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
Tag Archives: father
Confused #FarhadAkale
RIP Farhad Ebanje Akale (March 15, 1985 – October 5, 2013)
Monopoly is quite a peculiar board.
It has always fascinated me from the days we
Heard the rain drops play on the roofs on Bamenda mornings,
But played on, played on…I won some, you won some,
Our siblings won some. The air filled with a peculiar
Smell of joy which only the carefree spirit of youth
Brings.
I remember the whole Griffin collection
We dove into and made believe and had fun, diving
In and out of the books until the holidays were
Over in 1993, and we separated never to see again.
What got me thinking about you is a monopoly board, Farhad.
Got me wondering in the cold being I’ve become where
The fountain of youth in the memories we both had
Hides. Life has surely thrown it’s curved balls at you too,
But I was sure within me you’ll be ok. You always were cheerful.
When I typed “Farhad Akale”, I was expecting to scour through
Myriad faces on Linkedin and Facebook to find my old friend.
I wasn’t looking for an obituary page!
I didn’t want to see Slink performing a tribute to you.
I didn’t want to drown in the words of a father washing the
Lifeless bundle of memories from cradle to mischief
To a bullet hole.
To the bullet hole, I say, why did you take my friend?
I’m here teary eyed to the kid I left behind,
And for the adult I never got to meet.
This is not even a poem, I’m not even on technique. My hands
Which are usually still in the face of the most horrid gore
Are trembling. I’m stuck in a loop of pain at the stranger
You’ve become but what part of me you go with is considerable.
Those were the days we smiled roses and laughed daffodils
On lilac plains, dancing in the fragrance of a dozen
Sunflowers.
You probably forgot childhood too, but I hope the Griffin is proud of your
Life, and that you find peace beyond the coffin within which is your shroud.
By the way tomorrow is your birthday, so to all the ones I missed, these words
And prayers are for you till we are on the other side re-imagining our worlds.
(c) Nyonglema
5 – 10 – 15 #WorldTeachersDay #5thOctober2015
5, 10 and 15 are the hours my body chooses to remember:
Waking up abruptly to the hateful chorus of mechanical clocks
To face the day at 5am with short thermometer fluids.
Then at 10am the buffaloes stampede to the stream, the slide,
A swing overworked while a throng stand and wait to turn,
Unable to see 10h30am where the fun all ends. The balls are working too,
Until all have to wear sad faces at the classroom door.
15h00 to familiar aromas, tastes, visuals, and instead of homework,
I’m studying stage 2 of Super Mario Bros with A-B-C, then X-Y, then L-R
Hoping dad and mum are late enough that I finally make it over
The mathematical complexity of leaping over this gorge!
However, between the 5, 10 and 15 is the treasure my brain will remember.
Glue, match sticks and cardboard were Picasso’s iceberg tip, like me
Then letters like weird glyphs found meaning in a word ballet
On the pages, chalkboards, white on black wisdom screeching in the heat
And my eyes were still sleepy from late night Nintendo adventures.
The smiley faces became ticks, the ticks became grades, the grades
Became appraisals, and each aimed to keep me from straying
And make that other kid proud that he stayed furthest ahead of the pack.
The pressurized air bounces around the room sans-echo:
Years of research presented to my ignorant brain in seconds
And over and over again, I finally get it, and scorn those blokes
Of years past who couldn’t figure out that the apple WILL fall down.
Do it like this, not like this! Manners, planning, praying:
I soaked them all up in floating waves around my ears near my peers,
Till soon I was so filled, I was letting them out to other sponges.
Sadly, none of that ever fixed the chicken scratch I call handwriting!
5, 10 and 15 those three numbers which represent all you were to me:
End of nursery, end of primary, end of secondary and start university!
At each junction you stood, waiting to direct me, and whip…mean correct me.
Thank you the teachers who’ve made me who I’ve become today,
Who shaped the words I’ve chosen to write
And the way I say the jokes which make the souls of friends light.
