Slap miss bite reach me
Droplets gone new droplets on
Kill blood cells kill me
(c) Nyonglema
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Jammed #douala #lagos
No strawberry, no mango, no raspberry or sour fruit,
Just me, angry honks buzzing overhead, while smoke stabs the planet.
A seed is sown, a green one that whispers jealousy, painted
With the blood of all those cars on another way, going ahead, going away
While angry honks buzz overhead, and I’m still, stabbing the planet.
It’s jam, there’s a little too much of it in the glass jar,
Staring at me wicked-eyed, like : stay there, let the ants
Eat your sticks on the clutch, while you wish to shift the stick.
The sun gets bored, the wheels move an inch, no just a pinch
Of the jam. It dips it in vinegar and pours on my tongue, water
Water, cars all around, but no water in site, and no shops in sight
And no bottle inside my hell, where the air conditioning drones
And the air mocks my impatient fingers drumming on the wheel, to the
Rhythm: heartbeat, temple vein, anger, heartbeat, temple vein, bigger
Stick shift, clutch, move, heartbeat temple vein, honk, frown, bigger
Thinking about jams, how delicious they are with bread, strawberry, other
But how this jam is going to call the raven on me stabbing the planet,
Stuck in the evil stare of the glass jar, wishing to shift,
That’s a real bother.
(c) Nyonglema
I wish to care….#nobodyCares
There’s the impatient man stomping the time away,
And the kid pushing the buttons that raise the hair
And temperature, and voice of his parents, running around.
The screen flicks through the album it was given,
And the speakers blare out exactly as they are told to.
She’s on the phone, clutching it like a deep sea dive
Scuba. She listens, answers between gasps and
Muffled tears pushing out of the cocoon heavy on
Her heart
It’s broken.
She nods while a hand wipes her cheek.
Her wet knuckles listen, and her cracked lips answer.
Even the bags hanging like weights around her crimson wells
Cannot contain the pain, it seems.
I’m holding my pen, and I look on.
I dare not ask lest my heart break.
I dare not ask lest my ask breaks in.
We all from our eyes’ corners watch her dissolve away
And start asking questions:
“Did she just lose somebody dear to Death?”
“Did she just love somebody dear and he left?”
“Did she just lose her job, and tells somebody dear?”
Only, nobody touches her shoulder and asks her;
We ask ourselves.
Nobody spares her knuckles the teary chore,
Nobody cares.
(c) Nyonglema
Just one day #worldRefugeeDay
You know that one thing that rents your mind space like a blink,
The tornado of meaning as predicted by feelings and yards of ink
Was a mere heave, and the elements paused to listen to nature breathe
And you’re back to the cocoon whence Nemo got word from the white rabbit.
You’re back to the cocoon whence Nemo got word from the white rabbit,
Oblivious of the maggot feast of society and the prisons of habit
Where hopes meet dreams, and share Hennessey, the other Salmiakki
Some Sake and Odontol in coffins of fun, trust, love…apparently
Some sake and odontol in coffins of fun do, but trust and love apparently
Don’t suit that “Day” set out to deal with what we deal with currently,
And won’t fix anything. But you know most things are so important to humanity
That we set one day out for them, so we don’t forget how important.
That we set one day out for it, so we don’t forget how important
Maimed families from months of murder seeking new grounds to haunt,
Survivors who have everything they’ve lost stored in camps on the outskirts
Of life’s comfort, hidden from the sun’s rays, all crimped together are.
Off life’s comfort hidden from the sun’s rays, they stay all crimped together
Looking to the world which flung death at them, ruffled death’s feathers
Till he came hacking at innocent children watching death unfold
In gory Nandinis of blood, concrete, dust, metal and screams
In gory Nandinis of blood, concrete, dust, metal and screams,
With the distant gaze of art show rooms, I see shattered dreams
And dedicate this one day to something so important to these maimed families,
And dedicate the other 364 to making weapons and wars to maim families.
(c) Nyonglema
This is to refugees, women, youths, parents…all those things which seem important to humanity that we celebrate them once a year, and destroy them the rest of the year.
Sleep …or not #insomnia
The waves quietly pat the boat where the sheep jump the gates, the clouds float away, the squeegee mops away at the drowning noises of today’s hustle.
The buildings walk next to the roads in discourse about when they saw me, and invite a whole bunch of faces to their rave.
I reach out as they beckon, but there’s a clock wearing a silky tie, with the smaller side tugging on my wrist. The conversations turn into murmurs I want to hear, but
There I go, pulled to pixels, mouses (mice) and little squares taunting me, wishing to be poked at to make the DOW indices hop around.
Sorry guys, I have to pick the DOW
(c) Nyonglema
Wrong place #paris #kolofata
Nine burnt souls float over roasted mayhem where souls are tugging their way out of resilient bodies.
All they remember is a bright light; the deafening din rushed towards their maimed bodies like Sir Hewett, and you know what they say about not hearing the bang…
They will no longer bathe in the bitter burnt flesh fragrance heavy in the smoke blundering through the debris.
