Category Archives: anger

Irritation (Aggravation, irritation, agitation, annoyance, grouchiness, grumpiness)

Exasperation (Exasperation, frustration)

Rage (Anger, rage, outrage, fury, wrath, hostility, ferocity, bitterness, hate, loathing, scorn, spite, vengefulness, dislike, resentment)

Disgust (Disgust, revulsion, contempt)

Envy (Envy, jealousy)

Torment (Torment)

anger

Destroying a country

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Ever seen termites work a mighty tree down to a heap of saw dust and firewood? Out in Babadjou in Cameroon, I saw a couple of these, and it made me consider what happens when our politicians pilfer to fuel their expensive lifestyles….little things can break great things.

 

First, add a male and female termite.

Bullets and teargas canisters waltz on innocent citizens
And smoke and mud mingle macabre muffled paintings.
They are chanting “Freedom” to an invisible steel prison.

Then give them a tree to infest.

Angry the mob drenches the streets with angry chants
Division wrought by the Puppet Master now works its magic
The brother is the enemy, the cause is forgotten, just angry rants.

Then leave them to grow in might.

You bemoan the infection to  your brother so different but similar in pain,
But, they keep pushing you to see the messages not on the wall with cryptic
Words and thoughts from their hearts making them look better than your disdain.

Building hoardes of this pest.

The words they utter offer no solace, but promises on sandy beaches where
The crab harvests the turtle’s eggs, and multiplies to infest the beach
Where hope was born still, barren, hopeless, but unaware

Riding the bark, then diving inside.

That the votes that put them there were in good will, with faith and hope as motivators
While the campaign swishes were but fantasy to match the populace’s wishes
To have political saviours, but now clad in the armor of the captivator

Working the bottom to the crest.

Infernal  infestation by inhumane inhabitants instigating abominations,
Abrogating harbours, abolishing honour, abridging hope, love, faith,
And leading desperate souls to enlightenment in self-termination.

There: a wooden giant just died.

(c) Nyonglema

anger

Another type of love #politics

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They said they loved us.
They said what had hovelled us this long
Would melt in the ideas they’d put to physical form, fixing the forms, printing new laws to make more feasible new morns where dreams grow, where the beams of oppression become beaming faces facing greatness in all facets of a society phasing out the old, and phrasing in the new, and enacting, and without feigning bringing hope and growth anew.

They said we’d love it.
They said the picture would be bling
To the point of our dreams’ Everests, that they’ll brave the storms of whether to go with the hot or the cold, with the dry or with mould, or the new or the old, or whatever internal or from other holds could chip at our wishes, that they’d protect us, shield us in a new shell more robust than the previous, and keep our homes, culture, and aspirations safe anew.

They said they loved us.
The said we’d love it,
And this they said in words we’d listen to and miss the meaning shrouded like a zombie’s soul within idioms and colourful slogans painting derelict walls of our city gloom, and filling the air of family time with promises of Utopia today, Utopia tomorrow after Hell yesterday, and trickling out as if not premeditated and making us believe in Canterbury tales anew.

But now they hate us,
And hey! We don’t love it,
This stagnation like mosquito larvae infested ponds leaking putrefaction to our already putrefied systems, with corruption and stealing…no… embezzling being the order of the day, and deleting competition or young petitions to fix the predicament with silent words halted by violent wars. This stagnation so old we’ve lived that it even starts to feel like new.

Oh how they hate us
And hate that we don’t love it,
For to lord it over us longer they need us to be coy, kowtow, and shut up like Guantanamo torture secrets or that moment in a gory movie you are caught up between darkness and the bloodied blade and to speak your mind would Soweto you and your family in one instant, and depending on the riches you had, it will be featured, or not, on the news.

Oh how they hate us,
And how we wish we could change this
Situation with feeble will to exchange our lives with joy in the future generations as others before bothered to, feeble strength we are deluded to have whereas Gandhi taught us all by shooting up the opposition with words and Christ-like pain affliction and acceptance.
(c) Nyonglema

anger

YOLO #beFree #YOLO

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“You only live once.”  = “You only got one shot”

How did we get to such a conundrum:

“You only live once” = “Make it brief and intense”

“You only live once” = “Binge it regardless how it ends”

“You only live once” = “Get some drug addiction friends”

“You only live once” = “Lose your morals, and intelligence”

 

Now youth roam in confusion thinking of freedom

In magazine-imposed gear or dreams of TV show stardom.

While questions go Brownian within my cranium:

If it were a vampire movie, and it was the last silver bullet,

“You only live once” = “Waste that mofo like you got no sense?”

If it were a cowboy standdown, and you were on the other gun’s holster

“You only live once” = “Do the hammer dance, for it all ends”?

