Sanity scurried far from the ranch house.
Sanctity followed suit in a haste.
Inhabitants scampered about like the chicks without
their mother-hens.
Aggression and disagreement hovered the roofs in zest
as its paramount features.
Although the surrounding was repleted with assorted rubies,
it was built with woods.
In the age of Adam, the ranch was distinct mud structures
standing sovereigns in divine geographies with the natives
in their golden jubilee.
And not unsatisfied with the leads of their unanimous leaders.
Age the dreads of the gods jolted people to consciousness
that they did not eat the meats of vultures as edibles. Culture
wielded great powers across the lands.
Tradition paid no respect to status nor age. Sanity lived
amicably within the people. Sanctity was idolized.
But came the foreign vampires with their super arsenals
and pawned off the natives’ lions; mowed down the mud
structures. The distinct lands they conjoined, shoving aside the
security of the natives. And raised an extreme ranch house.
Lo! There commercial center. Wasn’t the die casted?
Then went away the vampires leaving behind a conglomerate
ranch of Cat and Dog inhabitants who created bloody scenes
in every blink of the sun’s eye.
Read – Blues of Death – A Poem by Motshidisi Pitso, South Africa
