Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many speeches made by someone who has never learned,
That you do not push your glasses, with the digit meant for asses,
And your words should come across with education, never earned.
‘It’s the President,’ I muttered. ‘Trying to score some brownie points,
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in that bleak December,
Where the people booed him at the passing of our nations hero.
All the world was there to witness, how he seemed so very witless
Even when compared to Thamsanqa Jantjie, he was deemed a zero
When compared to someone of the stature of Barack Obama,
Nameless here for evermore.
Now of course they bus supporters, making sure that no reporters
Catch the news and tell the nation of his many varied doings;
So the stadium is filled with cheering ANC supporting masses
Who don’t care a whit about his many wives and all his screwings
All the poor in Mbombele huddle in their little shacks, say,
‘This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
I got up and switched the TV to a less offensive channel;
But the fact is I was napping, and there came the sound of rapping,
And the racket of a praise singer, who pranced before the panel
Making sure he praised them each and every single one by name
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the violence was unbroken, and the ANC a token,
Of the scary future that awaited, and the chaos still in store
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, ‘No More!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a droning, hesitating speech that stuttered on.
It was once again the President and he, notorious resident,
Of the infamous Nkandla that has seen the millions gone
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
‘A bag of wind and nothing more!'
And I felt my heart aflutter, when I witnessed all the clutter,
Up there stepped the man who would be king, as in the days of yore.
He made not the smallest bit of sense; but made sure to give offence;
To the people as a whole, and he shocked them to their core
When he said they’d rule till Christ was at the door -
Smug, and fat, and nothing more.
Then he sang, ‘Bring my machine gun,’ and it almost made my tum run,
With his dancing and his singing and his jolly, shaking belly
‘We are going to stop corruption!’ said he to a great eruption
Of the grimmest mirth that turns the knees of decent people to pure jelly
‘We are going to make six millions jobs, to satisfy the poor!’
Said the poorest, ‘Nevermore.’
Much I marvelled this ungainly clown to hear discourse so plainly,
Though his words had little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Could so plainly speak of lies and promises and little more
But still he keeps the Presidency and commands the hapless poor,
And we beg them to say `Nevermore.'