If you were at a job interview to feed  abandoned mom and 3 starve siblings,

“You only live once” = “Tell them it’s the job or murderous intents”?

All in the new politically correct nonsense: You have freedom!

Freedom to jump over the ledge, to keep your family on the edge

Wondering if you are alive or dead, wishing you’ll be back to bed.

 

I remember a Maverick changed the life of one hardcore YOLOer

And he realised bingeing it out just makes you a sad follower.

YOLO, YOLO, YOLO, YOLO

YOLO, YOLO, YOLO, YOLO

 

I see vomit pools, drunk pools, blood pools, lost schools

More fools, mere lost tools for whoever the system picks as more cool.

 

YOLO, wanna be my tool?

 

(c) Nyonglema

anger

Across the bridge #Soweto #Sharpeville

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                                        RIP to the fallen but: Non sine causa mortis. -Nyonglema

Why didn’t the police throw flowers instead,
As our Master recommends when your cheek gets beat
And you need to turn the other side of your head
In a Stephen forgiveness prayer in the battle heat?

See the children crying the tears of the future
They wished they had, fighting for generations to come
To see freedom and more, to dream of more than manure
And dung, to aim to the sky, but just that you stay calm

And listen. Why didn’t they throw flowers instead
Of gas to rose-prick the eyes, and blows to nose-bleed
Innocence, fighting back with stones, staring scared
But not afraid to give, give, give and sow this seed

Which was to be sown not in blood blood bloodshed?
Why let those lethal tubes let lead lash out
At Ndlovu, Hector, more, while others ducked, the floor red,
Life floating around clothed flesh wide-eyed open mouths.

See….see the children crying the tears of the future
Dreamed, which the next generation finally received,
And smile the smile of 100 years, sitting on pure
Bliss on a porch, like watching your eldest getting free.

(c) Nyonglema

anger

Pied pipers #fakePastors

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Tu-du lalilila lilila tudu la
Walk with me you who are broken-hearted,
When your soul knows but cold and loss,
And joy is the “j” word from childhood departed;
Walk with me , walk for all goals thwarted.

Hold my hand as we roll down the hill.
Solutions, solace, sold to you this instant.
Slowly? No! Speed must come at this cost
And miracles sweeping, seeking all those who want
Will pour out from Heaven till all clouds are bland

Tu-du lalilila lilila tudu la
Follow me gullible bank notes and more
Oh no my dear, coins will puncture the basket
But bills mean successful con errr -version
So walk with me greedy whose hearts are sore
For blessings for cash we’re sharing galore.

(c) Nyonglema

anger

Angry Oil Price

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Like to gossip about some colleague while he lurks hidden,
And hears plots of redundancy (renewables for our children)
So does oil take serious offense
To solar, biomass and wind plants,
And keeps its price beyond the reach of sane investment.

(c) Nyonglema

anger

Let that M’F’er Burn #writing201 #abuse #corruption #sonia

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This is a graphic depiction of violence…dedicated to all the Sonias who only get heard after self-immolation, or the Sonias who keep quiet because nobody believes them.

Today a woman died after being abused, and nobody would listen to her until she was dying on a hospital bed after setting herself ablaze. Now she’s dead and the police would investigate her case.

Imagine the frustration that led her to consider the only outcome “Let it burn!”
This is a fire for Sonia and all victims of abuse, male or female: Your life is precious, we know what you’re thinking, but that fire will not heal you, faith will.
 

            Let                                       it                                                                                               burn!
         Let these                           tears                     on                            my                             skin burn!
         Let these                              tears                  fall                          down                           and    burn!
     Let years of                              hope             years of                  study and                   work   burn!
      Let the future                      burn, let       my past and          dreams and                      memories burn !
   Let this                         body borne       9          months              in  my mum then          born burn !
Let this city                    I walked safe             sear in the   heat,        I say                       let it burn !
   Let my            country and          all who walk it,                  think it,                              breathe it   burn !
     Let the world        hurtling      and hurting     innocence         within it                          burn!
          Let those        men  who saw   innocence walking         and got heart   burns,
                Let out       vicious virility         ripping my clothing      and my skin burn!   Burn! Burn !    Burn!
                  Let the     pain       of nails        digging into my         tender           breasts                            burn
            Let it be that in that                 instant I had a phoenix   to protect my flower   while they burn
         Let it be   that the      blood in my taste    the pain round     my eyes,   my loin which burns, 
              Let out this       creature as     2   pulled     then         slammed me  to     the concrete    burned
                    My life     in a fire       consuming them    inside         which   I                denied      them,    
            And            punched     as I tried   to            protect      dignity dying,          and jabbed   feeble
          Arms             trying            to keep         off intrusion     inside, moving      violently moving 
        Beating      me    inside       and outside      wounding              me                    killing me    stroke
                                      By       stroke defeating    strength                straining    youth  for      old    men’s
Gain!              Choking, choking, choking,            breathing           hindered  by    hands    covered in 
     My      blood flowing        from up      and where mum       told me nobody      must touch, 
         Flowing    going         with all,       going with all,                     my all                  going 
              With all their     coming         with confusion,            in my    wrecked mind       wondering 
                    What being         would come of          all this?          What illness     pouring 
                          From the instruments  of      my   undoing      would come in,
                            Into    my       safe haven:              my garden,           my own    mine no more!
                               Let it be          that the             phoenix helped    me now        kneeling here,
                                   Letting          kerosene       wash me                 clean,       heal  my  wounds
                                              Letting me             heal in the            flames of renewal   
                                                                     Letting            me            burn. 





