The Drums

The drums are calling, old man, and they are louder by the day.

They are calling you to judgement and now's the time to pay,
for the wrongs you've done your country and the trust betrayed.
So hear those drums swelling, hear well and be afraid.
You came to power on waves of hope that you would make your mark,
in a land that shone in Africa like diamonds in the dark.
In simple faith the people put their trust in your care,
and were repaid by the Fifth Brigade and the CIO and fear.
Twenty eight years of motorcades and lavish trips abroad
A nation's heritage is lost through patronage and fraud.
The Chiefs grow fat while people starve and famine stalks our homes.
On idle farms the weeds grow rank and cover cattle bones.
The youth are taught your slogans but even as they sing
The drums of change are beating for the truth is seeping in.
The demagogue has feet of clay and lies will not sustain
the shattered land that once seemed free and will be so again.
Too late to blame the drought, the Brits, the Whites, the MDC.
For all know where the finger points with cold finality.
So hear the drums, old man, and listen to them well,
They foretell of your end days and they have much to tell.
For he who sows the seeds of hate will reap the grapes of wrath,
so tremble in your bed at night, at the end of your sorry path.
Unknown