Feast Of Valtures
What's there for the poor?
by Tinashe Mupedzapasi
Bloody sweat and blistered hands
Let the fungi feast on them
Anyway, the strong man needs his table filled
Toil and suffer, cry and wail
Laughter from golden tables never seize to sound
Swim in mud to build with gold
Not for us to live
Not to sell for much
All they just give are deceiving smiles
And much caressing speech
So that tomorrow they feast on us again.