Tag Archives: birth

Others, sadness

I hate messes too

Leave a comment

What if Mary and Joseph had come to you on Christmas Eve? 

A donkey a man and two people in a woman. 
Navel points to dust as if to say: "Imminent". 
Winter's frosty bite's is too much trouble 
And if I give in to this sweet talking strong man, 
I might find myself therein rather imminently. 

For what whining with new life clatters through 
The halls of a hotel, where sleeping souls seek
Solace, won't yank them out of wrangled slumber
To complain, keep the gelten bag, then shoot 
A notice on my place: "Flee the Plague"? 

What if Cerberus licks baby and mother's 
Face in hearty welcome to where none seeks it? 
What to do? What to say? What to think, 
As soldiers enquire "Did he really smother?"
and "Why?" Oh it causes me to tremble! 

Tremble, tremble oh soul of mine!
Let them go to the next hotel in line
For trouble's in the side-view mirror, 
Urging me on to walk into imminent horror
But wisdom's mine: "Go! Goooo! You'll be fine!"

(c) nyonglema
fear

Shooting your foot #Cameroon

3 Comments

I told him exactly the same as I’m telling you now:

The gun you point at your people is a gun you point
At your pupil, or at your pupils, or through a peephole
Into a future with LED lights lining trees capturing
Sunlight, and lightning, a future enlightened
By the lightness of the smiles of generations to come
A peephole looking back at the nozzle of a barrel.

I knew he wouldn’t listen, for without the ash splattered
Against my mane wisdom cannot be part of my game.
All their epithelia are the same, waiting for epitaphs
Epilogue to tales where epic lies dominate photographs
Of instants of truth, painful truth….like the peephole
And the barrel, and they’ve seen it all, the seed to the tree
The stream to the river, the whole range of our history

I knew he wouldn’t listen, nor read, nor taste of my sweat,
But maybe my blood, so I painted myself like the others
Vehement in thoughts dancing entrapped in cages of fear
Where the lines on the 60 leaves plane-leaved exercise book
Jump off the page where you jotted your deepest hopes for
Change, change into pain, twist your arms and pull your fingers
Around them. They turn into metal, and you’re looking out,
Wishing for a desk, a pen, but not even a toilet for your rear’s near.

But I know He will listen. He doesn’t read these words
He feels them. He sees my prayer that we’d stop crowding Peter’s
Waiting room: the logistics department had to order new magazines,
About cars, about medicine about emptying magazines on citizens,
To accommodate the throng waiting for their lift to the final
Destination: Heaven or Hell. The water dispenser needs refilling,
This place wasn’t designed for such affluence…well there was Noah,
Or better still his time, but there was enough notice for facilities
To be put in place. Not this time…but I know He listens.

So, they told him exactly as I tell you now:

When words can save the souls of many,
Lay Guns to rest by Pride’s old body
And dare to save another’s soul today
For face to face mountains all decay.

(c) nyonglema

love

Thanks #myRose #myLove

Leave a comment

That night, the night it all started,
The night I first saw my rose
Gliding in beauty, blissfully baffling
The listeners she had attracted,
I was still deep in my woes,
Dark in my soul: love to me was throes.
The first glance brought back hope,
That hope for true love we all have, but soon lose.

That night, the night it all started,
I thought roses were all prickly, hated everything
That related to that word, scared to cope
In this world, my pain not so abstracted,
For I had tasted it all, lay in my corner shivering
But you came into my world, a voice so comforting
Left me wondering why Mnemosyna had sent a muse
To faze me: Cupido got that one!

That night, after it had all started,
Her look during our presentation, no more would I mope,
Chewing my pen ‘tween 2 words, who’ll I choose?
All adventures crumbled, those roses had me scratched,
Left me scarred, thinking of a rope
End my life, end as lifeless as the bar of erudite soap
The 14th of July had brought to Lilian,
She who lied to me, traded me for my best friend.

That night, after it had all started,
I thought of Lilian and the similar moose
Who’d played me for a fool, my heart an empty can.
But that night it restarted
The sweet pain filling me, wrecking my sinews
As I looked at her look, chatted about the news,
But heard no other noise, but the beautiful blend
Of her melodious voice with music of the spheres.

That night, I knew it had restarted,
The psychological feeling, these 2 hearts were meant one,
She knew it too: she whispered it in a voice so fragrant
And together we traveled. It had started.
The skin smooth under my strolling hands,
Lips speaking a language all understand,
All the while, she returning my care,
Feelings we could not control.

That night, thank God it had started.
Everyday I pay God it never ends.
A rose whose prickly stem I could bear,
And who my weaknesses knew but never retreated.
A firm stem to lean on, when pain gets me bent,
By my side, forgiving the unfaithful ends.
I have been given, and never will let fall
My rose, thank you for giving me hope.

(c) Nyonglema