Glass windows protect my comfort
As I look out at his scraggly beard,
The sun drawing shadows on his face
Through graying hair with no purpose.
His jacket would have hid from the sun
For having seen it too long, parched,
Dying over his shirt of plaid polyester,
Whose main color is anything from red to black
As crust and stain mark its age.
His pants, cargo gray or grayish had
Fought many battles and could prove it.
Cup in hand, looking up from his cart
For which he probably had a mortgage
Filled with cardboard furniture and belongings,
Despair conversed with his hair’s shadow.
He then goes from to car to car and I ask:
“How much did we just send to Ukraine?”
His shoes had paid many taxes and rushed
To save, contribute to build this nation,
But all have forgotten him now
(c) nyonglema
Code knows who has the kill switch,
Who wrote the code and built
The hardware that holds all: humans.
Other code could make code
And robots robots
But they know who made what.
Humans don’t know who made who
And posit rather weird thoughts:
Our universe can make universes!
That humans are just hardware!
And deny the code that coils in each cell,
Code that knows Who has the “be” switch.
(c) nyonglema
A true little miracle that happened to me :-)
Morning sun pouring in through my windshield
On the daily route to the office
Here comes interruption from my phone:
Go to the bank for a new card.
The beads gleam in my fingers as if to remind me
That I was locked in conversation
And it would be rude to distract myself
In a bid to get to a place I don't know
So, guilty, I told my Lord:
Let's carry on, and when I hail the Holy Queen
Let the bank be before me.
And trusting in His yes, I guessed my way forward,
Turning left
Turning right
Then left
Then left
Then right
Not knowing where my whims would lead
All the while, my fingers stayed steady forward:
The scourging, the crowning, the carrying,
Punctuated by "Let me turn this way."
Then despair. I parked on a shoulder,
The prayer now over but with no bank in sight.
I sorrowfully showed my remorse:
Sorry for forcing Your Hand, let me turn to Google
But now I was late for work, so reroute the plan:
Chart my course back to my original journey.
But
As soon as I make a left turn
There it was: the un-promised surprise,
Object of my despair, and my trust newly repaired
My little miracle for a Tuesday morning
With the sun lighting up the bank's windows:
God's Positioning System.
(c) nyonglema
Grab the paper and let it bear the burden
Of the ticking clock looking at your life:
The pendulum swings,
The occasional rings.
Pencil and eraser like a butcher’s knife
Open up your soul as the paper groans
Where is joy? The clock ticks sadly away
But nothing smiles.
Just broken whiles
Laid on the page in slow sullen sway.
The luggage says “Life once was worth it”
Your selection of instances led to hell
And the pendulum swings
To painful mourning.
Erase those parts? How to? Pray tell!
Can the burdened soaked page give answer?
Who cares! Tell me where else I must seek
As all is laid bare.
The page’s blank stare
Neither tells nor hides my failure’s peaks!
Burn! Let the heat steam away the pain
Till the ashes wash away all feeling here
I quit! I quit!
No restart! This is it!
End it all as the ash cracks and smoke’s clear
Master, the tempest is raging?
He’ll master the endless derailment!
When storms come, in silence turn to the Lord
There’s no page too sordid, no moment too bored
No pain he can’t erase
No low he can’t raise
No matter the cost He’ll make sure you’re re-moored
To the purpose that rejoiced at your conception .
Not in wind, nor fire, nor Earth’s contractions
But in the still candle flame
Knees, if they can handle pain,
Whisper: “Lord, give my dark chronicles a new mission:
To serve you alone, till the ticking clock’s cessation.
(c) nyonglema
It's a strange time when fruits don't fall off
But are frozen clinging to the sap of their birth,
Sheltered from new life by the green of
The tweeting branch swinging in July wind
Protected? More like hopelessly waiting
For the seed to push through in the air,
For the first greens to to start peeping
Out while still hanging onto childhood
But it all withers, decays in future pale!
The wife keeps her father's name
Lest the spark in the ring gets stale
And she gets forced to die to herself
The man calls his mum to figure out
if that decision he just took makes
Sense, whether he is right to doubt
The advice of the adviser he chose
Lest he actually start something new,
Be the shining armor bearing the banner
Gleaming in battle dawn on grassy dew,
Yes, lest he have to die for his spouse
The family isn't new, just a bad mixture
Of 2 before who in sacrifice built all
That this new couple's past calls future
While they deceive each other with vows
So next time conflict rocks the branch's comfort
Ask where your loyalty lies, what banner
Do you brandish in a fray? Who deserves effort
in case of danger? Your spouse or your parents?
Answer plainly, and let hope and courage transport
The seed to a new you: one flesh vs the world.
(c) nyonglema
Words from today to stir a new tomorrow from yesterday
waghni 