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Where intestines choke of opium
Receding into bloodstream like diffused fairytales
Destined for doom and incompetence
Where Daedal hands of nature allure wilderness
Promiscuity and lust
Pouring their egos and indignity into one
Where booking dot com ratings is the king
Crowning endless summers of scorching shores
Undefined bikini lines and seventy-five-year-old Masaai love stories
Walking the hall of fame in its utmost glory
Bedecked with sullied rumors and dashing daladala
Both, chasing our souls
Where from blinding lights and social status
Men rule the roost
Where days pass by like dark clouds of dismal
Vying for silver coins and dreaming of Tanzanites
Where life seems to crawl in insobriety
As if, coyly renting its steps from the walking deads
Or shall I say, smoking ghosts
Where lungs are pitted with black smog
Curtailing our linguistics and breath
Mostly, both, at the same time
Not knowing which came first
Only to utter in profound deference
“Welcome to Zanzibar!”