Nimbus clouds in the horizon cause me to panic. Growing up in the heart of the tropics Where storms would rush in and push down crops, Screaming at our windows, banging with water, Asking me to open and taste Noah's flood, What comes after nimbus seems familiar to me. The temperature drops, as the wind rises, And the sky goes from the blue that smiles On glistening leaves on grassy hills singing hope To a grey gloom gathering pain to dump on us. Expectant I rush to close the windows, Take in the corn, the egusi, the clothes: What can I do about imminent bad weather? Nimbus clouds in the horizon caused me to panic. Growing up in the heart of the trouble, Where storms would rush in and burn down crops, Screaming at our windows, banging with boots, Asking me to open and taste my own blood, What comes after greed seems familiar to me. When peacemakers were sent to jail To keep illegal funds alive for all, I saw bullets raining down on innocent Lives seeking justice, but seeing just this: Death, fires, death, destruction, death. What has been the darkest period in this? 24/10/2020? Or the baby in the bubbling oil? Or the beheaded teacher, or the beheaded cop? Or the razed villages, or Ngarbuh, or Fake dialogue, or refusal to bring peace? Nimbus clouds in the horizon caused me to panic. Not anymore. The rain pours from my eyes seeing dreams Splattered in pools of blood on school floors. "We will protect them!" Nobody did. The teachers, the parents are incriminated As grief seizes their hearts and constricts To kill, and swallow. But who cares? 7 dead, many living Where the bullets can still take them out. We focus on the dead, forgetting the living Living in a hell that bullets can't end. (c) nyonglema Eis requiem aeternam Dei : Victory, Jenifer, Princess, Telma, Rema, Syndi, ....
God says it Humans write it Humans comment on it They reach consensus on it God sends one to bind it Humans reject Him and it Humans try to bend it Humans fight for it God saves it. (c) nyonglema When the Pope is wrong, pray, pray a lot. Even Peter was wrong, was corrected: Infallibility doesn't mean perfection Nor does imperfection mean fallibility Papacy doesn't make a mortal God But our immortal God maintains the Papacy Like Moses holding the stone tablets.
Requiem aeternam tibi, my dear brother, my dear friend. You sought peace on Earth, may you find peace in heaven. RIP Sampson Lemongoe Zaumu till we meet again. The golden glitter of floating clouds lift up the wings On the plane that carves out the way home. You stand and out your beard Breaks the smiles of years cheered By you and me thinking, saying, and doing the little things. On the plane that carves out the way home, I watch you go again: you never learnt to stop Until every task was done, And joy was everyone, And hearts spoke songs to each other in peaceful tomes. I watch you go again: you never learnt to stop! Nature set you back, the roads with vile treacherous trap Tried to take the clock But you never take a knock, You never say enough, you give and give, but never give up. Nature set you back, the roads with vile treacherous trap Changed our smiles for fears, our cheers are tears, But you wiped them away Telling us to be okay, While hoisting these little kids upon your fatherly lap. Changed are smiles for fears! Our cheers are tears Swelling inside and up our aching heart to our faces, Pouring out to be with you Seeking the tender “mchew” That says “It’s ok”, “It will be ok”, “Uh lahte”, “Why the fears?” Swelling inside and up our aching heart to our faces The dreadful whispers to Job seek our parched lips Wishing to curse the world In chaos and pain to all unfurled But the memory of that bearded smile halts those paces. The dreadful whispers to Job seek our parched lips, Like daggers to our hearts, but Mary took more than all, So calling on our Lord, As we watch you gently soar, May the golden glitter of floating clouds lift up the wings Of the angels taking you to her advocate arms, calling You to join the choir singing Hosanna to the King of Kings. (c) nyonglema
Fear of facts, fear of truth, fear of standing out. Fear of fraternal correction, fear of the hypocritical mob: "Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear." - Alan Paton I'm a teacher where the future flows from The ground. I water in the shadow of the clouds, As the sun fails at peeping at me, smiling proud. These tender blades look like mini green swords Although the arid air wishes to suck out the breath That fills their stomata, replacing it with death. Cool air rushes round my feet, as I side-step My precious lawn. Nature and I collaborate To heal the future, and watch it elaborate. But the clouds suddenly shift and the peeping sun, Like a Netflix nightmare, smiling at innocence, Paints them brown forever in masked silent violence (c) nyonglema
