Spare the son.
But kill the father, kill the mother, kill the brother,
Kill the sister, kill the baby, and let the son get vengeful, and
Spare the son.
But kill the father, kill the mother, kill the brother,
Kill the brother, kill the dog, kill the baby and let that son get vengeful, and
Spare the hospital,
But burn the houses, burn the father, burn the mother,
Burn the cousin, burn the uncle, and let the healed get vengeful, and
Spare their buddy,
And let hell drop red upon the fuming ashes of fresh baked
Black human flesh in their wake, and let their buddy get vengeful and
Spare a cousin,
And....
(c) nyonglema
All posts by nyonglema
Agreed #not
1961 it was agreed....not
1972 it was agreed....not
1984 was not agreed...but
1996 it was agreed....not
2008 was not agreed...but
2019 it will be agreed...but
The problem falls flat on its face and dies in indifference
When the math problem is set all wrong: what + what = 552?
The commissions are the sub-plots of a Disney movie
Where we know the hero gets the girl, the bad guy goes boo-hoo
There's a guy for comic relief, and everybody is a virtuoso.
What + what, comes with degrees of freedom
That you will not have when you start with the solution.
The minds of people bubble around the room,
Vain pain; Cain would be proud of what the Maestro said:
"I wanted to dialog, but you didn't come
I even gave you everything, yet you want this to burn?
Well I've tried it all, boss! Artillery, its your turn (again).
(c) nyonglema
Atheism
The question remains: is there a carpenter?
Nails walked into the wood at right angles
And just at the positions and length to hold
Bars together. The bars themselves came off
The tree's intestines, in fitting chunks of
Lego magic. Baby skin smooth they came
Together and in went the nails. They came
12 of them, in 6 sets of twins, with a specific
Spontaneous destiny: to become part of the
Mindless chanceful event of a chair.
They came together in unplanned sequence
Such that it was done right and looked good.
But the angles aren't right, and the joints
Sing their pain when one tries to sit.
This thing looks like it might fall apart.
The splinter in my finger tells the chair
That it didn't polish itself right ... Then
I ask myself:
Could this have been a misstep of nature?
A random event?
Probability of 12 pieces of wood being right
Probability of them arranged just right
Probability of nails shaped and long just right
Probability of 12 nails going in just right
Probability of this holding together?
I've been told that a crappy chair
Is the proof of the absence of a carpenter,
But did the chair just spawn itself or
Or was it just a crappy street corner carpenter?
(c) nyonglema
Mu gab ah (I know)
Dorian throws the news around my phone,
And its not pretty. Some are sad, some are swelling,
And the rest curse the past as if death was an ally.
The words drip drop on the easel, and the brushes:
Oh they make grandiose moves...how do you paint 95?
With the purple of Kutama, a splash of yellow, and
Green and brown. It paints struggle with bars,
In white and peach and blue and red.
I'm reminded of a time when coins became
Empty notes, and the brush painted pain plainly
On poor people...but black is not such a good colour
To pour all over this tribute. Well, that's what
My painting teacher said ... and I just said "I know".
(c) nyonglema
RIP Robert Mugabe,
May other leaders, especially in Africa, learn from your victories to bring freedom to their people, and from your failures, to avoid the corruption of power.
you
were
only
human.
May God receive you in his bosom.
Falling #RegimeEnd
The reign is falling on the pain at the window,
The "Hail" didn't come as royalty crawled
Out of its chair, senile and broken, like a widow's
Golden anniversary in black. Heroes sprawled
In the canoe, going to nowhere in the torrent.
The reign is falling on the pane of my window,
As I watch time unfold the end as scrolls
From the Dead See, anachronistic and cold,
Yet reel. Nobody foresaw the end of the troll
That brought so much destruction on the roots.
The rain is falling on the pain at the widow's:
Chaos spells letters of clouds over the silver lining
It's a bright loud zigzag that dares to show
And scare the crowds. There's hope for less pining
When the seed dies and a new reign renews.
(c) nyonglema
First day of school
The smell of freshly dried paint,
New plastic, new rubber, and new stuff
Fills the air. In the distance, faint
A familiar silhouette, a little less scruff
Waves a smile in my direction.
That direction has changed, it was
A different door and teacher
Last year. My pulse sings a chorus
I don't comprehend, metered
In fear and joy mixed together.
Together with teachers, parents console tears
From older versions of me
But younger, and scared of new peers
Unaware this we've lived, but glee
Now fills us to be here with them again.
(c) nyonglema
Heal
Why would you smile at a stranger at the store?
This morning the cat wrecked her pristine couch and
Gouged with lion claws the eyes of her nascent smiles.
Her son got the cue and stood in the path of a passing flu
That knocked him out of his bed onto a sick one
Where temperatures rose and fell to the sound of
The neighbour complaining about the ball that wrecked a
Window. Yesterday, her boys launched a satellite
Off course that took the pieces of glass to the trash.
Why would you smile at the stranger at the store?
Because sometimes,
That all she's got,
It's all she's got.
(c) nyonglema
500 likes
Thanks to you all who with your stars light up my morning feed.
Thanks to you who sip my words and feel the emotions touch your core;
I cherish your readership, and I write only to grace your eyes.
Keep reading, keep liking. God bless you all.
Love
Nyonglema
Where is Ambazonia?
Where the grass grows in zig-zags, and the trees
Planted in rows, lift their weight to offer to God.
Where the pavements long for walking, and the
Buildings ache to breathe, choked in silence.
Where the hearts beat to the rhythm of barrel drums,
And the ears listen for smoke, blood, and laughter
Where the buildings pick up circular pieces to hide
Their Dalmatian-themed painting of despair and calibres
Where brother kills brother for dialog to be stifled;
Where words are stabbed with the bayonet and hope gets rifled.
Where once great minds spoke English, planned futures,
And debated all the various features of said futures.
Where once you lived, and smiled, and laughed to care,
But now duck and shiver, bleeding and gasping for air.
(c) nyonglema
To Live
The drops of rain piano on the bars of my window
Where I can see the hide and seek game sun and rain
Play; the clouds laugh in silver rays like joyous waterfalls:
Birds love waterfalls. They polka the sky and tweet
Their cares away to the gentle wind under their wings.
Nature just opened its eyes to smile on the eternity
Of me, the sun, the rain, the clouds, the wind, the birds,
And the rest of restless creation soaking in the beautiful
Predicament of being alive for just this brief while
And yet relishing the divinity and love in every moment of it.
(c) nyonglema
waghni 