They will not agonise with the grunts and moans coming from where wood and flesh, metal and flesh, and earth and flesh dance the Black Swan with darker shades of hell and oozing red.
But, they will nevermore hum a lullaby to the drowsy eyes of toddler dreams, nor bless the lips of a lover with a touch of their lips.
Their seat shall slice onions into the hearts of those sharing meals at the dinner table, and the past tense will follow every mention of the scathing memories of how happy they made this one or that one.
The media will mention their names for all to hear….or maybe not. This didn’t happen in Paris; who cares if 2 prepubescent girls blow up a refugee camp in Kolofata?
(c) Nyonglema
Dusting the pictures #immigrant #Libya
I’m looking at my wall decorated with frames of different sizes, colours,
Most of eyes smiling back at me from years I have long forgotten.
The dust jealous sits upon them scattering the rays of sun that slowly pours
Into the living room to warm the day at noon and bathe my cotton.
This can’t be: my cloth takes them down one by one to clean.
I remember this day in the village amongst tall corn crops and loud silence
When we tilled the soil and planted corn, groundnuts , beans
And mum snapped away at you, me in the hoes and farm tools’ violence.
I remember this day in the village amongst tall corn crops and loud silence
We held hands and shared smiles and selfies, laughs and hugs. Then
Was a hell of a time. No TVs nearby to fill our joyous days with violence
Just you, me, holding hands while the tweets swung the leaves above them.
Look how fragile the kids look into your face staring at me,
The camera captured every curve of your face like sharp knives
Pointed at the salt trickling now down my cheeks. I just wish I could be
Wiping the dust off this with you, while we walk through our lives.
This one is a clipping from the news on that day..I won’t forget that day,
Black and white text to tell me that I’ll never see your face again.
The sea shall keep you safe, with our kids…why did you run away?
I wipe off the dust near “…boat capsizes over the Mediterranean… ”
(c) Nyonglema
Working for the white man #noRacism #coloursNsmells
This is what I learnt from working for the white man:
The rainy season will come each year, and so will the dry
And bosses can be mean, they can be sad, they can be shy
And life will move on even when the targets seem high
And the team will be there, to scoff but sometimes say fie
But they can lift you high with a good laugh, or just smile.
I learnt to be humble in front of challenges, for God
Put them there to shine through the successes we got.
Then,
This is what I learnt from working for the black man:
The rainy season will come each year, and so will the dry
And bosses can be mean, they can be sad, they can be shy
And life will move on even when the targets seem high
And the team will be there, to scoff but sometimes say fie
But they can lift you high with a good laugh, or just smile.
I learnt to be humble in front of challenges, for God
Put them there to shine through the successes we got.
And,
This is what I learnt from your puzzled mind:
We’re all the same deep under, and the colour doesn’t determine
What success or failure or iniquity or sanctity you bring.
Black, white, dark, spiked, light, night, yellow, mellow,
I’m looking at you looking at me, but we’re all one big shadow
On this sphere spinning in nothingness. That colours, smells
Are just ways to make the labrador hate hounds and spaniels.
I learnt to be humble in front of challenges, for God
Put them there to shine through as we merge into one pod.
(c) Nyonglema
Laudatur probitas #politics
It all starts with a good intention If I could change the world? The switching of seasons can’t bring constancy of reason, Where my people live treason, and profound division In silence, in a world Where their full potential is nobody’s goddamn mission. And escalates with good intention And that’s insane! My damn mission is to alleviate your burdens, Elevate the status quo, no matter what the wardens Say in this bloody prison, I’m breaking the chains I’m going to fight for you sisters and brethren! And intentions with fodder gain attention And graciously turn to further actions Fight till my blood’s gone. Walk with me, fallen and lost, walk with me past the present Into a future where there’s no sullen, no dreams evanescent Only throngs growing strong, And I’ll make you see Heaven on Earth when I’m president! And the actions grow to the expectations Of those good intentions And now I’m president, how much better! See justice live in day, live from vampirism of before, See collaboration with the opposition, but I want more! Let’s find solution to every matter Through collaboration, I’ve told you I need more and more. And temptation comes to haunt the decisions As attention clouds intentions, warping the actions I told you I need more, more! Walk with me. What? I said coercion isn’t a foreign language, When the army can assuage, or assiege your verbiage Of disses to me, and my chores! Walk with me now, or you’ll be safe from hampering us in your cage! And the actions warped by other intentions… For we must reach this target, Set by him who pays our bills. We must comply with the majority’s wish. Nothing else matters than keeping this power I have, this power which Ebbs from my assets, And if you think of stopping me, we’ll have you served a gifted dish And the actions warped by other intentions… And if anybody complains, We are taking them out. Ungrateful lot, I made you who you are And now you question the very mind that took you out of mar Into a new existence plane? Damn you all, let’s see who can get me off this high of power! And the actions kill the budding good intentions, As if good intentions were greed, Forgetting, where they came from, Forgetting that they were fighting greed. And that all started with a good intention. (c) Nyonglema
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