Clad in neither the knight’s armour,
Nor the lieutenant’s camouflage,
Armed not with a guerilla’s machete,
Nor the lawyer’s manner of elocution,
‘Fraid not of the opponent’s arsenal
Nor the fickleness of my allies’ promises
Committed to winning, not just this spat
Nor the inevitable battle, but the war ahead.
The battle line is harrowed,
With a heavy heart,
filled with a void of unmastered strength,
I move towards my point of success,
Popejoy marching like a knight
with a shrewdness of an ape,
Obumbrating the enemy in all angles,
And like a tokoloshe, afraid of losing.
In such an abstruse moment,
the heart is sure of winning.
Dressed for battle like a sloth of bears
Armed to the teeth ready to snare
Fuelled by rage, anger and pure brawn
Shouting battle cries, slogans
All just learned passed on by other men
Meaningless words to replace truth
What I would be saying could only
More trouble beget than we already have
Because, bless me, this battle is long overdue.