I stand frozen with fear, my heart pumping to a tear.
The speaker dressed in party t-shirt and caps,
their mouths poring out like water taps.
you are saying we are the soldiers of the party.
you say we should drop planks on heads,
fists on cheeks and kicks in spleens.
so you are telling me to do this to Benjamin, Adrian
you want me to beat my cousins, friends and brothers?
Is this what African politics has to offer.
Violence in place of ideals,
penance in place of ideals,
and decadence in place of lusciousness?
You clutch to the dead philosophy of barbarism,
conquer by the sword.
since when did politicians start conscripting soldiers?
Have the progenitors of liberty heard of such a thing?
I drop my gaze in fear,
fear for my brothers and sisters.
Fear for my pride Africa.