broken home | waghni

I’m the anchor chain plunging into the deep,
Summoned by the sombre sea bed, taut and steep.
I’m the anchor chain torn between the deep and the ship,
Serving both the anchor digging the sea weeds,
And the ship ripping me off the anchor’s hold in its speed glee.

I’m problem land, trapped between two owners;
One person’s shouting curses, the other would feed the coroner.
I’m problem land. Remember the glorious days past
With daisies and morning glories? It’s over! Gun blasts
Have let loose blood baths to mar that beauty too fast!

I’m a mule, would you bet millions I’m horse or donkey?
Am I part of The Plan or mistaken fall out of a monkey?
I’m both! Let no war marr my existence.
Let horse hate donkey, but here must both parents’ love have residence,
In this heart two hearts made.

( c) Nyonglema

I’ve seen mirages, images of bright joy,
But they were just images, like child toys.
I found blessing, but little did my eyes see,
And I found a curse within and my heart bleeds.

All I sought was smiles on my face and theirs.
Laughs from peers and a happy tomorrow, my prayer;
Leading the right way, and stopping all from straying,
But I’m not he! No not he! I’m lost in life’s string.

As my last breath bathes my philtrum, leads to my coffin,
I think: “Had I but made my soul a better home,
So it could run in glee like a school of dolphins
And yield aught! My existence can now be labelled ‘Nought’.”

What singular body of the spheres is missed at night,
As the orchestra plays starlight beyond the moon in its might?
Substitution for failed parts, that’s all I crave,
And comfort on all who’ll stoop at my grave.

Colourful dreams, thoughts and hopes I knew since!
But new pain digs deep and I’m a fish without fins;
The current is strong and I can’t swim home,
The current events prove I’ll soon be lost in the foam.

Not so it is (I believe) to hurt the mettle.
But my frail meddled interior weeps to settle
He hurt us, and now she hurts me worse!
Is being trampled upon and abused part of the curse?

You my Maker who masters the clay and blows the Breath
Grant to all daily bread beneath Heaven’s hearth,
But to the lifeless only eternal rest;
When I’m gone may joy reign at last, for gone is the worst.

…..sometimes writing down the hurt can help you get out of it…this is where I was at that time.

Words from today to stir a new tomorrow from yesterday