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.
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.
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.
Eis requiem aeternam Dei :
Victory, Jenifer, Princess, Telma, Rema, Syndi, ....
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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?
A voice calls out in the wilderness, preparing
The way for Salvation.
The plan is laid out: the plasma'll start circling
Around His feet, as the notes melodramatically
Change, raising a cloud of multicouloured dust.
The rock LED-struck would lift up in those clouds
And the clouds of fairy dust would produce bread.
The crowds will watch in awe, hearts will turn.
Then standing haloed on the edge of a cliff
He would increase peril by facing the crowd
To meet the Pisa, but only falling to the rocks
But the drum of the beat will change 'fore his feet
Hit ground, as a flash of the S-chested angels
Whisk him up, leaving levitation to draw out
Cheers, kowtows, conversions, repentance.
Then foreseeing the weakness of the cross,
Bleeding, helpless, He would kneel.
Three years of wasted ministry prevented
By the brave act of trading this simple act
For the salvation of all the kingdoms of the Earth,
('Cause, you know, he who never lies said so.)
Having been assigned leadership to the King of
Heaven and now Earth, all souls would cheer
"Hail to the King, Hail to the King"
And Mission Accomplished, the Son would return.
A voice plans this all in the wilderness,
But it isn't the Baptist.
It's the bearer of all that's shiny,
Bearing light as a beacon to trap fickle hearts.
See how our Saviour chose the scenic route:
Not the glamour of human expression of worship,
He obscured the message with long boring
Parables, that contradicted the common-
Sense of the day, and mocked academia,
Nor the Hollywood-like production of miraculous
Miracles, spiced with convenient back stories;
He healed, resurrected but asked to
Keep such under lock and key until
The Cross had been revealed that
The focus be kept always on Love
Nor comfortable choices to make the journey
Of pain less painful than it needs to be.
He taught climbing out of one's skin
To remind us that human strength doesn't
Get good mileage, but a shared yoke
Kills usurper guilt forever,
He chose a cross, a quiet wooden cross,
That we never forget the Sacrifice:
But about the Father, and to the Father.
"One day you'll fall in love"
I heard the knife stab my ear drums
For that word had wheels with sturdy spokes
And rolled away from the bleeding guillotine
With the hearts it had stolen, then broken.
Romeo fell up the balcony while the bats
Roamed the sky, catching the bugs in his
Poetry. The melody cast a shadow at Juliet's
Door and with his head over her heels,
Her heart was gripped by the lyrics
Pouring into the secrecy of that instant.
The crickets sang the background, and
Everything heaven seemed to hang in the air,
The breeze waltzed her hair, her dress
Throwing shimmers to enthralled Romeo:
Never to part, they'll live the ever after ...
Romeo's dead, then fall Juliet.
Over and over the Poison and the Dagger
Start as toddler Egos, wanting what they want
And nothing else. Led by the fear of
Being on an island, we seek to put the
Other in a cage, and have them lark
Out our favorite songs to the rising
Sun, with pretty feathers, as pretty
As the bars that we have offered them
To look out through. Who wants to be alone?
So Romeo dared choose the suicide of women,
And Juliet that of men, each conquering fear of
Their worst death to defeat their worst fear,
For who wants to be alone?
Maybe it wasn't love after all?
Maybe the judges gavelling unknowing children
To a future of multiple homes, fathers and mothers
Or single homes, with guns drawn across the parapet
Aren't breaking love, but something else?
Maybe I shouldn't fear the word as I've been taught
By decades of soap operas, movies, stories
And by this dog-eared blue and read Oxford dictionary.
Maybe we're all wrong to think when we own
A person, we are doing it for Love?
Maybe love is giving it all, and even more
Till we have no more blood to pour?
Maybe Love has given it all, and even more,
So we know how to love our neighbour?