BY ICARUS

An entry in The Crocodile Prize

Oh my Penge
What a precious fool you are
to sell yourself so cheaply
Where is your forefather’s legacy?

Your gardens, long unattended
are barren and overgrown in weeds
Our land that sustained
a hundred generations
lies pilfered, plundered and polluted

Grieve now for what you have done
more so what you have not
Give back to your descendants
what your ancestors gave to theirs.

Once upon a time
from a revered hilltop
you raised our beloved Kumul
so highly, proudly
proclaimed: identity and liberty

But you have swapped
our people’s philosophy
for wealth and prosperity
A puffed ego and procured status
adorned with bright trinkets
as your shining vanity
yet stumbling like a clown
because caring less for caution
you have chosen an unenlightened path.

Oh my Penge
What a shameless fool you are
to submit yourself so basely
How many able men will labour for you
and how many proud women
will cradle your babies?

When your sons no longer bring you
your carved walking stick
you will lie in the ruins of your hausman
in cold grey ashes and sackcloth
lamenting your misery and loss

When your daughters have all fled
to foreign tribes, as unpaid brides
or refugees of your savagery
none will return to bake kaukau
at your hearth, nor bring water
to quench your thirst
Thus you will choke
on stale memories of bygone years

At your last and final repose
with no women to wail, nor kin to console
nor chiefs to kill pigs in your honour
your garden lands will be denuded
divided among your rivals
while your untutored children
will enter into bondage
to ignobility and shame

Oh my Penge
What an insufferable fool you are
to sully yourself so ignorantly
How many good people
must endure you?

- October 2010