The Signing Ceremony

It is the signing ceremony 
Of the death pact 
Who goes first 
And who goes last? 
That is the ghostly question 
Vibrating in our insides 
Struggling, seeking to be exhumed 
An explosion, a blast! 
The metallic points 
Of the signing pens 
Bleeding red death 
On the white paper 
Whence the decrees are made – 
The pact of death. 
  
In those conference rooms 
Colourful speeches 
Like poetic inscriptions 
Are engraved on TV screens 
That these pacts are facts 
Created to correct 
And draw out of the abyss 
The poverty-stricken 
Malnourished Zambians 
But when hands are shaken 
Smiles beamed 
Words like swords 
Are buried in the bellies of the poor 
Told to till the land 
And feed the overfed 
And the facts of the pacts 
Are the fats and the oils 
That run down the over-ballooning bellies 
The official black suits stained 
In the greases of the delicacies 
While in pain and in grief 
The poor in the abyss are buried! 
  
Now, the darkness dwindles 
As the sun rises… 
The soiled and oiled suits 
Pleading for plentiful washing 
It is the rotting poor 
Reeking in the abyss of death 
To sweat without rest 
And wipe clean best 
The oiled, soiled, stained suits 
In the sacrifice 
For the ailing mother Zambia. 
  
When night approaches 
Sharply pointed pains 
Scruffily scribble white paper in blood 
And the packs in stacks 
Are created – the conjoined loves 
For the poor ailing Mother Zambia 
The feasts abound around 
And the signing ceremony 
Of the death pact 
Still goes on.