The Dark art of Poetry

I am not really much of a poet. Unlike blogging, poetry requires creativity and the skill of stringing words together. Most poets are good writers, however most writers are not good poets. But now and again when I run out of material, i dabble in the dark art that is poetry. I have to warn you all though, because my poetry comes from a dark and very twisted place in my imagination so you will not find a lot of smiley faces in it.

Welcome to WHK 


Welcome to whk, the city of dreams
The indigenous people call it shelter from winds
Home to a few rich and the majority poor
Who are confined to a place they will never call home
If Namibia was a planet then this would be the core
Infested by greedy stubby politicians who hunger for more
They come here from all sides of Namibia’s borders
For their chance to make it big in the windy corner
They are lured because everything is shiny and glittery
Only to fall into the clutches of poverty and misery
Many a dream has come alive here and many a dream has died here


Welcome to Whk, this is Namibia’s capital
Where the name of the game is accumulation of capital
Everyone is pre-occupied with their own struggle
Focused on their grind and the never ending hustle
Men leave their wives and humble abodes
To end up shamed and ignored as men on the side of the road
Girls get caught in the hype of being a city young thing
They open their legs to old men in exchange for a little something
Men sell their souls and desert their morals and principles
So they too can live in mansions and drive flashy cars

Welcome to Whk, come make something of yourself
Come here to find who you are and you will only end up losing yourself
The young tackle life to their own accord
To keep up appearances they live a life they can’t afford
The suburbs exude prosperity, hope, riches and wealth
While the townships reek and are a risk to your health
This city can make you then the very next day it can break you
 Here your dream is worthless if in it you do not believe
The social dynamics are a reminder of the injustice of the past
While the hopes and dreams that live here breathe hope to the future

Welcome one; Welcome all, welcome to Whk

That feeling in the pit of your stomach

A lonely figure crouching in the corner, desolate and absolutely gutted.
Sitting there wondering if he will be lonely for the rest of his life.

Head down, face in his hands and shoulders hung lower than a flag during national mourning.
Heart heavy and tears at the ready, he wonders what happened and how he got to this moment.

Where there once flew butterflies lurks crows and vultures, where once there was sunshine dwells dark clouds.
But he knew that it would happen before it did, he had that feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He knew something was not right, he knew  why everyday there was a fight.
The signs were evident but his optimism told him otherwise, he saw a silver lining that turned out to be fools gold.

Like anthony hamilton singing "come home to me charlene" he knew there was a reason she was being so mean.
It hurts to be ignored, but it sure damn hurts a lot more to be forgotten.

So the next time you smile, the next time you laugh, next time you see something that lights up your eyes.
Spare a thought for the lonely figure sitting on the floor with that feeling in the pit of his stomach.

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