                                                                                         (c) Nyonglema
anger

Sleep Wars #bedtime #tantrums #kids

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It’s 8pm again, and by my clock it’s time to shut eyes and dream loud

But, by the clock of who run this place, it’s not that time yet…no not yet

The butterflies have called a meeting with snails in a crowd

While the legos still have to drive up the air to the mountains

And the ideas keep flowing out their youthful fountains


And then everything is a reason to complain in shrill air waves

And contort when grasped, then toss the toys to care’s arms

And while we count on Reason to make them behave

We are at war with forces beyond our deepest understanding

Kids who feel it’s not time yet to go to the land of dreaming


(c) Nyonglema

anger

Godzilla #tantrums #kidAnxiety

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Alles ist gerade durcheinander im Zimmer,
Zerstört sind die Bücher die ich gerne las;
Und der Lärm! O wer hat ‘was getan
Zu mein lieblich Godzilla, kleines Kind meins
Mit Tränen überall auf seinem Gesicht?

(c) Nyonglema

anger

F— Negrophobia! #stopNegrophobia #stopXenophobia

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Did you torch him? You? You? You torched him?
Your brother, not from mother, nor father,
But even though farther, your brother from long ago
When our common fathers hunted and gathered to cope????

You? You just torched him??? ‘Cos he’s different???
‘Cos this instant the labels are different
But inconsistent with what is your actual content,
Which is similar in many intents, and variously intense!!!

You???You…;wait, REALLY you torched him???
For selling bread to your community?
For paying taxes so your commute’s sweet???
And you torched him?
Is your language so different? Did you stop to think
As you kinked his arm, and bloodied his chin
That all languages and peoples are from One evolved
As migration and separation took firm resolve,
Pushing the words and syntax to match the status quo
Which each would find, and adapt to grow!!!

But you just torched him? And stood as fumes reeked
Human flesh searing in screaming death
Weak…battered…broken…lost
Human flesh fearing its family’s death
Whipped…hammered…broken….cussed!

For what? Did he call your momma a b—-?
Did he walk into your house and defile your sheets?
Did he break your code? Wear the wrong number or colour
Or try to seed pain within your family’s hold?
Was it him? Wait….what’s his crime?

That he came from another clime?
That his country is so different, from what you call “Mine”
Like an infant clutching his latest choo-choo train
Watching a sibling wishing he had the same????

What’s a country, what’s a city, what’s a tribe?
Names on pieces of paper to aggravate and divide!
Yet, your premise to take this innocent life
Is that he has no place in this land in which you reside?

Hold on….who made you owner of Earth?
Are you Mars with the sword, or have Zeus’s girth?
Are you Hades with his scythe, or what…you just own this dirt?
This dirt on which you’re just a speck…a sneeze in the space-time continuum?
Who made you the golden drop of the seas?

Watch…watch your dirt!!!! WATCH IT!!!
Charred chaffed and choke-held by rigor mortis
Never to see his family again, his friends.
His wife will never kiss those lips again
His kids will never be hugged the same again.
Yet the little baby will have no memory of the pure love
He now misses in a step-dad who considers him as the other man’s child.

Yet yesterday you said “Umjani”, and smiled back
And took the beer he offered, and took his hand in the mall.
You walked the same roads, traveled together, took the bus
Shoulder to shoulder: you and the dead “criminal”.

You torched him….ooooooh…you just torched him.
Now they all have to run. Now all blacks have to run
If they don’t speak one of the Chosen tongues.
You torched him, you torched them, you’ll torch them.
Their crime: you just hate them for being different.

You hate those who fought with you when you were hated for being different.
You kill those who fought by you when you were killed because your skin is different.
Now you’re free, and you’re killing others because their name’s different.
God help you…but f— the xeno-negro-ethno-phobia you’ve learnt.

(c) Nyonglema