Hope for tomorrow,
Hope that yesterday’s pains were but steps to today
And that its joys were but steps to today.
Hope that it gets better.
It really could be worse, but it does get better.
Hope for tomorrow.
(c) nyonglema
All posts by nyonglema
The Well
Well, remember Otis Redding saying “You don’t miss your water”, such truth exists everyday. Greed makes us forget what we have, till it’s gone….
Nobody sees the hole in the ground whence the buckets bring life.
The ropes are made of glass, the silence of their drop into darkness
Leaves no awe. Nobody claps when in heaves and puffs, a third day
Miracle happens and pours its bounty into waiting vessels on arid
Earth starved of life so long the cracks would show, like a
Web cast to trap the Earth in a black widow’s embrace; nobody
Cheers.
Yet, the sad day comes when the rise is as barren
As everything else around: sand, dust, grit, death. The tongues
Seethe in the noon sun seeking solace that they never sought,
Noticing the absence of what was there but was never thought
of. The glances walk from eye to eye, face to face, to whisper
Questions that none can answer. Yet no answer will change the truth:
The well went dry, then men will cry.
(c) nyonglema
Hope #neverGiveUp
When the floor has come fast against your face
The temptation is to stare there, and stay
Waiting for it to come off you and race
That you may keep running, it should the other way
But if the Earth has come to meet you
Feel honoured, and peacock your mind and chest
Then say “Bye”, and take the dust of too,
And just set off again to give your best.
(c) nyonglema
Tomatoes in the Wagons #stopWar
When I think of the wars in Cameroon, my mind goes to Asa’s Fire on the Mountain: “Could it be love for your country, or for the gun you use in killing?” she sings.
I think she missed the “greed” question, that could desire to sacrifice human life to sustain the funding of the war, and generate income for some uncanny souls. Well finite are the resources, finite are the humans
Tossed around in the wagons, the tomatoes bounce on each other
Squashed one at a time on a path they didn’t decide
On a path they must follow like human life.
Then the owner calls to the controller
And the engineer, yet noone hears
And squash, splat, squash
Till all left
Is just
One…
(c) nyonglema
Searching for Eggs #HappyEaster
Happy Easter to all of you; Seek the Light as it pours into your hearts
Where can those chocolate eggs be?
Eggs beaten, made into omelettes.
They said you can’t make one without breaking eggs.
So God took a pan and broke a few…they sounded like bones:
The egg white as water, the yolk as heavy as blood.
Mine was, anyway, the promise of Adam.
I saw a curtain rip the Earth apart,
As a cross took God on a roller coaster ride
To a destination we all must go…but all fear to go:
Like wanting to go in a public toilet…but…
The yoke was heavy on humanity, and God broke it
He made us new, and I saw Mandela’s advice:
It went something like:
Aim not for your fears, but for your hopes.
So God bled tears on stone, and went for one hope:
That your soul (well our souls) would find light
Even in the deepest darkness!
He accepted the treacherous lips of death
And the deprecating thorns and cape that drew his blood.
He did it for you, that you may have new life with him
On the day He gave new life to Himself. Amazing right?
God died our days away with His pain, love, and light.
Those eggs look pretty that way….if any of this was about eggs anyway.
(c) nyonglema
Ego #divorce
What are we teaching our kids? Life is becoming so demanding, that we don’t tolerate each other. Life has become so artificial, that we have forgotten that we are just apes trying to figure out how to make each day better.
As more and more couples break, I cry for humanity whose young are learning that this is normal, and our society which teaches to give up once they going gets tough, as if relationships were a bottle of vodka at the corner store: if you don’t like this one, you can have that one. Let’s walk the pain of life and relish it…that’s the only solution to abuse.
“Be strong, my child, never give up!”
The surgeon is pulling my soul out with kind words,
No anaesthasia, just kind swords hacking at me,
Taking away myself in lumps of tumour.
It had metastasised and eaten the bond away.
The bond that made me. The bond that made me me.
“You must be strong in the face of adversity”
Said he as instead of treating his humour
He became weak in the adversity of his university love.
I remember the smiles and kisses they told;
Stories of times that now seem wrinkled and old
Where they held hands, and wore bands
And raised lands, and made me.
“Never give up, never ever!”
Said he who was giving up on us
Giving up on me, because he couldn’t stand
To sacrifice anymore.
Because she couldn’t stand to grace his side no more,
No submission from either.
My tumour had birth a pride so big
It ate the bond, the bond, the bond that made me me.
