Category Archives: sadness

Suffering Agony, suffering, hurt, anguish
Sadness Depression, despair, hopelessness, gloom, glumness, sadness, unhappiness, grief, sorrow, woe, misery, melancholy
Disappointment (Dismay, disappointment, displeasure)

Shame (Guilt, shame, regret, remorse)

Neglect (Alienation, isolation, neglect, loneliness, rejection, homesickness, defeat, dejection, insecurity, embarrassment, humiliation, insult)

Sympathy (Pity, sympathy)

Tears and Blood #stopWar

My scared feet walked to the battle field,
To see for myself the aftermath of a clash of ideologies.
I expected to see casualties of Christians,
and Muslims, clenched firm in Death’s unwavering fist.
All I saw was humans, twisted beyond recognition,
Maimed by hate in different gear, hairstyles, and tools,
While rain drops slithered between the bloody pools,
As if a sad goodbye from the loved ones they’ll kiss no more.

(c) Nyonglema

Sorry Son #NatureIsSpeaking @ConservationOrg #saveYou #SaveEarth

Sorry son, while I leaped over balls and stones with happy goats,
You have to dodge moving vehicles, in dirt and soot;
While I woke to the melody of lullaby-like bird songs,
You have to wake to grunting engines and honking commuters;
While I put my nose up to breathe in nature’s gift in air,
You cover your nose to ward off disease and pestilence in there;
While I dipped in the waters to rest my tired and hot body,
You daren’t touch the oil and dirt floating in that pond;
While I watched the rhino run, the elephant elegantly strutting,
You read about this in books, and ask questions on times long gone;

Sorry son, while I enjoyed all this, I didn’t think you’d miss the fun.

(c) Nyonglema

On 28th March: Save Yourself #EarthHour #SaveYou #NatureIsSpeaking @ConservationOrg

Nature doesn’t need humans; it was there before and will be there after humanity is gone.

The last plasma puff of the engine invites them out
Of the vessel, wearing refrigerated high-tech suits
Equipped complete with claw-like studs gripping cracked grout,
Fighting for balance against the gusts in their pursuit.

  

Tsal pulls out the holo-tablet to map their position
And consult the travel plan. The air crackles to life
At the rod in his hand’s and the one on his chest’s intersection
Showing in script and diagrams what once was humanity’s hive.

 

A step on a fish bone draws a snap which pulls
His eyes downwards then around the oily dirty landscape
Where lay more bones from different creatures whose lives were culled
By a slow death they’d tried in vain to escape,

 

Probably the last of each of their species to have braved heat,
Thinning air, toxins in solid, liquid and gas form everywhere.
Tsal thought of who’d ate whom last at the eve of total defeat
As lives became meatless skeletons after plants had left here.

 

Ok! Back to finding the once supreme masters of this rock
Who built the cranes surrounding this now barren and dry seabed,
As if adorning the grave of many a beast. With some luck,
The image in his hand lights red as it hovers over a broken bone head.

 

The skull had been opened as you would a coconut
To sip the sweet sap. Tsal’s blood skips with his fear
At the thoughts hitting his head, but his fears are proven fact
When he sees a silver spoon in the head, spoon branded “Pierre”.

  

Further down the seabed, lies another identical but intact specimen
With a matching fork he’d attempted to stick into another bone,
Before his last mitochondrion, like its peers, gave up on the machine,
Surrendering to fatigue, thirst, and probably a grave wound as shown by marks on the foot bones.

 

Tsal turns to Pezal to share the shock on both their faces
It was university all over again, trying to understand this:
There was water, there were plants, fertile land in most places,
And yet cannibalism was the last act of this great species.

 

Despair from hunger, intoxication, thirst which dominated
A race which once ordered water about with pumps and dams,
Told the wind where to blow, had command over all ever created,
But chose to destroy and not rebuild in their crazy advance.

