In the desert

I hear voices telling me I'm not enough.
My inadequacies gang up for an intervention, 
And I'm the center of their morbid attention:
"You are and will be found wanting."

Camel skin marked the way way back. 
The desert stirred as "Repent" echoed along 
The lonely shores of the River Jordan, and throng
Upon throng came to listen. I'm not there. 

A straight, flattened way for the Lord
Was the requirement for any form of joy. 
Yet all I bring are curves, hills and voids, 
And inability to do better or more. 

"Before birth, before you were formed..."
I've read that, but should I believe it? 
Definitely it was meant for some great prophet, 
Not me, seed on rocky soil wilting away

How shall the Lord travel these traps 
That my hungry angry soul sets in despair? 
How shall he navigate a heart so in disrepair
Even spiders won't build webs there? 

"Don't be afraid, for I am with you...."
Whispers floating to my cowering ears
To persuade me to cast away the fears
That gang up to jail-bar my attention. 

With four candles burning on the wreath, 
And my healing heart still thinking about my fate 
While making the straight to welcome the babe
I move to not be afraid for He is with me

It's a child's craft on the potter's wheel, 
The trembling fingers on the archer's bow, 
A wrench eating at a loose nut, but I sure know
That I'm not alone in fixing that manger 
Which for the Architect is Heaven's harbinger

(c) nyonglema


Luck

The electrons rush down their path, 
Reacting to my finger pressure on buttons. 
It's all by chance. 

I hit the gas pedal and lurching 
Forward, the trees rush past the moving wind. 
It's all by chance. 

Infra-red waves open the portal 
To news, the world and its fun on my TV screen, 
It's all by chance. 

The blender spins to chop, 
Perfectly sharpened and balanced to act, 
It's all by chance. 

Oh... you don't think so? 
You think we should credit some human
For this genius and the art? 

Yet...

The Earth floats between death and sun, 
In a solar system set just right in the milky way, 
But it's all by chance. 

Celestial bodies pummel everything, 
Sparing Earth despite their random deadly craze
But it's all by chance. 

Solar flares cast deadly rays, 
But the ozone is just there so you tan just right, 
But it's all by chance. 

Our brains can think about thinking 
About another person thinking about thinking, 
But it's all by chance. 

Yes, 

You want me to believe that in history, 
One day a cat gave birth to a beast not a cat
And another cat gave birth to that same species
And they met, and happily started a new line of 
Not cats... just by chance. 

Like at some point a unicell 
Moved out to become multicellular
And made you, randomly, by picking the luck 
From the safe possible DNA/RNA recombinations: 
1 to quadrillion cells in less than a trillion years, 
Just by chance. 

That out of millions of possibilities, 
You made it to the egg, just by chance. 
That you're just a fluke
The result of mere luck
A glitch in the machine. 

(c) nyonglema


After Trump

What if Trump lost, and Facebook, Twitter, Alphabet, Hollywood and the media won: 

The people are stunned, hanging on a breath
To see the fallen giant hiding in shame. 
Fear, confusion fills the senate, as death
Lingers on the faces of hate untamed. 
Iron on their toga flows down their arms, 
Down to the iron in their fateful hands
Hanging on the final breath of the land's
Greatest leader, hanging frustrated and calm. 

Sullen the face of Brutus the conspirator, 
With shadows emerging from his wrinkles
To ask questions: heroes or vain traitors? 
Wrong or right? In barely a star's twinkle
The future was set, and in this dead calm
With J's blood still fresh on his hair strands
Clinging to what was life, what was grand
Brutus ponders what good was done, or what harm. 

At Pompeii's feet, sprawled is the victor, 
Ironically repenting for his actions past.
And the people, confused and totally unsure
How to continue the game with the dice he cast
Seek a new leader with such venom, yet much charm, 
Fighting for them like he had a magic wand. 
CNN will finally never need to recant. 
He put the future back in the people's hands. 

(c) nyonglema

Kumba, then more.

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, ....

My ancestors hate me?

