He always hallucinated about the lost charred dream when the country was referred to not as land but ‘the land’ saying I came to this world with two hands to give and receive not hoard and grab the little that made the land beautiful.
He dreamt of freedom from forced workmanship and tranquillity to cross borders not with tanks but tractors where we would swap harvest and dance merry to tunes of different aromas not hauling fences where borders stood but all he sees today are occasional outbreaks of peace in this land.
We had rocks and brains, from the rocks we made cement and from the brains we hoped to make the future a dream that was raped on the king’s dining table by insolent youth. When we went to work and dig he used put his hoe facing the enemy not as a threat but a reminder of whom to fight but now the hoes point in our country men and frequently rest on the head.
We postponed journeys if it happened to rain now things aint right if the bus is late
he moaned and wish the govt was made of shepherds for it would give them time to think because the more scarred the shrine the greater the bitterness and bloodshed that has stained it but the only lesson he learnt was that we will not be the choosers of our own destiny because the white collar elites are busy trampling trying to think for the blue collar who are politically ignorant.
Once in a while when he prays and tills the land he takes time to probably say names he wishes god to remember because when you place two politicians of today together all you get are three opinions. All bogged down in greed and self interest only using the numbers game to appease that hoe democracy. When papa sees them he always rolls his frustrations in saliva and pours them into the wind. Crushing them under his grey boot because the greed politicians, they are uncultured and refer to men of pas age as useless and backward,
‘They ask what you expect from them; they grew up in caves and wore their pyjamas in the street’
The politicians brand us as used to states telling us what to do I remember one screaming when he was speaking on radio,
‘That we are a people who fear a competitive society because it shakes our bones’
competitive their passcode to unlimited swaths of wealth and state force that they use to scramble the resources of the land as though they are revenging because she slept with their favourite lovers.
Instead of folding his knuckles and fighting for the land the old school way or joining the failed elder states man organization that litter this faceless war over ideology grand pa always locks his artillery in time hoping one day at a future date some fresh face will decord his wisdom and let his love for the land heal the wounds. He says
‘I grew up in a culture where they serve coffee first and then tea because life is mostly bitter and a little sweet’