All posts by nyonglema

I love to write to inspire, to salvage and to heal. I believe there's power in word and language that can cure all the ills which take away human love an life. Keep reading, you'll find yourself.
sadness

Talking with bullets? Lose-Lose #Cameroon

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It was easier before:
    The cock crowed, Jesus turned, the tears flowed
    The cock crowed, I turned, and the shower flowed
    The cock crowed, luck turned, and tears flowed.

Easy solutions were easy to get while things were easy
But nine stitches rhyme with nine lives in their sick essay,
So time stitched hell and instead of being stitched in time
The fabric gaped open to swallow into its darkened slime
The baby, the bath water, the room, the parents, the villagers,
The fires, the char, the innocent, the pillaged, the pillagers.

It was easier before:
    But we always want more, and the tears flow
    But we always want war, and gun showers flow
    But we always taunt luck, and the tears flow.

Easy solutions were easy to get but Greed’s chains are titanium
Laced in a diamond lattice tying down the maestro of pandemonium.
The constitution had saved once, but those promises fell into the slime
Stitched by hell to cut workers’ pockets to benefit organised crime
Where everybody wants favour, everybody seeks the power to sign
At the expense of kids’ futures, mothers and fathers crying.

It was easier before:
    But now I need a visa, and I may not go
    But now I need a visa, to live in my own home
    But now I need a visa, to live.

Easy solutions will be easy to get where competence is worth any
But everybody wants favour, so logic took a stray bullet in the alley
And Cameronians closed their eyes on children crying
Everybody closed their eyes to the economy slowly dying
As if we were not one! I say we are one, and this war cannot be won
Until we become truly one: citizens, leaders (citizens), doing all to brighten the sun

It was easier before:
    But now everybody is strapped, like that fixes anything
    But now everybody is trapped like they can’t fix anything
    But you wear your ego like that fixes anything!

It is still easy now:
Let’s get back to being humans, talking with humans.
               That
                  fixes everything

(c) nyonglema

sadness

Blocked #writersBlock

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Writer’s block is writing blocks all over me
To the point that worlds of words whirl
Round my head, enticing, yet I’m hyperbole
Of silence, absence. The blank page beckons
At muses from Italy, Stratford ‘pon Avon, the sea
And more, yet I’m nature’s tantrum in a tea cup.
I blame the clock: it’s inner workings have slowly
Robbed me of potential to let the ink rave
Over time, I’ve stood, poring at its inconsistency
Writing bullet and burn holes over all hope
And plunging the madness into deeper fallacy
While the Maker’s tears pour over a forsaken breed.
And I pause to breathe, wish to utter but heave.
I blame the clock. Looking up at it in early years,
I saw shadows of joy, but shadows? I didn’t understand it.
So, the words whirl and twirl me, and I’m drowning,
Deeper, drowning in a silent absent blanket.

(c) nyonglema

Others

His first poem #NatureIsSpeaking @conservationorg

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I still remember him reciting this when he was 4 years old, now he’s writing his own words…so proud…

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The little icons play games on the phone screen,
As my little monster muses playing Subway Surfers,
His new drug, my new bane.
Well we parents are keen
To teach him how to live through all life offers
In words, hugs and a cane,

If necessary. I grab the phone like to grab his attention
Fleeting from object to object like bees in a meadow.
But really I did,
I grabbed his attention,
Turned it to the page opening up poetic knowledge’s window
In words unhid,

Yet unknown to me yet. Simple words he must recite
To mum and dad, and Mr Grumpy tearing through age three
Happy to have the phone
Not even turning right
To see the first performance of the object of sibling rivalry
And true friendship shown.

“If all the seas…“, I interrupt the poet rudely
Mouth hanging on the words, longing to…

View original post 253 more words

Others

Genocide is just a word

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As the 1st of October draws near, this is what I’m thinking about…

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Happy celebration Cameroon

It all starts with the “genos” part:
? ?If there’s no race, it doesn’t exist
?? So history gets braided into little kids’ hairs
?? Till they remember only the victor’s tryst
?? With death, in order to save our forebears
?? For graves never wrote history. A cyst
?? Of truth is hidden deep where the death of fear
?? Meets the death of youth at the barrel to the sun.
?? Lifafa is wiped with the shroud of Um
?? Till “genos” is but a word in beach sand.

And with no “genos” there’s no “cide” :
?? Self defence is the panacea of every atrocity
?? Little children with gaping brains
?? Young girls’ cocoons bitterly maimed
?? Young boys disappear to be brutally tamed
?? Humanity at the end of life gets hastened
?? And propaganda is Elvis doing a pirouette
?? On…

View original post 61 more words

joy

The Monkey Series: David and the Painter by Balla (8y old)

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Once, David the monkey was breakdancing in the woods. Then he saw a building; he asked himself: “What type of building is that?” when he went closer he saw it was a painting shed. The painter was Peter the evil dinosaur. Peter wanted to trap the heroes to take over the world.

David asked: “Please may you paint a picture of me?”.

Peter said: “No, unless you give me a dollar.” He needed a dollar for his machine to work to trap the heroes because when he is painting he was actually turning gears for the trap. David knew his plans, so he said: “Team Jungle, I need you guys!” Suddenly all of his friends came.

