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At every street and corners,
You find them lurking
Day and night in dark and hideous places;
Prophesying and blame-passing
Fast becoming a hobby and agenda for meetings
They are
The youthful prophets of doom.
Ask and they’ll give you a lamentation
Of how cruel the old prophets are
And of their stubbornness to give them a chance.
They’ll grieve of lack of opportunities
Despite the preposterous indices of economics
They are
The youthful prophets of doom.
“See, they call us the future leaders of tomorrow
Yet they have refused to leave for us to lead
When will that tomorrow come?
There is no hope for us in this place.
Come, let us eat and dine together
While we wait for tomorrow.
It is well, my brother.”
O generation of vipers!
Tomorrow will not come
Until you realize it is already here.
From cradle to grave,
Thou remain clueless in the belly of the proverbial fish
Lacking the creative ability to think and re-create
While the gap-toothed and clueless progenitors of transformation
Continue to promise a better tomorrow.
Yea, thou art the leaders of tomorrow;
The ones to deliver us from the familiar Egyptians.
Tomorrow, thou saith?
Pray thee, What have thou done today?
