Clean fire place

The fire just went out in the hearth, 
As the pot, cold stares out the hut door. 
The wood burnt, yet nothing anymore 
Can tell the story of the flames it bore. 

Clean out the dust, clean it out! 
Our God is an awesome God who loves to see
Cleanliness in everything! Clean quickly
For Him to see how clean our feat

Even the darkened soot mud walls
Seem to cower and hide, lest one notices
That they witnessed the fire, that pieces
Of history reside in their crevices 

As webs dangle from the bamboo overhead, 
Darkened by that fire, slowly swaying 
In the windless silence of the day greying. 
The cold pot silently stares out the door. 

What pain put out the fire in the hearth? 
What self-glorification deceives in aspect, 
Forcing cleanliness, not as one would expect
By seeing the ashes, picturing insects
Dancing in the flames that made them 
Smoke rising, lighting the walls, 
A cacophony of color, noise, mayhem
Under the metal pot enthralled. 

What pain put out the fire in the heart? 
To deny the fire once there, to deny ashes, 
A mark of humus in the  very code of DNA, 
A hot pot changing the fruits of the day, 
Seeing God not in our earthly feats 
But directing our feet along His own way? 

What pain hides the fire from the heart? 
Lift the wood and live again, light a new flame
Light a new flame, and touch the ash. 

(c) nyonglema

No god ?

The multiverse expands beyond human imagination, 
The monoverse as well, spreading in every direction. 
Are we alone? Was mars ours before? 
The questions stomp on Einstein's ant brain
Yet others gnaw at its toe nails, as if
To mock at greatness, as if they could win all. 

Yes, others study humbly and can tell what destruction 
80kg of weird humongous monstrosity can action 
In their ant-ly lives. Those gnawing think 80kg, 50, 
20kg are all the same. 
Is lack of knowledge about something, proof 
That all answers are equally possibly true? 

Is black dark grey and white a lighter black? 
Is killing 10 people same as 5 million lives, 
Or is starving an infant in a death camp
The same as denying a meal to a migrant? 
Is failing to save the planet, the same as 
Failing to save your neighbor's house from flames? 

Does the decapitation by one justify the inquisition? 
Or does the inquisitor's evil justify decapitation? 
Does the guillotine prove fickle humanity, 
Or does it show the eternity of revolution? 
Are all theories of our existence valid, 
In spite of the contradictions beaming from them? 

In our quest for the mind of God, as said Albert, 
Can every theory explain our reality accurately? 
Is the addition of 2 and 2 same as 2²? 
Are we claiming no god based on our understanding, 
Or our lack of understanding of our surroundings? 
Are we ants that gnaw, or ones that seek to grow? 

(c) nyonglema

The Journalist’s Lies

“The rules are simple: they lie to us, we know they're lying, they know we know they're lying, but they keep lying to us, and we keep pretending to believe them.”

 ― Elena Gorokhova, A Mountain of Crumbs



Lions brawn teeth hair fierce mane
Death silent sentient salient insane

First a scratch on marble, neglected
It widens, all see it, neglect it
Blood oozes pus, we gonna let it

What's a little Fib to evil? 
One starts the rise to new levels
Then one again before in shovels
It leaps to hell totally disheveled

2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21
Fibs eat laxity with no laxatives on
34 climbing up to 4-1-8-1
Eyes turn away; what's a little Fib growing? 
We'll find a way even when Truth's gone. 

Lions brawn teeth hair fierce mane
No courage to face pain to heal game
It's not all false, it's not all bane
So let's pretend everything here is sane
Let's let evil remodel and set its reign
Death silent sentient salient insane

(c) nyonglema




Sola scripturina

Welcome to high school, where the books
Need cranes, the pens get drained 
And, and... you'll overload the brain! 

So, wise student, see here this gizmo:
All formulae, all concepts here for you, 
Picked and chosen all that pain to eschew

Newton's central idea, Lorentz's too
Lavoisier, Curie, Mendeleev, Bohr, more
In little print, focusing just on core. 

Of course the details long to be read
Upon the hundreds of pages that hide, 
Behind each of this books pages' side

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut................

This student Luther, the know-it-all 
Has determined that the Principia is 
Not needed to get the central theses.

That our little book intended to aid
Is solely sufficient, so ditch the rest,
Rely solely on these excerpts for the test. 

(c) nyonglema

Expertise

Which book has been the most burnt, 
The most insulted, the most analyzed, 
Challenged, denigrated, hated? 

Experts in the comment section 
Light up the fireworks of opinion. 
Greek and Hebrew and Aramaic 
Hold no secret to them. 

The History of the People whose
Words fill its pages is as 
Elementary as ABC to them; they 
Can re-enact it from their homes. 

Armed with the sword of language, 
History, culture, Geography, 
Philosophy and science of the day, 
They hack away, they hack away! 

Contradictions? hack hack hack. 
Falsehoods? hack hack hack. 
Human inventions? hack hack hack. 
Their keyboards sharper than steel!