There was Tornado Flash, Basher, Undercover Car, Pouncer etc. Tornado Flash made the fastest tornado. He does that when he is angry because Peter has an evil plan. Basher bashed the shed. It fell in the terrible ocean where sharks live. The heroes decided to make a plan to trap Peter instead. Undercover car scared Peter, he landed on a trampoline. Peter bounced really high. Pouncer jumped and pushed Peter even further and it was the right time because Peter’s cage was going to trap Peter. Peter said, “You’ve not seen the last of me team jungle!”

The animals and the people thanked Team Jungle for saving the city in the woods.

The End

(c) balla

joy

The Monkey Series: David and the dinosaur by Balla(8y old)

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Once, there was a monkey called David who was taking a stroll in the forest. Then, he saw a gigantic dinosaur called Peter, but Peter was evil.
So, David said: “Please may you tell me the way to the Magical Desert?” Peter said: “I know but I won’t tell you!” So, David did this: he jumped did a backflip in the air and kicked the evil dinosaur. The dinosaur fainted on the ground in the river. So, David had to look for the Magical Desert himself.

He looked in every place he knew but couldn’t find it. So, he used his GPS, but his GPS could not find it. So he used a machine called the Knower. It knew every place David was in. So, he used it to find the Magical Desert, but it stopped working. He thought he was in the Magical Desert, when he was in it.

He made magic, and it worked. He was happy because he was in the Magical Desert.
The end.

(c) balla

love

Myriam Batjoachim #motherofGod

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The Angel offered to seize it all:
    Your peaceful days gathering water
    Your anonymity doing God’s ways,
    Waiting for your spouse to take you
    In order to save an ungrateful people.

You said yes!

The governor forced you on a census, with
    Baby pressing your bladder,
    With back ache, spots on your face
    No room to calm Braxton Hicks
    Just you Joe and the animals
    And the grass the animals ate
    And when it was time to push,

You said yes!

The prophet embarassed you with your newborn,
    He promised you the grace you knew
    He promised you lots of pain new
    And you pictured the sword, your heart
    And figured greatness breeds pain
    And looked at Joe’s encouragement,

And said, well, yes!

And at Cana, where the harps hung on empty cups
    You turned to your baby boy
    All grown, all full of hope,
    And bade him do them a favour.
    Yes, you set it all up, for his
    First miracle, and the Lord

Said yes!

And throughout his ministry, he would taunt you with denial
    To teach love of neighbour beyond family
    But you were the first disciple,
    You rode his pain, you shared his joy
    And I can picture the conversations of
    Mother and son, advise shared, wisdom shared
    And through rain, sun, hail, gale, miracle,

You said yes!

And when his coronation came close on a donkey and palms
    You saw the blood that would end
    The journey of love; you saw the manger
    The temple, the sermons, the crowds,
    The miracles, the thorns, the cross,
    The blood that would end it all.

Yet, you said, yes!

And as John watched your tears reflect his blood, whence
    You couldn’t parch his raging thirst
    Nor re-nurse those childhood wounds
    Nor hug the pain out of infant tears
    Nor sing a lullaby to ease the sleep
    Nor rub his back to heal the pain,

Your tears said, yes!

And as they took the nails out his hands, as he lay on you,
    And love slithered to constrict your chest
    And the tears bubbled out to heal his death
    You sought to comprehend it all
    And prayed the roles were reversed,
    And God said, you’ve done well my child
    For the salvation of many, and again,

You said yes!

(c) nyonglema

fear

To the Modern Parent’s kids

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Dear all of you living in the 21st debauchery
Of feel good madness, zombies gawking at shiny blocks
Of plastic, which spew tonnes of nothing to capture
Your minds.
I’m sorry that your freedom is freedom to do the same
As everybody else. The advertisement industry
Finally got your flag, and you’re raising your arms
To hail symbols you don’t understand.
You’re Chinese mercenaries in a Trojan war,
African slaves running the slave market.
I’m sorry that your parents gave up.
Literally gave you up to the television, internet
And everything else that added sand to their hour glasses.
There’s hope for you, but till then, I’ll pray for your freedom,
And that parents will actually look after the root of every kingdom

(c)nyonglema

joy

Which one #freedomToChoose

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“Or” is quite a peculiar word:
It includes everything, yet excludes some of them.
It rows the boat forward
And helps it stall sometimes. It contains wealth
And millennia of dirt
In one lump of discovery in poorly lit alleys.

But take away the “or”, and your core is but sea,
Silent, unperturbed, bound to move within the crevices
Of the Earth, where blood is used to extract ores
To take away your “or”. Without that oar, you’re pieces
Of hope floating the torrent, you go where it goes
You flow where it flows, and crash where it crashes.

(c) nyonglema

We take our capacity to choose for granted, but it is not so…choosing is a luxury. You could choose to read this or not because you have a device connected to the internet; some only have the choice not to read. You can choose to like a government or not, in dictatorial regimes, you have but one choice.

You hold a weapon, keep it sharp, and use your choices wisely.

love

A tall mountain top #forMum

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Dear Readers,

I had to share this little jewel from my 8-year-old son; something special he wrote for his precious mum. It’s so unexpected that he came up with something so special…and she loved it.

So here goes: A tall mountain top, by Balla.

Enjoy,
Kind regards,
nyonglema
__________

A tall mountain top
As tall as you can see
With lovely flowers
Grass and trees

I love to
climb up there
It’s so tall that it nearly
touches the
moon.

(c) balla