Bring me a white goat he said, your fortune is bad he said. 
Leaning on the shoulder of my uncle, my cells shiver 
Even as I hear they're hot from the thermometer, 
My pounding head lets the sound in from his chanting, 
And my burning nose hugs my sintering eyes. 

White lines zig zag and jiggle with his dancing skin, 
The hazy bones on the ground tell him everything. 
He knows everything, especially things I don't know. 
He speaks with my grand mother and grand father, 
And even people further into my genetic past. 

But my mind couldn't sit still: A white goat? 
To appease my Uwu, who taught me to pair my socks
To avoid tornadoes in the room when I find just one? 
Would Doh really hate his son's son to the point 
Of wishing him dead before any stub on his chin? 

The calligraphy of incensed smoke fills my thoughts, 
Staring at his mouth calling my aunts and uncles
Who seek a slab over my unbreathing head. 
Is this where dreams all come to die? Where the 
Maker warned we will be misled into cavorting with Evil? 

My uncle tells me this is ok, tradition suggests, no, DEMANDS, 
That in times of trouble, we should guess through bones
Which of those who love us in reality, through the smoke
Can be declared jealous, heinous, whether dead or here, 
So we can hate them, and thereby build up this lie as truth. 

(c) nyonglema









Beads held together


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.

Peace in the Wind #Zaumu #Sampson

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

Cuties

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

Be #JenEus

Roses catch rays of sunlight in their red gaze, 
While a butterfly flutters by. Forget the butterfly. 
A blue jay descends on a ray, its wings ablaze,
Throwing shimmering rays the way of the rose, 
And they play sun ray tennis, 

Bluebells, and sunflowers too are in that place, 
As the blue jay sings its song you'd hate to hear
On a cold morning as dawn gently tickles your face,
Half dreaming, half feeling your lover's arm
Not too heavy, just cozy right,

Singing lyrics that lull you out of sleep to haste
The day away with chores, leaving the heartbeat
Behind, and longing to return as the sun kisses the waves. 
I'm watching sun ray tennis between the blue jay
And the rose, thinking about Love. 

You know, the Love that made the world and the days, 
Chose a people, and a cross, and who just Is. 
Yes. He said it Himself as Moses captured the phrase: 
"I am who is". He doesn't last, He just is, 
Like eyes locked in romantic embrace. 

Watching the blue jay, butterfly, rose and sun rays, 
Dancing their love around the halo they create, 
Bathed in the majesty of nature's ultimate masterpiece, 
I wish that all our love, all your love doesn't last, 
But rather, may this love always be. 

(C) nyonglema

Immigrant President

Immigration brought America its first black president. 

Sitting with this pen between my lips, as dad
Said not to, I'm twiddling and thinking of
Tigers looking into a mirror.

Do they see just the beastly muscle to rip flesh
Apart, or can they see the black, gold, silver, orange
Calligraphy of a meadow, plucked to glorious
Melody like a guzheng serenading the prey
Before Medusa's magic mars their future?

Do parrots notice the pale sparrow's envy at
Its militarily-decorated plumage which holds
Divine discourse with the sun rushing past
The leaves to caress a masterpiece chirping
Away under a pale green canopy craving its
Variety splash of colors upon itself?

Sitting and twiddling this ink, I'm thinking.
Are "precious" and "scarce" synonymous?
King Midas turned everything ordinary to something
Now ordinary, and by returning them to their
Ordinary state they became precious.

Could this be why I now miss the hair I hated to comb
In painful strokes? Or why I would prefer scrolling
My Twitter feed than feeding off my son's glorious
Imaginary worlds whence crazy stories spring,
But which I miss, because this is here, that is there?

Could this be why thrust from misery, to slavery,
Then to a land of freedom and opportunity whose
Prowess the paler countries of the world cast
Envy upon, wishing the variety splash of colors,
And music, and glory, and gold upon themselves,
The American from Africa focuses on the "African",
Missing the "American" in "African American"?

Could this be why other Africans come to America
And seeing the plumage, seize the Value in "American"
Live the American dream walking to Pennsylvania Avenue,
Saying "Yes we can!": but most Africans don't listen?

(c) nyonglema