Sting

Timothy Nthuluzi

My brain cracks, for
23rd June, I will be the dawn crow

My brain is
Flush with panic
That time is ashore yet again
Such a burning chore
Quickly fleeting than arrows of light

My brain cracks, for
23rd June, I will be the dawn crow
To cast my burden, carried over time
Though I wish winners were picked automatically
I still have to slip my finger in the bosom of an ink pad

Politicians prickle my mind like tiny thorns
The deep wound they make throws out
An excess of stench, for
Their welfare is above mine
All they hit me in the eyes with are dusts of propaganda

My mind is troubled
Figuring out whom to give power to
For political history silences my hope
A whirlwind of fear flaps to and fro
And its arms stretch wider
Like it is asking,
“Will Malawi decide right?”