Rivers have always flowed from frosty Caps on lonely mountains, down through tired Valleys, washing debris, trees, and bringing Life wherever they go. Splashing around, The water winds round rocks that would stop It. But it continues, tunneling through hills, Unstoppable. The river of life gets dashed against rock But also smiles round the same rock. Smile, camera. You switch on your phone and the f Calls your fingers into a world of glossy Glam. Flowers are more flowery, And trees are more greenery, And meals are more beefery, But teal seem to be in the tealery As each image tells you this truth: "You ain't sh....opping at the right shops! Your meals are too ordinary. Even your Guardian angel must be a frail-looking Nerd without the brains to match the title, But with just the brawn that can't lift an axle. You too don't have the six pack to share With friends; the thumb icon seems to point Down just for your life, Hearts for their smiles, Smiles, camera. Who cares where the river runs really straight, Uneventful, looking lazy, like mere luck? My Geography teacher, with his spitting glasses Told me (while I covered my face from, you know...) And showed me the meanders, the rapids, the water- Falls, the deltas, oxbow lakes, tributaries, And I asked: "What do we call this straight part?" And as he spoke, my mind floated away to possible names: "Never on social media episodes" "No need to take a picture moments" "Too ordinarily nice for TV" "Guttural silly laughter, not smiles" "No smiles, no camera" For we only pause to take a breath at The punctuation, That fills the river, the river, of life. Then we extrapolate from those singular Moments of beauty, happiness, whateverness, And assume that the tree bark is just As green as the leaves we glimpsed. Walt Disney figured this out really fast, And Mickey danced on the pages. You ain't sh... owing your talent. They are. Because that picture said so, And a less-than-a-second capture of light Is worth more than the ebbs and flows of your life, Like that punctuation wasn't part of A longer sentence... Oh! That we may all see that The river of life gets dashed against rock But always smiles round the same rock. Smile, camera (c) nyonglema
The waves pull at the lugs of the wind-smiling boat Where jokes are thrown, and hope of home stays afloat. But beneath the wood, in dark damp despair The souls piled in bodies in chains gasp for air. Captured in fields of butterfly-filled chanting grass Where children's smiles once lit love in these paths, Now wishing death, escape, drowning, as the waves tossed Their past away, carrying them to the land of the lost. Finally off the cramped hell of human faeces and decay, On a dais where bids are called, and theyget whisked away To serve the farm. This was freedom from seaborne pain Just to be enslaved, and cut and hurt once again. Their brothers off to Arabia, or further to the same fate Had warned of this predicament, and now they're in their state Hoping for a day when a heart is changed and the impossible Becomes blood on this continent to unhinge their shackles. *********** What's freedom? The shackles have fallen off the scars That held back my breath. Opportunity smiles the seduction of the 14th of February And I say yes, reach out, looking to a future, looking Beyond to joy, beyond death. The eagle soars to survey and seek its prey, as I ride Peacefully building a future where my kids will be eagles To pray the prayers that freed my heart, to dream the dream That Washington, Lincoln and Martin Luther King dream, and Put the whip back into its sheath. *********** But my brothers are still stuck. I watch as I soar how the nest of worms appeals to them. The chain is gone. They seek a new master to shelter them from the Predators of the world; They call to this master to take their cross, and bear It, and give them some cotton to feed their fears. Melanin comes to the table. He builds a bull of gold, and they bow. "Oh Melanin, you brought us out of the slavery in Egypt Out of the Slavery in Libya, Saudi Arabia, and Kuwait Out of the bowels of the slave ships on the Atlantic, You brought us out of slavery, Now enslave us to your will. Make us wholly thine. Where you command we will go" So he did. And beautifully decorated by their bull, Now, their lives matter. (c) nyonglema
I've had enough of babies whining with beards, Like the umbilical hair under their noses were trunks To feel the ground for the hole in the chest thump. I need, I need, I need. That kneads folly into dough for a cake of hate Just because nobody had enough of cake...or of greed. I want to tell you the tale of how to tell apart The want of the brat to the needs of the heart. One word fellows, one word: ENOUGH. When the desire is infinitely insatiable, Then you're sure a want sits at the table. You can have enough love, Yet no number or size of glistening carbon Can adorn the beloved to satisfaction, And no white dress is beautiful enough. You can have enough hope, To go through the enemy's fray, but No number of weapons, nor manner Nor style is enough to guarantee victory your way. You can have enough food, But Twix, Snickers, Rafaelos, Mars, Fazer, Ragusa, Mambo, Rondo, Soya, can all be In infinite supply, eaten ad nauseam You can have enough water, But crates go down the toilet pipes And vodka drowns the neurons, and Amarula bottles are best when see-through. Indeed, as you can see it clearly appear, Needs enough, wants feed eternal greed: And since ingratitude blinds the boundaries of all, When the desire is infinitely insatiable, Then you're sure a "want" sits at the table. (c) nyonglema
The in-crowd is where the ornaments Dangle and glisten like snow-clad trees Only It's not snow-clad in 35°C humidity with dust Clinging on the squinting bike rider's eyes, As I arrive my destination and see the neighbours Boasting with their engines, and wheels. I'll get mine some day. Judas borrowed life for a day to make Something, Something's what I need now. Brand new car. I'll sell a soul for that. Mine? Yours? Lend me yours, or part of your chores. No not the chores, but what the bank sees. I'll pay you back just after this Louis V, This Choos by Jimmy, and after I have my GL 550. Yes I'll pay you...believe that! I'm just trying to stay ahead of the pack, Where I've always been at the back . (c) nyonglema
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).
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.