This is a poem by Meuna who is 7 years old on his mother's birthday: enjoy.
So my leg lunged forward, and you slowly matched that step,
Smiling, clinging onto my hand trembling no more.
I wasn't going to let you go.
I would succeed.
I had done this before
Dear Readers, I had to share this little jewel from my 8-year-old son; something special he wrote for his precious mum. It’s so unexpected that he came up with something so special…and she loved it. So here goes: A tall mountain top, by Balla. Enjoy, Kind regards, nyonglema __________ A tall mountain top As tall…
They say glass is made from sand, and I’ve witnessed In documentaries how men take the so-rough-and-ugly To make these marvelous pieces, that hold the best Wine, whiskey, temperature, treasure. I had treasure once; It wasn’t made of glass, but I lost it by my fault And watched it pour into oblivion ounce by ounce.…
When you cross the Pearly Gates, will you sing for mum? I recall those tender dew watered Yaoundé morns When the cassette spun your voice out the Kenwood speakers, Lulling my childhood ears to plains which white lilies adorn And bees buzz the harmony to your vocals and the horns. I recall especially as…
Till pieces are ready to be put in the cauldron
Of oil of olive and salt and more
And make my meal, no a meal for me and the squadron
Of 2 bigger boys and 1 girlish bore,
I loved deep but saying "I love you" was an Isaac sacrifice, ...till the well ran dry
To all Teachers: 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!
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…