DO YOU KNOW ME?
DO YOU KNOW ME?
Do You Know Me?
You only pretend to know me, but you don't.
You are so hypocritical and hypercritical both in your thinking and your actions.
You pass me walking on the road and blow me, but I never respond,
As I closely observe your sham. I quickly call your sham.
It feel s to me like you deal with the devil.
But Do you really know me?
Or Do you think that you really know me?
You scoff at my rhetoric, my rhetorical questions and questioning.
But I too...also scoff at your baseless rhetoric of riding the system by deceiving the poor for social and wealth statuses,
In the most hypocritical of manners.
You vote for politicians who bribe you with money and turn and blind eye when they victimise your brother.
You say to your friend, 'I Know him' ;
He used to teach at the school I attended, but he never taught me.
I know the house where he resides, and for which I still believe he owes the bank by massive arrears.
My dad says he was instrumental in him obtaining a loan when he worked at the bank which victimised him.
But again, do you really know me? or is it just a figment of your imagination?
You pass me and give me that fake, feint, faint, and taunting grin of satisfaction, while barely lifting a hand in pretentious greet.
While behind my back, you claim, 'that's a joker, a punk, an ****.
Quite surprisingly He ain't dead yet. He's be better off dead. Abandoned!! By all and sundry. Nobody sorry for him.
He'll be better off dead.
I do not hate him, neither do I particularly like him.
Even though God says Love everybody.'
But Am I not your black Brother?
Do You ever stop to observe the hollow aging but wise pain in my weary, tired hurting eyes as I go by; or the irritation in my mind?
You make me want to hate, hate and hate more,
And to dislike people.....all people.
And to not consider anyone as a friend, or true friend.
But I cannot do that! Something is preventing me from doing that.
Eben though everyone has thrown me under the bust as they say.
And I wish to consider absolutely no-one as Friend.
Something beckons me to be a hater as the Rastas say.
But something else says No...You cannot do that.
Maybe it is a strong will inside groomed by years of learning to forgive and not bear Malice.
Maybe it is some kind of intuition warning me that as they say Stress gives cancer.
And I never learnt Malice, for deeply inculcated and ingrained are the timeless values which effervesce, concoct, coagulate and precipitate a genuine ebullience which portrays my everliving...perpetual commitment to the belief that the reason for our very existence should be to always try to improve our community, society, country, the world...yes the whole whole world. And not subtract from it; Neither depart from such philosophy.
And with the most steadfast and persistent determination ever..In spite of all.
Many rocks of persecution and tarnish have been pelted at me by you, who say you know me. who brand me as 'Friend'.
But I have received all the prerequisite stoicism, perseverance, bravery and fortitude from a sturdy upbringing. Maybe not soo strong, but at least strong enough. But at least I struggle on along the way even though I am both wary and weary.
So You do not really know me.
And what, my friend is the message of this too long, too lengthy missive, especially for the weaker ones, for the slower ones? Lest I not be clearly understood, or further misunderstood.
That we need to agree to reach out even a wee bit more to the downtrodden, the oppressed : And also try to mitigate the scope of oppression and suppression as far as possible. And work most diligently towards these goals.
And really get to know and help them where possible, lend a helping hand. Stop the unnecessary and abject neglect and ridicule. Stop leaving them/us to hang out to dry on some jagged clothes line of spiteful politics in the rain of deception, deceit, deviousness, divisiveness, and division.
I live and die only to maintain still, once again, that you do not really know me, or never really cared, in spite of your deep pretense and hypocrisy.
Stop it! Yea Stop it! Cease!
As a part of wicked society, ease back a bit, and start to want and desire to be of good, cleaner Intent.
You Must certainly stop it now. Learn to reach out.
And then you will get to know me a little more.
By Lord Cam -Nevis (Poem) written...composed Fri 21/12/2018 at 8.48 pm.
© Cam Morton-Lord Cam
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