 

There are many more heads half buried by the mocking wind,
Complete with scarred arms and legs, with once plastic clothes
Ripped and singed in the hot abrasive vengeful wind,
The wind which once was a gentle breeze in which bathed the olives of Rhodes.
 

A few hours of tittering on past glories of a planet,
Tsal, Pezal and the team see a screen still alive from sun’s power,
Broadcasting (most likely in a loop) with partly dark LEDs
The news of a time when Nature hadn’t turned entirely sour.

  

Tsal asks himself like a sharp stab to his chest:
“Didn’t they read the signs?” Tropical rains coming early
Then late year on year, messing up planting and harvesting,
While thermometers lost touch with reality, doing exactly what wasn’t said on the telly.

 

Floods washed away months of tilling and planting on estates,
While droughts washed away whole villages, leaving them empty,
And more nuclear disasters decimated whole cities and states,
But life went on disregarding the warning in Humpty Dumpty

 

Fiddling with the core’s magnetic fields led to imbalance,
And the Earth struggled to shake off the destroyers,
Spewing molten venom and nerve gas to dance
Upon the lives of sons, daughters and fathers and mothers.

 

Yeah, Nature had long lost what was left of patience,
As the Ozone let in the rays so long waiting at Earth’s doors,
To steal the seas and rivers out into space’s expanse,
As if to say: “You have all, yet you don’t recognize, and keep seeking more.”

 

  

The screen kept painting the history for the team
In horrific scenery as the chickens came home to roost:
The wars supported in media by ideologies it would seem,
Whereas deeper was the fight for resources needed for economic boost;

 

The environmental disaster with each new technological advance
Advertised as “CO2-saving”, disregarding the manufacturing fall out
As resources were dug out of Earth’s internals, not giving life a chance,
Leaving disasters in the wake of “Eco-friendly” mining in the South;

 

The over-fishing, over-eating, over-mining, over-everything
Requiring the support of a Nature, willing, but drawn
To the limit of breaking without empathy, care, understanding,
Foresight; just over-reaching to pull all put there from Life’s dawn,

 

To the point there was none left, no-one left.
“Remember the Galapagos heads documentary on TV?”
Tsal asked Pezal. “That was History warning of being Nature-deaf,
But nobody listened.” And they turned to get back onto their spaceship,

 

While the screen continued by looping every truly Eco-friendly initiative conceived
To amplify Nature’s warnings, to pause the frantic rush
Of capitalistic gain-hunt. But all this as nought was perceived
And even Earth Hour’s darkness, though laudable, in the din of Nasdaq was but a hush.

 

(c) Nyonglema

Let’s all go out and support Earth Hour on 28th March 2015…let’s make this silence of whirrs and buzzes a little LOUDER.

Death from a bike #bendskin #okada #opep #accident

I just saw a man die on the streets
With blood and broken glass and metal
Twisted from a sleek Senke bike
To an unrecognizable heap of twisted petals,
Black petals of Death, as it is used to strike.

Yes, I saw that man die on the streets,
While this morning he forehead-kissed his kids
And wife, promising to bring home a meal that night
And they watched him leave with hopeful eyelids,
Not knowing there’ll be dirges and tears over hunger that night.

I saw that man die on the streets,
After a mad driver rushing over pothole puddles
Couldn’t stop his truck in time, and rushed over his body
And though he’d rejected all passengers, my blood curdles,
For this single death already is such a tragedy.

I just saw a man die on the streets,
With blood, glass, metal, and mud
Littered in a gruesome Picasso on the ground,
And the tears flow down my cheeks thinking “Oh God!”
Orphans, widow, pain, more poverty born in one death on the ground.

(c) Nyonglema

Your Neighbour #EbolaAtAirports #Ebola

Humanity is threatened microscopically with extinction
And instinct has each government microcosm’s decision
For protection to be: checking
Temperatures of passengers passing
To ensure that their citizens don’t face infection.

