A true little miracle that happened to me :-)
Morning sun pouring in through my windshield
On the daily route to the office
Here comes interruption from my phone:
Go to the bank for a new card.
The beads gleam in my fingers as if to remind me
That I was locked in conversation
And it would be rude to distract myself
In a bid to get to a place I don't know
So, guilty, I told my Lord:
Let's carry on, and when I hail the Holy Queen
Let the bank be before me.
And trusting in His yes, I guessed my way forward,
Turning left
Turning right
Then left
Then left
Then right
Not knowing where my whims would lead
All the while, my fingers stayed steady forward:
The scourging, the crowning, the carrying,
Punctuated by "Let me turn this way."
Then despair. I parked on a shoulder,
The prayer now over but with no bank in sight.
I sorrowfully showed my remorse:
Sorry for forcing Your Hand, let me turn to Google
But now I was late for work, so reroute the plan:
Chart my course back to my original journey.
But
As soon as I make a left turn
There it was: the un-promised surprise,
Object of my despair, and my trust newly repaired
My little miracle for a Tuesday morning
With the sun lighting up the bank's windows:
God's Positioning System.
(c) nyonglema
Tag Archives: despair
Ruined? Renewed
Grab the paper and let it bear the burden
Of the ticking clock looking at your life:
The pendulum swings,
The occasional rings.
Pencil and eraser like a butcher’s knife
Open up your soul as the paper groans
Where is joy? The clock ticks sadly away
But nothing smiles.
Just broken whiles
Laid on the page in slow sullen sway.
The luggage says “Life once was worth it”
Your selection of instances led to hell
And the pendulum swings
To painful mourning.
Erase those parts? How to? Pray tell!
Can the burdened soaked page give answer?
Who cares! Tell me where else I must seek
As all is laid bare.
The page’s blank stare
Neither tells nor hides my failure’s peaks!
Burn! Let the heat steam away the pain
Till the ashes wash away all feeling here
I quit! I quit!
No restart! This is it!
End it all as the ash cracks and smoke’s clear
Master, the tempest is raging?
He’ll master the endless derailment!
When storms come, in silence turn to the Lord
There’s no page too sordid, no moment too bored
No pain he can’t erase
No low he can’t raise
No matter the cost He’ll make sure you’re re-moored
To the purpose that rejoiced at your conception .
Not in wind, nor fire, nor Earth’s contractions
But in the still candle flame
Knees, if they can handle pain,
Whisper: “Lord, give my dark chronicles a new mission:
To serve you alone, till the ticking clock’s cessation.
(c) nyonglema
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
Because colonisation
The wheels on the bus fight round and round
Round the ground, stones around,
The wheels on the bus, have gone aground
In holes in the town.
The driver of the bus says move on back,
Far to the back, far to the back,
The driver of the bus stays in his shack
While sons and moms drown
The baby on the bus goes where'd I go?
Where's that hope? Where's that road?
The baby on the bus thinks Paris stole those
While leaders put on a frown
The mummy on the bus goes France did this
France did this, In the 1960s
The mummy on the bus says France did this,
While leaders steal her gown.
The wheels on the bus have left the ground,
Go round and round, round and round,
The wheels on the bus go off road guards
And starts plunging down.
(c) nyonglema
Looking for Rafiki #rise
There are times that life gets so complicated that you lose hope, that you believe that you are just a mistake in God’s master-plan. In those moments, you may wish to be in a movie.
Like in the Lion King, where all goes bad, then here comes Rafiki with the water reflection trick to make you see yourself, you wish for that epiphany. Then you say to yourself it will never happen…well maybe here it is ;-)
My soul is longing for peace,
My mind is working on the fleece of the wool of redemption.
Dad always said the only solution to anything was preemption,
But …that’s not helping now, I need magic beans, or even peas.
I’ve scraped my knees
Against the floor, bruised my thighs like a failed sliding tackle
And broken my fingers with nothing to show but my lost battles
Hanging like trophies in a hive deserted of bees.
I’ve seen life seethe,
And stink to the brim with no solace, direction or intention,
Smelt the reek as if each of my steps would take me up the proverbial creek
Yet my Sisyphus reward is to walk still and breathe
Yet you Lord look me
Deep within the soul at that time I dare not look at a mirror
And see more than gold where I sense but ghouls and cheap horror
But dare not call for help ashamed and cuddling my defeat.
