MY MOTHER IS POOR, HER KINGDOM IS RICH

She is hardly of today here
She's rested alive on this greedy peak same time of the earth's entity
My mother owns the ingredients
She is the brewer
But her kingdom is sober
Until when mama shall we dance to the tunes after buzzing from the bowl of our own?
The clock is tough
What we breath is hard
The drink is bitter
What we own is devalued
The edible is intermittent
What our bellies own is the roaring hunger.
And now?
Being crucified on the crosses of empty stomach has come to mean nothing.
The ocean is deep
The wind is strong
We are the multiplication of Abantu
We shall swim for now and  more!