You’re the garden of the world, for all that is dark and all that is right,
The under-looked power changing the world with red pen, white chalk and black board.
(c) Nyonglema
R.I.P. Mum…you’re the teacher I miss the most, till we meet again!
Marital Advice: Love AT LAST #marriage #couple #happiness
AT last AT last!
I’m so happy for you. I know for sure that you’ve fought your internal battles and are ready for the journey of love.
Love is a choice, a decision which you have thought through and are making on that beautiful day. The next 100years of your happy lives depends on both of you (and the kids on the way 🙂 ). Make the best of them. Communicate communicate communicate. Talk to each other at least thrice a day…talk about everything, your fears, joys, pain, temptations. Share your projects, plans, hopes, dreams. Be each other’s mentor for growth personally, and professionally. Be great in bed, and advise each other on how to make the experience more pleasant for each other. Live the beautiful adventure of life together. Eliminate unnecessary distractions and noise that could steal the precious moments in each other’s arms.
Love love love is the key.
The future indeed begins now, and no matter what the world tells you, you shall be happy if you believe, and work hard at your couple, together. Don’t procrastinate the hard talks, don’t let anger let you say horrible things to each other. Always try to have a calm conversation, get angry but not for too long. Stay honest on your feelings to each other. Know we men are more introverted, and get us to tell you we love you, because some of us forget. Plan events together, get the man on board the projects, and get on his projects. It’s the 21st century, but men still need to feel in control of the home…give him that without becoming a slave.
Love love love is the key.
What more can I wish you but pure unrefined concentrated saturated happiness….so much of it that it overflows from your heart onto your kids and family and friends. Girls night out? Gone…replaced with cosy evenings with your heartthrob. You’ll have to relinquish some of your past, to enjoy the present. The chick must leave the comfort and security of the egg, to experience this world if he must become a brave singing cock. On the that day your life really begins, my daughter!
Love love love your husband and let him love love love you. Doesn’t matter who loves more, as long as both hearts are on the same boat to the same destination of happiness‼
God will show you the way…just a little faith will do…just a little!
Congratulations on such a great step. Blessings on the journey.
(c) Nyonglema
The Chosen Mother #Mary #Christmas
Oh Bethlehem of glorious fate,
You through love became so great,
For within your walls on stable bare
Mary lay her Babe in yester year.
The gusty winds of winter tide
She warded off as best she might:
With shards of cloth she swathed the Boy
Who brought Salvation to lack of joy.
In dark dull fields the light was lit
As shepherds, sheep got on their feet
To sing along to heavenly praise
And rush to see the King of Grace.
In foreign land some saw the star,
And left their own to travel far,
With gifts to honour and wisdom too,
They knelt and prayed the King of Truth.
And Mary watched her first born sleep
With Love, the wise, shepherds and sheep.
She got the mystery the angel voiced:
“Most glorious blessed, my Master’s choice.”
(c) Nyonglema
I MISS YOU #mum #RIP #deceased #mama #mother #death
Where’s the sweet smile on the sunlit porch,
Sitting calmly and watching the world bustle by?
Where are the hugs from that sweet voice, pitch high,
But sweet soft? The flame on my darkness’ torch?
Where lie those sweet smells through the threshold,
Playing notes upon my nose, stirring thoughts in my tummy?
Where’s that sweet face like that on me,
Looking at me up and down like when I left the fresh mold?
Where’s that intangible love exchanged non-verbally,
As we shared recent events for hours,
You encouraging me to build my own life towers,
And those sweet thoughts shaping me morally and mentally?
Where’s the history of how you bore me 9 months,
And brought me through pain to this place of stress
Where I now have to live without your face,
Words, or touch till I’m done counting months?
Where are the trips to church, outings trips in the sun?
Where’s that beautiful chocolate skin you’ve given us?
Where’s the joy now that you’ve left us?
Where are you mum?
(c) Nyonglema
Last sight #supportWidows #supportWidowers
I shut my eyes on Her twisted face,
All writhed in sorrow, my pain in Her innermost.