They've read all 73 books, stroke 
For stroke, and can parallel texts,
One section to other, to see how each author
Made up the story to suit their narrative. 

Or they have not? But 1 video is sufficient, 
They're now experts of everything! 
The Book is false, the tradition as well. 
Their feelings and opinion are the Truth. 

Encouraged by others like them who 
In pride turned Its words into rascals, 
Bending them to do their will over the Will
They type away, playing "God". 

(c) nyonglema



After Trump 2

So now Trump lost, and Facebook, Twitter, Alphabet, Hollywood and the MSM won...

Hold back your tears, Marcus Antonius, as the toga
With holes which is prop to your words.

Lost for words, the crowds try to catch your every word.
Their ears try to synthesize hope from them, 
The man on the pedestal will no more give them such hope
And hopefully he taught them how to fish. 

No more will their voices be heard, even 
As the gramophone goes silent. 
For four years they heard their echo with solutions
And saw these take form according to their wish. 

The storm within seeks an outlet to simmer down, 
But Caesar wasn't enough for the conspirators.
They want more blood, as a cat taunting its catch, 
The murderer stabbing the lifeless victim
Forgetting that anger leads always to great evil
Especially when egged on by a victor's muzzle.

Hold back your tears, Marcus Antonius, and keep peace, 
In spite of Newton's third law, hold back, keep peace.

(c) nyonglema

History be kind

Put on your soft mittens as you mete out punches
The stench of despair has sent the flies flying
As wretched voices die in the agony of the trenches, 
Smoke, fire, death, silence, blood slowly crying. 

Don't let those tears disappear without telling
Of how they came to be. From aching gland burning, 
From swollen heart entrapped dreaming of belling
Of events that cause in all for justice a yearning 

Don't let the fires chew up the browning pages
Where once sordid tales told the willing student
Of what would come this way, or that way, the wages
Of right, wrong; the way of the vile, of the prudent

Telling of wretched voices dying in the trenches, 
Of smoke, fire, and of blood slowly crying. 
Don't let memory die as they split us into tranches
To silence half, then lead both halves into trenches. 

(c) nyonglema

In the desert

I hear voices telling me I'm not enough.
My inadequacies gang up for an intervention, 
And I'm the center of their morbid attention:
"You are and will be found wanting."

Camel skin marked the way way back. 
The desert stirred as "Repent" echoed along 
The lonely shores of the River Jordan, and throng
Upon throng came to listen. I'm not there. 

A straight, flattened way for the Lord
Was the requirement for any form of joy. 
Yet all I bring are curves, hills and voids, 
And inability to do better or more. 

"Before birth, before you were formed..."
I've read that, but should I believe it? 
Definitely it was meant for some great prophet, 
Not me, seed on rocky soil wilting away

How shall the Lord travel these traps 
That my hungry angry soul sets in despair? 
How shall he navigate a heart so in disrepair
Even spiders won't build webs there? 

"Don't be afraid, for I am with you...."
Whispers floating to my cowering ears
To persuade me to cast away the fears
That gang up to jail-bar my attention. 

With four candles burning on the wreath, 
And my healing heart still thinking about my fate 
While making the straight to welcome the babe
I move to not be afraid for He is with me

It's a child's craft on the potter's wheel, 
The trembling fingers on the archer's bow, 
A wrench eating at a loose nut, but I sure know
That I'm not alone in fixing that manger 
Which for the Architect is Heaven's harbinger

(c) nyonglema


Luck

The electrons rush down their path, 
Reacting to my finger pressure on buttons. 
It's all by chance. 

I hit the gas pedal and lurching 
Forward, the trees rush past the moving wind. 
It's all by chance. 

Infra-red waves open the portal 
To news, the world and its fun on my TV screen, 
It's all by chance. 

The blender spins to chop, 
Perfectly sharpened and balanced to act, 
It's all by chance. 

Oh... you don't think so? 
You think we should credit some human
For this genius and the art? 

Yet...

The Earth floats between death and sun, 
In a solar system set just right in the milky way, 
But it's all by chance. 

Celestial bodies pummel everything, 
Sparing Earth despite their random deadly craze
But it's all by chance. 

Solar flares cast deadly rays, 
But the ozone is just there so you tan just right, 
But it's all by chance. 

Our brains can think about thinking 
About another person thinking about thinking, 
But it's all by chance. 

Yes, 

You want me to believe that in history, 
One day a cat gave birth to a beast not a cat
And another cat gave birth to that same species
And they met, and happily started a new line of 
Not cats... just by chance. 

Like at some point a unicell 
Moved out to become multicellular
And made you, randomly, by picking the luck 
From the safe possible DNA/RNA recombinations: 
1 to quadrillion cells in less than a trillion years, 
Just by chance. 

That out of millions of possibilities, 
You made it to the egg, just by chance. 
That you're just a fluke
The result of mere luck
A glitch in the machine. 

(c) nyonglema