You see the meat,
Where I see only decay clinging to bones as the flies tug,
Cheese where I see but milk going away as the flies would tug
And You call to me, and call again while I pull up my bed sheets.
Totally hid I feel,
Yet You still see, still call, still love, still long
For that seed you sowed to bask in the raining glow of the sun
And dance to the tune of photosynthesis and mitosis and start to reel
Totally dead I feel,
For undeserving, I am served with the most beautiful voice
Of hope from a fellow human sent by You, I push away the buoys
You send because this despair loves this creek stroking the keel.
But you Lord look me,
And beckon louder, and louder, and louder, each bellow more potent
Than the previous, and like trees swaying by the wind bent
I feel the soul you gave me reach for the rudder, but me
I love this creek,
So I pull it away. But you beckon even louder and louder and louder,
And maybe that’s when I hear the prayer my soul’s slowly powdered
On my days in the silence of my subconscious, courageous and meek
I love this creek,
Lord, but it hurts to be this deep. I’m accepting what I can’t change
Just like you advised. Don’t pull me out, I don’t deserve any chance.
That’s my conscious rationalising. But I sense my soul’s subtle leaks.
The transcripts are in,
It calls to its Maker in hidden text, and writes lengthy memos,
I’d not read. I’m starting to hate this creek through its demos.
Maybe it’s time to leave. But will you Lord take me back in?
You Lord look me
Deep within, beyond my saddest moments, beyond my soul’s hardest
Torments, beyond the times I pushed you away trusting my breast
Alone, you Lord choose me again, You really choose me
And call on me,
To cast my burdens, to cast the yoke I have piled on my shoulder
And leave the creek wherein I’ve been rolling up the evil boulder,
To come home: your love gives me hope, your love heals.
(c) Nyonglema
Alleluia #Easter #newBeginnings #spring
Everyday is a new opportunity to get a new beginning in your life. Life walks around distributing lemons, what are you going to do with them? Make lemonade or leak tears?
A man used death to save the world!
____________________________________
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia
The Lord is risen, the flood in Eden
Has ceased this morn, Alleluia !
My joy was hidden, in death’s throes shivering
Till bright light shone, Alleluia
My soul met Evil and thought it was even,
But oh…hope won ! Alleluia !
Alleluia, the choir’s wings shiver
To swell up the storm of Alleluias
Alleluia, the choir sings forever
Alleluia, Alleluia
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia
Darkness broke with the wake of the globe.
As it spun the light into sight, Apostles woke
To the shrill voices of hope who’d gone with balm
But brought back joy that whole nations will calm.
Alleluia, no tremors no splinters
When my Lord came hither, Alleluia
Alleluia, off came the fetters
When the Word came home, Alleluia
God’s face was my brother, the cross brought bother
But oh…hope won, Alleluia
Hope’s all my fodder, but life was asunder
Till bright light shone, Alleluia
Yes, He is risen, my soul praise the heavens!
Death ceased this morn, Alleluia!
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.
(c) Nyonglema
Downhill #despair #darknessIt
It all goes downhill from here.
At home, I’m not the man I paint
On the wall of my dreams. I’m not he.
My kids see me, but I see a faint
Depiction of myself, riddled with fleas
I see a demon with horns in their saint
Advising, holding, downhill to hell.
It all goes downhill from here
When even at work your effect is faint
And your figures are wrong, targets wrong
And failure’s the only thing you acquaint
As the reports are filed and you’re wrong wrong.
Where did you go wrong in all that you meant
To achieve as you go downhill to hell?
It all goes downhill from where
Suicide lurks in the scripts on the page,
Taunts you with methods, means to fix this.
Gives you the manual to soothe and assuage,
In detailed depictions with diagrams and digits,
To stop decay and just leave it all without rage
Down down down down downhill to hell.
It all goes downhill from here.
Even the staff is broken, staring with rage
As you disgust in the reek of your failure.
The promises filled the meter, but didn’t meet the gauge
And your futile attempts to fix are lures
To aggravate the stench and meet Murphy’s adage:
“It will go downhill downhill to hell.”
What’s left? What’s left? What’s left?
Nothing. Nothing. Downhill downhill …to hell.
But it need not go downhill from here.
Your finger’s on the trigger of solace, or so you think.
