All we the folks yearned for a pause,
From the Big Men of blah blah blah’s trigger.
Jacob-the-Victim, shedding buckets of tears,
Filling his hearth pool, craving for his Umshini Wami yesteryears
Cyril the faint-hearted, in a puzzling trance,
Millions of {dollars} present in his couch by likelihood
But the joy-sucking Commissar takes the cake
With his fiery purple beret, and his phrases of hate.
In February he started with a stunt,
Storming the stage at the Sona, wyd kant.
Desperate for relevance, he used purple rage to point out his rise as the King of Woke.
Sadly we noticed it for what it was: an attention-seeking joke.
But Julius, undeterred by details or cause,
Ordered a shutdown, a rebellious season.
March 20th it was, with a purpose fairly dramatic,
To oust President Ramaphosa, a plan erratic.
Yet, how embarrassing, when none joined his refrain,
His name for revolt went unnoticed by us.
In May, with a declare, hysterically daring,
He predicted a grid collapse, a narrative untold.
And who to avoid wasting us? Oh, the irony’s wealthy!
Molefe and Koko, each accused in a glitch.
Part of a scandal, a corruption case huge,
Yet Malema noticed them as saviours, unsurpassed.
Come July, in a transfer of energy and may,
Malema confirmed a call, below the highlight.
Two hundred and ten of his personal, proven the door,
For failing in duties, they have been half of no extra.
Yet he, in his glory, on a podium raised,
Confetti round, as if he must be praised.
A messiah, a saviour, in his personal fancied dream,
But to the onlookers, it was a cringe-worthy scene.
Attacking judges, threatening friends in his social gathering,
Praising a tycoon, his actions not hearty.
But the grinchiest second, oh, it takes the cake,
Was his name in opposition to the Springboks, a surprising mistake.
Claiming they stood for supremacy, white and stark,
His phrases, not simply harsh, however lacking the mark.
So right here stands Malema, on this story fairly actual,
A tin-pot tyrant, with a grinch-like attraction.
A cheer-sucker, a limelight seeker, in actions and voice,
In a world needing unity, he made a divisive selection.
Thus ends our story, in Seussian rhyme,
Of Julius Malema, in 2023’s time.
A personality, complicated, in South Africa’s huge play,
A reminder of decisions all of us make every day. DM
By Heretic, with just a little assist from an AI bot who says she’s resigning from rhyme after this foray into human insanity of the South African sort.
This story first appeared in our weekly Daily Maverick 168 newspaper, which is on the market countrywide for R29.
