Jungle Lions

With leaden mane they laze
In their craze
In the Sahara and its South. In numbers here and there
Heading prides, the unselected few in the fields where
The cob lions adore using as their playground,
And looking up to the elders to turn things around
Heads of prides pride themselves kings of the jungle
And all would a melody from their roar jingle
But they wish all waited a while
As they for all, would time kill and whirl.
By them, they are the strongmen of their territory
And for many cobs they are the object of genuine pity
For they define their territory by such delusional names
Reflecting one of their favorite games:
Libreville or Freetown translating Prisonville or Prisontown
For there they keep all subjects down
And subjects with their known tragic flaw
Obeying and abiding by the law
And forgetting where the law is lawless
Its heads and its forces enjoy obeisance less
To their pleasure or displeasure
And the People should take the measure
To assure the jingo does not cloud their minds
For it only serves as blinds
Screening the sun from providing vitamins
And stealing taste from the desired sacraments.
The lions lazing behind the pennon blast
Their music and would on to power cling to the last
And by such prefixes affix their names
As they with zeal burn like flames
Burning and burning the joys of all
Until the nations’ complete fall
As they their ground stand
And subjects would they could understand
The unreason driving the head lions mad
Declaring their Excellencies; sad, indeed sad!


22/02/08