But the irony when you selfishly stop the immigrants,
Not considering that on the plane the virus already had its chance
To spread stealthily from one to next;
Is that although protection was your pretext,
Your choice of solution surely needs a second glance.

To think as one, as we humans fear to consider,
Is what would wield weapon against our poacher.
‘cos to check instead as they leave
You to go to the neighbour’s is a perfect sieve,
So the sick are kept, and infection opportunities are countered.

(c) Nyonglema

The metal on metal screech #babyCrying #sickBaby

I know those sharp nails gushing down the stairs for my heart
As if from a loud speaker at the hospital  emergencies;
That peculiar pitch which laughs my day’s stress into shards
Turned into painful shrieks I hear, shrieks laden with insidious neurosis.

She must  be alone. No: lonely in the grip of a crowd of white coats
Seeking the via for the intravenous treatment of her bacteriosis.
The nails sink deeper with each step towards the coats
Loathing to see the sounds bringing back all Nollywood horror stories

To my mind. My daughter’s writhing in pain
And I, helpless, can but acerbate her confusion
With a forehead kiss, while she thought I was boon to the bane;
My cooperation with the nurses is surely not her idea of gumption.

The confused stream pouring down her salty-with-wailing cheeks
Fuels pain within my hardened-with-reality-but-fragile soul,
For to be there but unable to put an end to her shrieks
Makes my spirit bend to the point I feel I’m losing my all.

(c) Nyonglema

Youth #age #nostalgia

I miss the days when each rock was a boulder,
When peeling off the skin of a cheese triangle
Decorated with a smiling cow was such a wonder.
I miss running up trees and around the concrete jungle
Aimlessly full of hope, happy to be life’s soldier,
Fighting for dad’s cause, adhering to mum’s angle.
I miss bewilderment at technical prowess in elementary solder
As the capacitors sprung back to life in that CRT National.
The world’s years are now heavy on mine and life’s such a ramble
At this stage where I can feel it all on my shoulder.

(c) Nyonglema

Rush #late #hurry #homeSick

I’m dreaming of a melody
Pulling me from sleep’s safe haven.
“Ding ding la-la ding” it sings
And my eyes seek the screen to swipe-to-snooze
But then the phone rings:
“Your lift is here sir”

What??4am already????
Quick, throw my underwear off,
Rush, pee, Brush
Turn the shower knob to wash
It’s cold! It’s hot! Too cold, not quite hot. Ok
Gel on the face cloth
Scrub, scrub, counting seconds in my head.
Rush, rush. Lotion. Deodorant.
Throw on my gear in haphazard layers.
No belt, won’t do my laces.
Rush, rush: I just can’t miss this flight home!

(c) Nyonglema

Once I held a gun #childSoldiers #stopWar

Once I held a gun in the bush.
That Ak47 was nearly my size but I lifted it.
I was fierce and fearless to my foes,
Taking their lives before they could reach for mine.

Yes, once I killed in the bush;
The men who protected their villages,
The women who protected their children,
The children who would avenge their orphan state.

At that time I was a hero in the army
So decorated by war wounds and scars
That pain became the objective of my existence
And transmitting it my only medicine.

Now I’m 16 years old and peace has killed the need for guns.
My grades and skill set mean nothing.
All left is the emptiness in the memories of maimed men,
Mothers, and children.What to do now?

AH…Once I was told taking lives was the life I needed,
But now I know there was much more to hope for.

Much more to aim AT than innocent targets in the bush

(c) Nyonglema

The Superior Race #racismSucks

So, which of the races rules over all
In quality, strength and crazy potential?
And how shall we distinguish this lot?
By skin? Hair?Gait? Manner of speech and thought?

Shall we find these noble ones and crown them
And give authority over the scum to their men?
Well in my search for the superior blood,
I’ve combed pages, heard ideas from myriad cords

And in conclusion all criteria are but earthly classification
Of something deeper in different forms of creation.
So to hell with your theories new, old, and your nays and nods,
The superior race is the race to God.

(c) Nyonglema