Categories
anger sadness

Kumba, then more.

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. 
Not anymore. 
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. 

(c) nyonglema

Eis requiem aeternam Dei : 
Victory, Jenifer, Princess, Telma, Rema, Syndi, ....

Categories
anger

Butterfly effect #ambazonia

Spare the son. 
But kill the father, kill the mother, kill the brother,
Kill the sister, kill the baby, and let the son get vengeful, and
Spare the son.

But kill the father, kill the mother, kill the brother,
Kill the brother, kill the dog, kill the baby and let that son get vengeful, and
Spare the hospital,

But burn the houses, burn the father, burn the mother,
Burn the cousin, burn the uncle, and let the healed get vengeful, and
Spare their buddy,

And let hell drop red upon the fuming ashes of fresh baked
Black human flesh in their wake, and let their buddy get vengeful and
Spare a cousin,

And....

(c) nyonglema
Categories
fear

Read and blacked #noViolence

There’s a call from the depths of the shadows of the trees.
No, it’s but a whisper…no a whimper
A finger pointing to the sky as if to hold back its ghost,
By passing through the hook in the tail, where it anchored once
And gave purpose to the mouth, seeks the words.
Yesterday adrenaline threw a party and welled up,
As the radios piled up the tension in the atmosphere
In the warehouse of his soul. The finger lowers, slowly.
Maybe not this time. Maybe it will have to let go. Maybe the eagle
Will fly away with the message and alert the angels, or
Inspire a new way to change, a new way to love.
Just a whimper in the bushes, now red and black,
With caking blood clinging to the midribs as if
Scared to touch the screaming ground, where many dead lie.
Just a whimper, oblivious to those running around it, defending,
Taking bullets, giving bullets. This looks like some buffet
In Hell. Brothers are sharing a beautiful meal of hate,
While the future hangs on a finger, which wished for more
Than dying slowly in the clamour of unwanted war.

(c) Nyonglema

1st of October 2017, my kids almost lost their only great grandmum, but many parents shall have to bury their children, and some children will have to bury their parents. My deepest condolences brothers and sisters.

I don’t know about you, but a bullet never solved any problem. When the protagonists are all dead, all that’s left is hate in the hearts of the grievers, and revenge hangs heavy like the reek of putrid grudges. Hate begets hate, love begets love. Let’s be humble and love each other, for like with everything, you can only decide when the war is born, you don’t know the day nor the hour when everything is so torn that the war must die

Like with every positive message, I fear this will be read and blacked out…please share. Let’s stop the spiral of hate!