Categories
joy

The End #live

The End is at the start of every movie like winter and snow.
Like Autumn the most, the rest will surely surly follow
While you frown. There are things an eraser must allow
And things tattooed next to your eye, just below the brow: 
The End is at the start of every movie like winter and snow. 

It’s easy to ignore the metal chipping away as the engine churns, 
Or the magnets slowly turning away as the Earth turns. 
Even Kobe knew his jersey was meant to be hung off the floor
The fire from the line tamed, and yet it’s easy to forget, for 
It’s easy to ignore the metal chipping away as the engine churns. 

But let not the day be your friends opening the door with hats, 
For there’s no cake, no replay, no rewind, just you and the facts.
Facts haunt you in that instant: your beds in disarray, unmade
Are where you must lay, and they bring you acrid lemonade, 
But let not the day be your friends opening the door with hats. 

So be ready, for every movie like Winter and Snow
Has its moment, and you’re the artist putting on your own show
And when the Producer pulls the curtain, we want rounds of applause
Let the next act with no drawn-out we-‘re not ready pause ’cause
The End is at the start of every movie, like winter and snow. 

(c) nyonglema

Categories
sadness

Country off Law #Cameroon #freeMiMi

Truth, trough, through.
Health, stealth, felled

Truth brought joy the moment you spoke it
Troughs are where they went to stoke it
Through it they drove fire after spokes hit.

Health was what she had before she spoke it
Stealth was how New Bell made the stroke hit
Felled is the word to describe where hope is

Hope, a strange word,
It carries an upswing like a plane taking off,
Or like an uppercut swinging into your voice box

Either way, nobody raises a finger when truth
Is felled into a trough with thorough stealth
And the health of a nation cannot pull through

Every one stands and watches the vampire eat up
Their neighbour. Turns don’t go round, they stop
Just before the protagonist gets saved by his pop.

The lawyers got it, the teachers got it, the students
Got hit. The gutters are a comfy place to be lonely,
With sewage or not, all were potent (but sordid) portents

The chalkboard got covered with the same lesson like Bart,
“I will not speak against the old man with the darts”
“I will not speak truth, lies about him or his art.”

Silence is a crime. Violence is a crime. Living is like grime
Where slime fills your thoughts, and you can’t expectorate,
Because they expect you to with cocked rifle and unjammed nine

Just before the protagonist gets saved by his pop,
The vampire eats up the pop, and we realise this won’t stop;
Freedom’s Caesar at Pompei’s feet, gasping, gaped, you move to act but,

Breathe, heave, leave
Sigh, cry, die.

(c) nyonglema

Categories
sadness

Silence

Bullet holes never make noise.

The wife watching the blood ooze from her heart she had given to be kept
Will surely scream for help in a wilderness where hospitals are unicorns.

The kids watching will maybe be quiet in shock, for death is something
Strange, like an old unicorn, like a dying unicorn. Their tears will speak.

The assailants will most likely keep screaming and thudding, as they protect
Their team from the bullets they called for. Carrying their wounded and dead.

The guns will keep firing, as their owners pull their legs about freedom
And their bullets silently steal blood or steal souls like mini-Reapers.

The government will pass blame, the opposition will pass blame, and both
Will stay silent on how they can stop the bullets from making guns loud.

But bullet holes never make noise.

They just wring your heart, hopes, and joys in one silent instant, and leave you
Clutching your breast, squeezing the person who now must also remain silent.

(c) nyonglema

#RIP Charles Wesco. God’s got you.