There’s a Saviour in true panoramic review
Of the situation. He resets the stroboscope on your blinks
So you can see the brightness now out of view.
It’s never easy when the dishes seem to overfill the sink
But it always goes down down and away from hell.
For it only seem to go downhill from here
Because pain injects despair and shortsightedness within
And Hope’s disguised as sci-fi anime.
But if you look deeper, that veil will wear out very thin
And within God whispers each step of the way:
“It’ll be OK. Let me take you off the sand for a spin”
And your “Yes” will take you up up and away to well.
(c) Nyonglema
Screen #escapade #despair
I’m looking at you,
To find a better summer,
The letters just blink
(c) Nyonglema
The Last Man Standing #supportWidows #supportWidowers #fakeProphets
The wind gusts kissed the rain drops when we met in that MRS station :
Two souls seeking shelter but finding fetter for love in total elation.
Loving each instant of evening trips, the knighting pose to propose,
The stressful preparation together, and the white fairy wings we chose
To carry me to the next level of our bond, you in black, me in white
Sealing this bond, this bond, this bond, with one golden knot so tight
You said you’d be the third set of footsteps in the sand of my homeward journey,
Lifting me to the Lord’s arms, chaining your sad days to my listening gurney
Walking me to the Lord’s arms on that day we all must give back our depth
And lie together lifeless dust on lifeless dust playing the game of death.
Together in life we raced the shopping bustle, beat the crowded morning hustle
So should release every muscle at the same time to make simultaneous fossils
The wind gusts are kissing rain drops in another bland dying MRS station
And one soul seeks shelter or fetter but finds neither in total desperation
Hating each instant evening weeps, pics jocose now a dead wilted rose
The stressful separation, bad weather and the dark dreary things that I chose
To put in the box to carry you to the next level of God’s bond of light,
Killing this bond, this bond, this bond with one last breath … then night.
You said, you swore in breaths of love and swore and said some more
That you’ll be there, that this heart will never be bare, that sad yore’s lore
Of Capulet’s daughter’s end was never coming near this bond this bond this bond
And wound up leaving me standing alone, rended, shattered, worthless mound,
Lost, battered with tears digging ditches on these cheeks missing your every kiss,
Pale, scarred, marred, a fossil of some other time that knew something of bliss.
The wind gusts are fighting the rain drops in another dead MRS station
And I’m standing tethered to the past, seeking instant solution or re-creation.
This man’s one of God’s keeps, and sure has a solution to brighten my prose
For I’ve seen his promise take form in the sight of a blind man at his shows.
Oh! To find the third steps and make this burden of loss once again light
I’ll trust these words which God’s given this human creature of might.
-Then later… –
The wind gusts are gone, no rain drops in the dusty lonely MRS station
And I’m lying down praying my last, abandoned and in want of some medication.
That man standing’s not God’s tweet! Yes I paid in cash for all my throes,
But never got sight, never walked, just paid more and more to feed my woes
Oh come long lost love, lead the way to the tunnel bright with God’s light
To rebuild this bond this bond this bond in one golden knot more tight.
(c) Nyonglema
In front of the door #addiction #lost #hope
Tip tap tip tap tip tap dumm dumm dumm
Tip tap tip tap tip tap dumm dumm dumm
The butterflies don’t fly around anymore where I live
Nor do bees weave honey out of the sweet notes from trees.
Outside there’s quiet, so quiet even the colours took leave
And the dim light scoffs the darkness dancing around me
The fireflies died eons ago. Those notes of the piano
I long to hear turned to screeches within each cord
Of my soul: broken chords, broken hope more than you’d know
The cling clang of my chains and my beaten soul are in accord.
Tip tap tip tap tip tap dumm dumm dumm
Tip tap tip tap tip tap dumm dumm dumm
Yes the steps outside, those steps I hear as I fall
Into this abyss I love, those steps keep knocking and get denied
Entry to my cosy coroner of paradise which tends the walls
Within which I cage myself: this body I’ve hatefully knifed.
I clutch the bane and nurse my pain as my very own kin
And wish they could float in, wishing the owl’s hoot
Were not real, and they could pass through any- and everything
That the nightmares in my reality were entirely moot.
How shall I let them in to take away my pleasure
My treasure, my precious tender executioner?
The butterflies don’t fly around here in any measure
And the bees fled the pestilence in this corner.
(c) Nyonglema
waghni 