men go into the night of heist
Nothing gained, but a peace rest
Life is nothing, but a short feast
We have inherited a wild beast
Humanity is a capitalist list stain
Posing in the breath of its pain
A hound in the wind for pounds
Let me lick my bleeding wounds
Young lass’s love priced in ranks
Sank by those that own banks
Their existence forged in a rustle
Bureaucrats raising rows to jostle
In a jest that jimmy jovial jacks
With a smug smelling smile, surfing
Our hearts in the wilderness nursing
The beast is darkening by the day
Humanity is a capitalist list stain
Posing in the breath of its pain
Drilling to an end of its desolation
Wealth, is a position of isolation
Distant from real life nestling
A beast at best to create parting
At times written sounds of tense
Let me tame this wounded beast
And that won’t be the least

By Linda Sakazi Thwala
Linda Sakazi Twala