Monday, January 17, 2005

a conversation with bob marley

"How long shall they kill our prophets?"

Hello, Bob Marley
Finally your question has an answer
Or shall we say has to be updated
They no longer kill the prophets
The wallets do the talking and prophets shut their mouths.
Once we deployed comrade Ram
From labor to the government sector
He re-deployed himself to the corporate sector
By chance I met him at a dinner party
Asked him to clarify the difference
Between retrenchment and rightsizing
"It is not cultured to talk while you are eating", he said
My simple mind got the message:
How can you talk while the mouth is full?
"How long shall they kill our prophets?"
Nowadays they manufacture
Electronically modified prophets
One leg in the jet, another in the country
Heart in Washington DC, bums on jam
Eyes on loot, spooky noses
Hands on the files, soul on holiday
Libido on rampage
Enclosed children all over
Disclosed ones abroad,
Fat cheques in a Swiss bank
Skulls in the closet

"How long shall they kill our prophets?"

Hey, Mister Bob Marley
This question begs for an update
Che’ is an ornament
Biko is collectors’ item
Designer labels bought with pomp and grandiose
Paraded at exclusive clubs
By strange creatures speaking a strange language
At home in New York, terrified in Soweto
Physical citizens of Azania, mental residents of Europe

"How long shall they kill our prophets?"

Hello, Bob Marley, this question needs to be updated
Malcolm X is a citation in a dissertation
Fanon is a footnote in a thesis
Hector Peterson is a tourist attraction
Sobukwe is an artwork

"How long shall they kill our prophets?"

Hello, Mister Bob Marley
They build false monuments
In the name of the prophets
Turn heroes into iconoclast
Now they engineer cloned poets
Dreaded caricatures ejaculating sterile verses
Rhyme crazy, content shy morons
Spiting nursery rhymes for poetry

Some say it’s just the part of it
We have to fulfill the book"

Hello, Mister Bob Marley
The book of real life is unfolding
Today it is murder by memory
Bureaucrats institutionalize
The legacy of our heroes
To build an empire for themselves
From the marginal zones of shanty Alex
Biko’s ghost watches in amazement
As he is re-membered
In a club-members only banquet
In the comfort zone of urban suburbia

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