Categories
love

Patience #NoahArk

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
    


Categories
love

Gethsemane

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 
Categories
love

Vestigial

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

Categories
love

I chose you #confined

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
Categories
love

Arise #HappyEaster

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
Categories
love

Counting

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
Categories
love

Coal #hope

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

Categories
love

Corona

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.
Categories
love

Woman

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



		
Categories
love

Candle in the wind

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.
You're gone.
We're torn.
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

(c) nyonglema