MP Khwezi Ka Ceza is Gqeberha-based independent political commentator, community leader and a social activist.
leather cushions do not dream,
yet they choke on velvet green
foreign currency, folded tight,
sweating softly beneath the leather spine,
waiting for an audit that smells like ozone and burnt toast.
the couch is an altar.
the farm is a kingdom of hoof and hide.
and the leader?
oh, the perpetual saviour
wipes his spectacles with a handkerchief woven from constitutional text,
uttering phrases of pure market rhythm:
transparency, process, the rule of law.
listen.
can you hear the machinery of the continent grinding its teeth?
it is an old, rhythmic rot.
from the Atlantic breakers to the Indian Ocean shore,
they arrive as liberation prophets,
eyes wide with the holy gospel of the struggle,
bags packed with empty slogans,
and they leave with steel gates, blue lights, and bulletproof portfolios.
power is not a tool here;
it is an ancient, parasitic addiction,
a chronic enlargement of the royal ego,
a disease where the symptom is a throne
and the cure is never, ever letting go.
phala phala is just a domestic cinema.
millions stuffed in upholstery like dirty laundry,
while the poor eat dust and sing freedom songs out of tune.
and now, the shadow of the gavel
the sacred dance of impending impeachment,
lawyers hovering like vultures over a bleeding carcass,
writing briefs on whether a president’s cushion
is a sovereign vault or a crime scene.
he stands at the podium,
smooth-tongued billionaire of the liberation creed,
adjusting his tie, preaching patience to the starving,
while courts tangle themselves in legal gymnastics
to decide if accountability applies to the untouchable.
they will all cling to the velvet until the seams burst.
they will rewrite history, subvert the panels, stall the clocks,
because in the grand theatre of the tropics and the veld,
a leader doesn’t retire
he simply transitions into a monument of excuses,
dying slowly on the throne,
convinced that the nation and his chair
are the exact same piece of furniture.
— The Loose Cannon