48 years past
The evil mogul –
Who gave himself totemic misnomers,
All but antinomies to his persona,
Grabbed the tribal helm,
Following a bloody Internecine mayhem.
Yes the mogoul,
Oblivious of what is going on,
Is lying in piece,
Encased and shrouded
in his cistvaen;
Not feeling the burden
As a trumpeter does the bombardon.
He saw the seeds of discord
To the ethnic tribe he belonged;
While others were overslaughed
Kept under feudal bondages’ ravaged.
Curved off their lands and gerrymandered it for socio-economic and political advantages
For his tribal entourage.
insouciant of what he left behind;
A posse of pagan phalanges felt confounded,
Desperate to keep hold
Of the stolen land
He handed them over
On a silver patter,
And promised it will be theirs,
Stained with blood.
These coterie with cretinoid mind
Believed the gnome mogoul blind
And took to heart his ladida
As that of God-kind!
They then cut spilt blood
From their palms;
Swore won’t give up the dream
Of the bygones imperial past
Thus wanted to cling to the usurped land fast.
And to reinforce their fantasy,
They call the gnome,
A mammoth Gargantuan,
A conman, that he was a Samaritan,
An Asinine, tawpie, a wise shaman.
And his victims he ruled with iron fist,
Ought to heed the kydool and threat
They will shower unto them with raging flames;
So intense any moving living it maims,
Beyond the reach divine arms;
Wrecked and ruined not even rasorial to obtain yams,
From the earth’s womb.
If Seeing others in peace,
Adhering to rules and justice,
Gearing for progress
Infuses the eyes with bloodshot;
This Is nothing but
Epicaricay, malice afterthought!
How is it possible to live with these lot?
These pagans are so short sighted,
Unable to forecast
That They would burn themselves
with the same intense
From the very plots they hatched others to wrap And entrap.
If only it takes time to catch up
And the time is now for them flump
Open is the mouth of cenote sump
It is no use up and down to jump.
I thought I had with me
the vade mecum/enchiridion,
And ዳዊት the person,
Hoping days of halcyon
Little did I know Deuteronomy
I rubbed shoulders with my
Why didn’t he cry for help
When a million Tigrayan killed
Thousands of women brutally
He now cry-wolf and call others to weep,
For fear the Amharas are under threat,
And would soon be swept,
Unless the Emperor is brought
From the dead, wrought and reinstate!