Tranquil Lake

Tranquil lake, pretty moon,
don’t tell your secret too soon.
Time runs out, but there’s plenty left,
so save your mystery from theft.
Don’t let no wizard find out,
else the magic will go, no doubt.

Shiny Maple on the bank,
a princess in a realm of green:
I hear you talk,
I hear you sigh,
your beauty no less than the stars on high.

Silvery star,
milky heaven so far,
I know there’s love
and God above.
And Shifta below.
Now, way down low.

Frog I hear your call,
screech owl, how you enthral.
Your Mother is God,
earth and sod,
and all is grand,
in this waterfull land.

Why,
should you and I,
have it easy?
do ya do it to please me?

The desert is also grand.
But no, there’s more at hand…….
God made perfection,
in the resurrection,
of dead earth,
of man’s birth.
How can the hot sand
be from the devils hand?
There is love in this waste,
just take a taste…
Gabbra’s caring,
with the family sharing.
Chalbi’s pyre
burns a heavenly desire
to live for your brother,
sister and mother.
Have not yet give all,
fight the odds, very tall.
Mother Nature’s iron hand,
is enough to stand,
yet the warring clans,
and their thieving plans,
take all away
from Gabbra’s meagre day.
No wonder they fight,
it is their right.

Pretty moon, tranquil lake,
it’s time we spake.
What is it you have, you give?
Why you make it easy for me to live?
You are no desert beauty
but you have the booty.
Are you the belligerent renegade,
that took the desert’s only aid?
You’ve got the water,
are you really Mother’s daughter?
And is desert orphaned and alone,
cast, away, from the throne?
Because you fight the best,
steal from the rest,
leave them high and dry,
to burn, with no chance to cry?
You bastard, no wonder your men have created,
that much overrated
capitalist state:-
greed and hate.
Yet, is it you, or is it me?
I’m the one with the chance to flee.
You’re just a moonbeamed lake.
For fuck’s sake,
I’m able to get out of here,
stop drinking ma beer,
get on my bike,
go for a hike,
give up this life,
take an African wife,
live in that fiery hell
make a story to tell.
I’ll join the ones that accept,
the ones adept,
at living hard lives
and still loving their wives,
children and friend
reliable to the end.

But I don’t,
I won’t,
somehow it’s wrong,
I don’t belong.
Perhaps it’s here
we should try and steer,
and educate,
before too late.
We the civilised people,
with church and steeple,
should look beyond just profit.
Just fucking well stop it.
It’s time we saw,
that we are the whore.
Third worlds don’t need no aid,
it is we, I am afraid,
that need education,
re-unification
with Universal sounds
and love that abounds
where the going is tough.
It is we that live in the rough
So let’s own up, give up, start again
maybe there’ll be one more refrain.
Stop the war of money and pride,
live in the open, don’t hide.
Allow and share,
make business love and care.
There is an answer to the human race,
slow down the pace.

Tranquil lake, pretty moon,
the secret’s out: you please tycoon.
Go back to Mother and Father
spread your wings, I’m sure you’d rather
calm the desert storms
than these executive norms.
Mother tell us all the way,
maybe there’ll be justice some day.

X      Writer Not a Fighter New Posts Notifications