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

Here Lie Lies

Here lies Lie, who killed no woman nor baby:
No fire was started, no life was lost lately
The char was made up 
Not even one stray cop
Was near Ngarbuh on Valentine's day 2020. 

(c) nyonglema 

Categories
fear

No End #stopwar #ambazonia

In a conflict, the more sensible person should call for a negotiation, whoever that person is. Guns only call more guns.



Where the sunlight gives a dying kiss to the watery ripples
Of orange despair, my mind wanders like a lost soul. 
Souls get trampled under dusty boots on the drying 
Bahama grass, bent over and trying to recoil when 
The foot leaves it; it has lots to say but its lips are sealed:
 
Children played here under hopeful stars yesterday, 
While their crease-browed parents argued about the 
Next stop in their journey to nowhere. The neighbours 
Looked at their Cicam cloth on the floor in jealousy; 
Theirs was bare soil, and little food for their brood. 

Children sprayed bullets at soldiers yesterday 
While their wide eyed friends laid in red cells, 
Staring into the distance, avoiding the sight of 
Brother hacking brother. The macabre sacrifice of Cain, 
The macabre machination of Nagato Pain unleashing
Upon the calm Harmattan smoke-laden wind. 

My mind wanders where hope and despair clash with rage. 
Everybody's right in the painting. All that's left,
Are corpses, explosions, revenge, decapitations, and a 
Government that threatens extermination of vermin 
For foiling their plans of total control and greed
Makes you only vermin to be eradicated, cost what may
Come what may! Vermin is vermin even in a cradle. 

(c) nyonglema


Categories
anger

Can’t stop, won’t stop #ngarbuh #fongum #more

Who cares? The tears dry up into bitter red salt crystals
On the petals fallen to this ball of water and rocks, muddied
In lush vegetation trampled by boots, slippers, silent cymbals. 

They clang, but the ears float far away, like the soul halo
In the backlit fumes of fresh foray against foe and friend,
For revenge is mellow so that metal and more can billow. 

But who hears? The blue bird chirps its pain in arrows
And hearts, and graphic designers design gore for that
Yet the glass stays cold despite blood, char, and ash it shows. 

It stank to them who stole the pictures to horrid memory, 
But not to me. No phone can relay those chemicals to me
Or the emotions that come with walking on war territory

So I smile, and swipe left. Denial is the media's vial, 
Filled with self-loathing poison, the ministers love it too. 
More bullets, more fire, and less genocidal survival. 

(c) nyonglema