“Learn to tolerate tough situations, they make you strong”
And two wrongs, only make me write
Pain in the blood of my cornea, calling to the corners
Of their hearts where love is boxed in, caged in,
Fighting larger-than-life versions of themselves
And losing, like my soul’s pain loosened to wander,
Yet I should bend only to my will, and tolerate
To be as successful as they’ve been along the way.
Ego.
Tolerate?
Ego.
Never give up?
Ego.
Fix me up, fix you up, fix us up?
Ego?
Like “No” from the depth of a grave,
I killed my family in Latin.
(c) nyonglema
Beautiful way to die #snow
The lily petals dance slowly silently till the ground is decorated,
Cold air pierces nature with a sharp spear till all is exterminated,
And the trees treasure the sun play on their silky winter fur
Which sucks life away from them, cell for cell, bur for bur.
The elk dons its party coat, to play over the frozen lake
Where fish have fled as if they heard its tummy speak hunger-ache
Wind tickles the laughter out of those petals, and children laugh
With sleds and sleighs, skis and skids, cars that don’t see and crash,
Balls thrown away, snow-women going to the delivery room again
To birth newer snow-people, while frost eats away at finger veins.
The silence…oh the silence, only broken by the music of the wind
As it rushes through the seams to steal a friend or a fiend.
The petals paint a picture, as if the store sold-out on colours
But awe, oh awe! Everything speaks the beauty of the Creator
Yet the purity of it all hacks your lips and nose, and hits your bones
Seeking to go deeper and freeze every single thing holding your soul.
Oh how less painful it is to feel the heat being teased away,
Staring at the Snow swirl and adorn Nature as a bride on her day.
(c) nyonglema
Positive hate #right/wrong
I hate you !
But only for the good reasons, so
It’s positive, right?
Remember when your leaves casted a shade
Over my growth, took the drops of sunlight
And stunted me amongst the undergrowth?
You kept the air for yourself, and took the water
On the shelf, and used it to seize our light.
Well we’ve got a fix here:
We’re both plants, right?
Your greed is killing our breed! You’ll stop.
Then we’ll need to ensure that we’re all even.
So, till I reach your height
You must stop growing.
I’ll take your light, the water off the shelf,
Stunt you till you’re undergrowth with every drop of sunlight.
But it’s all positive right?
(c) nyonglema
Thank you
A special thanks to all of you who ever came to my page to share my thoughts.
Your comments, likes, or just mere peek into my world makes it live.
To you who have subscribed to my posts, a very special thank you. What would waghni be without you? You are the stars that push my vessel to keep writing;
Let’s explore this world together, the best is still in the future…
Kind regards,
nyonglema
Shooting your foot #Cameroon
I told him exactly the same as I’m telling you now:
The gun you point at your people is a gun you point
At your pupil, or at your pupils, or through a peephole
Into a future with LED lights lining trees capturing
Sunlight, and lightning, a future enlightened
By the lightness of the smiles of generations to come
A peephole looking back at the nozzle of a barrel.
I knew he wouldn’t listen, for without the ash splattered
Against my mane wisdom cannot be part of my game.
All their epithelia are the same, waiting for epitaphs
Epilogue to tales where epic lies dominate photographs
Of instants of truth, painful truth….like the peephole
And the barrel, and they’ve seen it all, the seed to the tree
The stream to the river, the whole range of our history
I knew he wouldn’t listen, nor read, nor taste of my sweat,
But maybe my blood, so I painted myself like the others
Vehement in thoughts dancing entrapped in cages of fear
Where the lines on the 60 leaves plane-leaved exercise book
Jump off the page where you jotted your deepest hopes for
Change, change into pain, twist your arms and pull your fingers
Around them. They turn into metal, and you’re looking out,
Wishing for a desk, a pen, but not even a toilet for your rear’s near.
But I know He will listen. He doesn’t read these words
He feels them. He sees my prayer that we’d stop crowding Peter’s
Waiting room: the logistics department had to order new magazines,
About cars, about medicine about emptying magazines on citizens,
To accommodate the throng waiting for their lift to the final
Destination: Heaven or Hell. The water dispenser needs refilling,
This place wasn’t designed for such affluence…well there was Noah,
Or better still his time, but there was enough notice for facilities
To be put in place. Not this time…but I know He listens.
So, they told him exactly as I tell you now:
When words can save the souls of many,
Lay Guns to rest by Pride’s old body
And dare to save another’s soul today
For face to face mountains all decay.
(c) nyonglema
waghni 