All hopes dead, an end closing in.
Slowly, I closed my heavy eyelids,
Rest I must; rest this divine pottery
Bathed in years of loving teardrops, Her sorrow cutting my innermost.
I glanced back at Joy,
Saw Him retreating stealthily, suavely fleeing;
I called to Him, but fixed His bearing was:
Home with me He would; He went ahead,
Leaving those eyes I had wiped flooded, but drying up.
Then She broke my thoughts, uttered Her thought.
And how I wished I could hear that conjecture by
Her now mellifluous voice; before I would have used cotton
To spare my ear Her nagging torture.
Then I looked back at Memory.
He sat on an old rock, most eruditely clad,
Told me of my siblings, peeps, my parents,
Slowly unfolded the reel of tears and smiles,
Stones I had kicked, stumbles dotting the pages;
My first beard, first girl, first beer;
This whole learning process as it was,
As it slowly neared its end.
Told of 14 years of school (bookworming)
The pain of seeing no further than my arm:
A marking handicap branded on me.
He told me of Her, how She groomed me,
Before and after I was Her groom.
His eloquence so captivated me,
I suddenly came back, my eyes shutting.
I felt some dying shocks on my thorax.
They must have been trying to re-establish the life distributor.
Again, I saw Her face, cupped in her hands
Like no pain, horror, sorrow
Could violate the barrier created.
The look in Her eye told me She knew;
She knew what I knew: solace would not come.
She read my goodbye and I dove;
Uwu and Mafou and granddad stood waiting,
Arms open, received the escapee,
As medics shocked the inanimate flesh on the bed
And my shut eyelids took me far off; home,
With Memory, Joy, Uwu and Mafou
Telling me of it all.
(c) Nyonglema
I Am #divorce #brokenHome #cheat #alimony #home
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
The other side of Freedom #theOtherView #EvilBegetsEvil
They said they loved me.
Then, the metal beasts came, soaring over me
Heaping dust and blood on our city streets,
As their lethal load hit like rain sheets.
I watched their love puncture the city walls
And sever the sinews off the boy and his ball
Leaving the mother crying for her son, then his dad
Till her tears meant nothing in the wailing myriad.
I saw the hate build with each blood drop
Drawn from the soldiers and innocent. Drop
For drop, survivors intend revenge upon this love shown:
This false love which spurs only hate till we’re all gone.
(c) Nyonglema
This is a view from the other side of fanatism. Taking more weapons to the Middle East will only push more bereaved honest Muslims in despair to take up arms to avenge their lost ones: in that state where all is lost, the fanatics find fodder for their ideas, and turn these honest citizens into murderous terrorists. There has to be another way. A politician suggested diplomacy and negotiations. May another way be found, for bloodshed will only lead to more bloodshed. May the souls lost in the wars on both sides R.I.P.
Whispers in the Night #supportWidows #supportWidowers
This is a poem I submitted as a submission to a competition on Poetry Soup. The idea was to write lyrics to the instrumental Life story by Peter White. Maybe you’ll hear me sing to this soon :-). But you go ahead, have some fun with the words, and share to your friends. Who knows, this could be your The Voice moment.
Whispers in the night, longing for your ears
To drown every fear
But the sorrow sleeps with me tonight.
Whispers in the night, saying a bitter prayer,
Gone the summer cheer,
Only cold snow fills me deep inside.
Remembering the fun-filled laughter, the dreams we shared;
Together we made it: built that home of kids and bricks.
Remembering the hurtful wards, the chemo and meds,
That instant you were mine, then reality killed me: us was history.
Whispers in the night, saying our favorite prayers
Seeing you everywhere
Your smell still lives painfully in this house
Whispers in the night: “Oh why not a few more years?”
Still so much to share!
Nobody to hug and care for life!
Remembering the fun-filled laughter, the dreams we shared
Together we made it: built that home of kids and bricks.
Remembering the hurtful wards, the chemo and meds,
That instant you were mine, then reality killed me: us was history.
(c) Nyonglema
waghni 