Born on the ‘big’ plank of wet shade

Shared all the capitalists cork

Twinkled in the vineyard of wealth

From bloody sweat of the poor

A sore taste of accomplishment

Realized in the upper age of life

Nursed by the blood of the poor 

In a suction capitalists machine

In its youth,

It shout to the pinnacle of sympathy

While aiming at the bones

Of the poor in the vineyard.

Union of controlled monopoly

From generation to generation

In a bedridden polity

Triggered by a sucking machine

A broken soul on a table of promiscuity

Called by profaned mouths to rise

Under the witness of a Chandelier’s eye 

Shinning like a Christmas discotheque.

Followed by loud roar of satisfaction,

A butterfly is born at the tip edge sword

With long imperial ponytail of status

Stood erect in defensive mood

The message of Class and Wealth

written allover its day old body

And well portrayed 

On the bandages of its bloody wings.

–a capitalists machine on it’s wheels 

grinding through epochs unfettered

Fueled by the big shade of broken flesh

And the tears of the poor lads

When asked….?

They say “but I need it for survival”

Or they say “it’s the fuel of the world”

Yet the sucked blood is forgotten.

By Al Latif Kambo-Naa