IDYLLIA (2002) #loveLost #gone #lonely

After midnight, a tear dribbles down my jaw,

My heart is torn; the darkness is rushing in,

I have been waiting forlorn for the sun at my door,

To see Idyllia glaze when I gaze at my opened door.

But the night is still dreary

As I miss her charm

And I’m still weary

Like a workaholic farmer.


Reminescing of when it was still daylight,

More tears drooling from their seat tattoo my cheek;

No! We had never thought even of twilight,

And through each day, cloud-like glided with no foresight.

Like a barren prairie

I optimistically hope;

The dark is scary,

But my consolation is a dumb praying Pope.


The wall clock sings three and I acquaint despair,

For I realise the truth is yelling out.

I dry my tears, she won’t come, the truth stabs my Coeur.

But my wish for light is forever, past when I lose my hair.

Hope she’ll come back even as I occupy my hearse.

Farewell fair fairy,

My silken girl of Utopia,

My nights will always be dreary,

And great will my fear be,

But I shall be fine, Idyllia.


(c) Nyonglema

Save Yourself (Part2/4) #EarthHour #SaveYou

Nature doesn’t need humans; it was there before and will be there after humanity is gone.

The skull had been opened as you would a coconut
To sip the sweet sap. Tsal’s blood skips with his fear
At the thoughts hitting his head, but his fears are proven fact
When he sees a silver spoon in the head, spoon branded “Pierre”.


Further down the seabed, lies another identical but intact specimen
With a matching fork he’d attempted to stick into another bone,
Before his last mitochondrion, like its peers, gave up on the machine,
Surrendering to fatigue, thirst, and probably a grave wound as shown by marks on the foot bones.


Tsal turns to Pezal to share the shock on both their faces
It was university all over again, trying to understand this:
There was water, there were plants, fertile land in most places,
And yet cannibalism was the last act of this great species.


Despair from hunger, intoxication, thirst which dominated
A race which once ordered water about with pumps and dams,
Told the wind where to blow, had command over all ever created,
But chose to destroy and not rebuild in their crazy advance.


There are many more heads half buried by the mocking wind,
Complete with scarred arms and legs, with once plastic clothes
Ripped and singed in the hot abrasive vengeful wind,
The wind which once was a gentle breeze in which bathed the olives of Rhodes.
To be continued…

(c) Nyonglema