Mugabe of Zimbabwe

‘s hard to blame Mugabe
nor will I dare do so,
for he’s more than twice my age,
and I still have my wits about me
before the senility of old age
makes pampers a welcome distraction,
and logic so much stupidity
beloved by the youngsters.


He lives in a never-never dreamland
where reality is my will
however absurd that is;
despite all the years gone by
and the silver crown on his head-
immortality he still seeks,
such an elusive goal!
Believing ones own desperate lies,
the madness of power, illusions of deity.


Its hard to believe the stupidity
forcing people me to love
my gun at their head, knives in the stomach;
hunger pangs, needy wails of their children in their ears
yet I believe they love mad me,
the fear in their eyes a strangely satisfying love
proving the desperate assertion of devotion
flowing from their slow lips.


That immortal thing, adulation,
regard, when I’m soon to be gone
my legacy spit on the road
my memory a nightmare of shame-
the Amins of this world;
Hitlers, Stalins- cruel mortal men;
Mugabes, dare I say the Excellency
of this more than fair land?


Indeed, is old age a curse?
[he’s frightening me, shaming silvery wisdom]
when the lessons of age are un-learnt
and, despite prayers to be a Mandela-
living saint in life-
one’s an ogre, like the Burmese generals
leaders of the dead, living Pol Pots,
a curse on all humanity, while I still live?



GayUganda 26 June 2008