Flap away and as your wings survey The drying death below, tell me: What do you see? Do the bloated barks of leafless trees, Brown in death, and laden with grief Seem anew to breathe? Do the fungi grow in coloured sheathes On trees that felled by water swam before, But now rest ashore?
Oh Raven, Raven, only water above all else
You saw, all around you one ocean swells?Flap away and as your wings survey The drying death we know, search around, For dry ground. Do the torrents that tossed us far and wide Now slow and ebb as the tide begins to drop Beneath mountain tops? Do the oceans now divide like post-storm clouds Up above, and sip back behind the rocks That held them locked?
Oh Dove, dear Dove, only water above all else
You saw, all around you one ocean swells?Well flap away and once again survey The drying death that haunts us night and day And find a way. Oh, you found an olive start to live again, As the sun bedazzled each leaf in emeralds Set in gold walls? Oh, you found strands of green to build a nest To start anew nature's run which took a break For 40 days!?
Oh Dove, oh Dove, if only again the emerald shone through day
Once again to say the fear has been whisked away with pain
And humans can carry on life in a new akin to the old way
Out of the nest, to neighbours to love and break bread again(c) nyonglema
As mere mortal man, where do I go for strength? Reels of death give me the L in a reek, like Lazarus died of covid19 in a past story of a tryke Tumbling into Jerusalem in tears with 2 sisters. "Pull Heaven to your breast", I hear that often, And belief is Atlas lifting Earth, Jupiter plus That weird new 9th planet, because Pluto was Not enough pain to bear: something newer, heavier Is what I need for strength, till I stop to think. Whom did God call to for help when fear gripped The roommate of flesh? How was the switch flipped? "Not Mine but Your will be done" Nothing heavier. (c) nyonglema
What got you here, won't get you there. -Marshall Goldsmith ------------------- Curls of hair tumbling down my chest, Falling from my neck, The black on my face Say I'm ready for battles to mate. Each strand whispers to the other: "I'll protect you from the strikes", As they expect a foe, similar to me, To punch, bite and scratch. Protect the vitals: A cushion for blows to the head, Where the control tower plans the win strategy; Another for blows to the chest, Where energy is supplied to the weaponised sinews; Another for blows to the groin, Where the prize of all this mayhem sits safely. The times have changed, though, and such fights, Are not the path to procreation. Neither are our socialist governments A path to independence. Protecting us From blows from foes, similar to us, They once curled, and some were cut out. They took the blows, that we may be Free. But, the times have changed and such fights Are not the path to civilisation. They seek to control the head, They seek to constrict the chest They seek to conscript the groin. They give the blows, that we may be Free to do their chores. In truth, the times have changed, And even if the policies look great It's time to go bald. (c) nyonglema
I chose you over surfing waves in the middle of there. Here I stare into your eyes, like the paint smiling At this magical moment. Lavender hovers between us Like a connection heart to heart. I'm hung on your Words. Now I hold you, as the bars stay shut, the bars Shudder at RNA code, and the restaurants cower. All the doors are shut, so I shut our door and hold you. I chose you. You chose me. (c) nyonglema
Happy Easter to all my readers. We celebrate the greatest miracle of our existence, a symbol of hope as we witness one of the greatest tragedies of our generation. Pick up your heart, somebody needs it now, and also tomorrow...hope never dies. Rise from the squalor of the promise of death. Your wrongs hold you down like ladders fallen To the ground, broken, crying. The stone off your back rolls to the ground; Your shoulder speaks out-of-breath to your brain, And mixed with stress, the message is amplified. Let it roll to the ground, this is a new day. "Mother, behold, I make all things new". Mother torn trying to grip the wind on its Way to the mountains. How do you hold the wind? How do you hold fear? How much pain can one mortal vessel hold In drips of blood on stone, and gasps for Air on wood standing in stone? All things are new. Behold, the rainbow Shoots an arrow of renewal past the sunlit Perfumed clouds. It's all so beautiful that I forget the nails, the thorns. The rungs of This ladder lead to a new height. Rise from the parlor, and celebrate far away From family and friends. The electrons will Bring your elation all the way: It's resurrection time. Do this today; tomorrow we'll all be back to our Day to day. (c) nyonglema
They were not perfect squares, you know, those hard plastic Sticks of myriad colours that between my teeth like grit Sent weird signals of unevenness to my infant brain. If you take one green, then blue, red, then green again, Addition turns into 4 unicorns you can right with an equal sign. They aren't perfectly sinusoidal, those hard to bear curves On my screen, with lab coat, glasses, and eagerness to serve Me the death toll...like I should pay for a Wuhan virus. I love when up it goes, peaks, and down comes the sinus Like sunset announcing a new dawn or some equal sign. Some say stop counting the dead, for dread needs a father. So as I toss and turn, afraid the virus gets anymore fodder, I count my blessings, like the song taught me and my Siblings to do when you'd rather shiver, melt and die. Naming the inanimate heals they said, you'll be fine. So I'm counting oxygen molecules for free floating around, I'm counting a bed shared, the hugs and smiles, sound From little children goofing around, arguing about nothing. I'm counting parents, siblings, forgetting squabbles frothing, For life's a dainty petal dancing on sun-bathed silver lines Of air, scintillating in a million diamonds of green leaves Whistling a new tune of spring, dancing with the puffs above. The birds flap their garments of rainbow gliding on sheaves Out of the sky to brighten a smile I bear like finding love In powder and smoke. Darkness is where these blessings don't shine. (c) nyonglema
