Say something I'm giving up on you. Words healed but turned into poison too. Anyway I'll hope you'll not go rogue. As universal wisdom loses its place, and madness Fills the space, contemporary and lifeless, Till all tongues are tied in fearful sadness. Write something I'm giving up on you. Thoughts healed but turned into poison too. Anyway I'll read you and not Vogue As editorial muscle crushes creative clout, And ink gets scrubbed off History's mouth; The victor's and the loser's versions are out. Show something I'm giving up on you. Shows healed but turned into poison too. Anyway, I've known fairies become orcs When Fulton gets replaced by Charlie's antics, And outrage is sought by setting distended ticks On minds of unsuspecting kids, glued with sepsis. Play something, I won't give up on you. I pray something can seed new hope from you. (c) nyonglema
One thousand years ago…I think in 2000-something, or so,
The cure to any basal crave procured in dark alleys was to
Authorise it illico presto
As some means of control
But did anything get better?…well I don’t think so.
Sometimes I sit and ponder time’s vast expanse
As my mind wanders over what was or could chance,
Wondering where I’ll be when life’s done its dance,
Fancy and long, and I’m off to a new dance.
As Caesar fixed the calendar in candlelit tent,
Did he think of our time and its content?
Did he wish to outlive the Ides’ portent
To see horses turn to metal skillfully bent?
Well I do. I see the chips shrink to pack more power.
And the possibilities aplenty like spring flowers
Spring from each searching mind, building towers.
Oh I do! I crave the mystical MacLeod power.
But I fall back to reason’s shocking bed:
No magazine on fancy topics new or read
Nor TV show can make a waiting room grand,
So must life be boredom if there’s no end!
AT last AT last!
I’m so happy for you. I know for sure that you’ve fought your internal battles and are ready for the journey of love.
Love is a choice, a decision which you have thought through and are making on that beautiful day. The next 100years of your happy lives depends on both of you (and the kids on the way 🙂 ). Make the best of them. Communicate communicate communicate. Talk to each other at least thrice a day…talk about everything, your fears, joys, pain, temptations. Share your projects, plans, hopes, dreams. Be each other’s mentor for growth personally, and professionally. Be great in bed, and advise each other on how to make the experience more pleasant for each other. Live the beautiful adventure of life together. Eliminate unnecessary distractions and noise that could steal the precious moments in each other’s arms.
Love love love is the key.
The future indeed begins now, and no matter what the world tells you, you shall be happy if you believe, and work hard at your couple, together. Don’t procrastinate the hard talks, don’t let anger let you say horrible things to each other. Always try to have a calm conversation, get angry but not for too long. Stay honest on your feelings to each other. Know we men are more introverted, and get us to tell you we love you, because some of us forget. Plan events together, get the man on board the projects, and get on his projects. It’s the 21st century, but men still need to feel in control of the home…give him that without becoming a slave.
Love love love is the key.
What more can I wish you but pure unrefined concentrated saturated happiness….so much of it that it overflows from your heart onto your kids and family and friends. Girls night out? Gone…replaced with cosy evenings with your heartthrob. You’ll have to relinquish some of your past, to enjoy the present. The chick must leave the comfort and security of the egg, to experience this world if he must become a brave singing cock. On the that day your life really begins, my daughter!
Love love love your husband and let him love love love you. Doesn’t matter who loves more, as long as both hearts are on the same boat to the same destination of happiness‼
God will show you the way…just a little faith will do…just a little!
Congratulations on such a great step. Blessings on the journey.
“Leave me! You’re good for nothing!”
Hitherto have I heard nothing so numbing!
Whither would she tell me such a thing?
Weathers change, I’m still thinking
About that long gone valentine.
Weathers change, birds chirp and fade,
Velds grow and grey in life’s hasty wade.
I miss her, let’s call a spade a spade.
Since my silver lining got ripped off, I’m scared.
Gone gone are those pleasant songs of Valentine.
“Kiss me! You are really something!”
Why would such sweet surges be lost in
A single line: “You’re good for nothing!”
But why mourn, more fun’s coming …
But for now, I’ll be forlorn, oh gone gone Valentine.
The beauty of being alive, to me it was belied,
Is to indulge in each minute knowing someday I’ll die!
This macabre thought walking with me through strife
And through joys made both seem shamefully alike.
The long face came a long way to mar
Each minute – that long face I pulled.
I’d curse and hurt, wishing for a better star
And miss each occasion to smile in a better style.
And if 50 was right about happiness and pain?
Then I think grandma’s passing is fully explained;
The tears poured on the grave to water the grain
Of happy memories saying “Would you were here again!”
And if Nas was right about life how you make it?
Then that thought’s had me wearing mine down to naked;
Chasing the wind surely never wrote Ecclesiasticus,
It was purpose pushed Sirach to inscribe “All’s vanity”.
Yes! Purpose, the diamond in the rough,
The needle in the hay, like finding on earth divine love:
All I learnt to seek like wading in a mangrove
Looking for gold. I have my sieve ready to go!
So why should I think death as time rolls,
And live death, even before my Holy Lord?
As I kneel down, conscious of my Purpose or God,
I’m thinking: “Why bother, when Your Will will be done?”
A heave of my breast and the crawling in of air,
That stealthy walk of air on each piece of skin
As the wind blows, and I see beauty with this pair,
Tell me I exist, but does the manikin?
Rugged surfaces my fingers would play across,
And rustle the leaves lying lazy on the grass;
Maybe that’s the difference! And that I can feel loss
when a peer surpasses Time’s hourglass.
Surely the manikin knows nor pain nor joy,
And love is but letters on silken embroidery.
And that manikin can’t choose to hate corduroy,
And less choose to indulge in day time reverie,
And the fragrance of the flowers or Boss perfumes
Stealing a smile from my face at this instant.
Surely the manikin can’t enjoy the jolly tunes
Of the choir or the visual excitement of a playing infant?
Alles ist gerade durcheinander im Zimmer,
Zerstört sind die Bücher die ich gerne las;
Und der Lärm! O wer hat ‘was getan
Zu mein lieblich Godzilla, kleines Kind meins
Mit Tränen überall auf seinem Gesicht?
A Homo negus sits in a sardine can,
With many more like him, squashed together,
All in fetters, with 10kg dissuasion strapped
To them. He’s bound on a journey he hardly can
Comprehend, nor knows he where this pain goes
Despite avoiding capture before, while watching departure of many a brother:
He watched them go and never return to their homely coves.
A Homo negus sits in a sardine can,
Smothered by the stench of piss and soulful dirges,
Singing of shark food, once valiant men, women, sons, daughters.
These actually died, but all are bound to death in some living land
Where they’re less than dogs, they’re told, and everything goes.
Survivors of the murderous voyage are tools to quell carnal urges.
They’re no longer shackled in twos, but living in groups on life’s borders:
Whipped, weeping, weak, but forced to do exactly as they’re told.
A Homo negus gets pulled out of the sardine can,
Shackled in twos, they shuffle towards the waiting room
(A claustrophobe’s hell) each pressed against the other’s 3-month filth.
Through the narrow door the red sea screams with the blood of many a human
Who challenged this madness or got sick in these conditions.
He waits for the order to board the floating tomb.
But, he doesn’t know that today this trade will be killed;
That he shall go back home to heal, and heal a nation.
When energy has been injected into the atom,
The electrons start jumping from level to level.
In the case of kids, that’s table to table,
And round the whole space, making mum
Wail inside with the noise, while dad cringes
Each time they miss a dangerous fall by inches.