Do not be discouraged. Don't lose your heart as everything seems to fall apart. A chick will emerge from the shell; always does. What do you see when the rough fire eats at wood, Softly sintering what was splintered? It's weird that pain brings togetherness Where handshakes were fake, and escape Was the constant. Now we crave to touch, We crave so much as the mask falls off To reveal the despair on the decaying Banana on the medic's lips. Last touch Gone. What I see is pain, but not like Cain's on Abel. I see the pain of a pierced side, or thorns Crowning the start of a battle for souls. I see the pressure of nails dodging wrist veins, But getting some, missing the bone, hanging on. I see years of preparation, patiently waiting For that moment: the filth of coal felt like Victory to the Virus smiling. The crown of the Start of the battle, rattled to the ground. Pressure, battle, the victor won without a sound. I see Sunday morning, Peter's out of breath Chasing John, chasing Mary earlier in the morn. I see a cloth there, bare, where coal had dared To start tears down my cheeks with biers. See, The wood destroyed slowly became the coal of pain, but What I see is not coal on worldometer's charts; I see diamonds form, Love's pressure on the Sacred Heart. (c) nyonglema
And to crown it all we're all going to die! Or not. Despair is the flare from the barrel Next to the six-foot deep hole holding my stare: I can't climb out of CNN reporting in quarrel After quarrel that the air is filled with ire Not fire. They crawl up hands, to faces And dig into alveoli where life lies waiting To exhale through foetid mucus, a James Whale scare As the doctors bounce of beds defibrillating In vain or with success, but all in phases. No I chose hope. New phrases like social And distance breathe oxygen into more men Than the global promise of living without care! Oxymoron is the new hope for this ill omen! Greet-distance, Meet-noone, Work-home, travel-local. Hands-clean, touch-no face, calm-panic. But how not to panic in the face of a pandemic? The old, and vulnerable are main victim to evil's fair, But all carry the burden even in transparent tunic Taking some under for failing their civic duty. (c) nyonglema Stay safe. We can beat this. Wash hands, follow the hygiene and other instructions. By minimising the spread, we make more healthcare available to the more vulnerable. Don't panic, God's got us, and we got this.
Why did you forsake the Roman empire? The Egyptian Empire? The Ottoman Empire? The French Empire...every single Empire! You got comfortable and forgot your role: To point the sword away from human ire And build towers to the highest spire! The words become banal, and the world Becomes masculine debauchery now hurled On the walls of the castles, battles unfurl And you get the grass treatment when bold Warriors wield gashes into history's burl And curb progress: all speak "ber ber ber" You got comfortable, you who heroes check, You who feed us from embryo to adult wreck, And soothe, and build. You are she who make The human race, and decide which way it goes When you set your eyes upon your role. But heck. It gets boring pointing the head as the neck. When did you forget your strength to chase Hammering out resolve to each case As would men? Why down the staircase? Oh, while you aim out of your cross-hairs Remember that every civilization's fate Equals the height of value its women encase. (c) nyonglema
They are quite unpredictable like funeral tears.
The casket weighs down on a metallic stand in
The middle of the compound. The building
Is empty, the heart is empty, the palm fronds
Over this brownish soil staining my shoes
Have seen tears trickle in silence down faces.
The wind tries to snuff out the wick, but it resists.
You clung to the breath gushing out your throat,
Pulled by the cloaked reaper, but eventually it's
Gone. You've seen tears trickle down wrinkled
And smooth faces. You've consoled and cried,
With arms tight around a wounded shoulder.
Then, the breath soothed in melodic syllables.
You're clinging to the wind, the candle resists.
But the gusts gush too strong, the flame bends to
Mourn. The leaves rustle on the acacia tree,
The leaves rustle on the mango tree, The leaves
Pause to mourn. It wasn't the reaper calling.
A bearded Jew picks you up like a prom date,
His halo catching the pearls of your white dress.
The fiery chariot makes your half smile shine, as you
Look back at the tears to come, and say one last prayer.
But the gusts really gush too strong on the wick,
And the flames disappear to leave darkness.
We reach for the wick, but notice the flame still
Burns. The flame resists, our tears cannot.
Our fears cannot.
A fiery chariot
Took you away to a better place, but we are in
A bad place. We wanted to hear your voice,
We wanted to hold you, not some wax and wick in wind.
We wanted to own you, but life is for God's glory
And glory is unpredictable like a candle in the wind