The TV is telling me a movie story, But I can't relate. Nobody in there looks like me. Even the games I play have been carefully Curated to exclude me. My day to day life Is not on the walls of the backgrounds I Shoot at. Not even the enemies look like My daily struggles, But I play on. Artificial intelligence tests Miss my demographic, pushing out machines I Can barely relate to, bearing the fake smiles That poke through my skin in public spaces where The world expects me to blend in, to grab a chair Into their special lounge, where only I and my peers Weren't Invited. Yet I'm blamed for the crimes that are committed, And the police won't hesitate to test their suppositions On me, for no matter what I do, no matter my position, I must have stolen this car, and everything else as well. My kind has committed some egregious crimes that swell Above all the good I do in my community. Going to hell Is the promise The world has for me. They don't know me or my pain In not having enough like me to relate to; seeking Friends amidst the throng whose eyes look menacingly In fear of what I could or would do to them and all. No matter what I say or think or do, the vitriol Just can't end. I need one whom I can dare to call And relate. But even this meal that temporarily heals me will Be considered something I stole of a hardworking Man's back. Taking other people's stuff is the thing All imagine me doing; this house I worked to buy Must have been ripped of some miserable family guy. These fancy clothes must be the blue to a conman's sky! How else Could I have these, earned through hours and hours, Sacrificing family relationships, my health, my loves, Just to hit my targets of making in concrete new flowers? Nobody believes I tried to change the world my way 'Cos to the world, robbing to climb is the only way We the 1% make a living. (c) nyonglema If you earn > $ 800 000/year, then you're part of this chastised minority: enjoy.
I see… I see bird droppings zoom out the sky and
Humans drop looking for luck in different spheres.
The crowd panics. Not felled yet, trees stand
And run for the woods where leaves shield.
I see droppings hit the leaves, souls leave the trees.
Truth or dare?
Silence is the ether that burns the soul of the soldier.
Nobody believes the wood was felled,
As no noise was made when it fell in the woods.
Everybody says deforestation is a lie.
There were no birds, there were no trees,
There is no Earth, there is no you, nor me.
Just truth caught in a dare:
Dare to exist,
Dare to pervade,
Dare to be exchanged or dare to grow.
It lurks in the backdrop of wood becoming coffins.
It seeks to become a speaker box,
It seeks the Carpenter to heal the wounds,
But as is the case often, nobody wants to be true or dare.
Pride rides the pain of the thuds on Atlas’ load,
Rippling through his bones, and he bumps on the trees.
Then he screams: “Speak ye truth! speak to each other, in truth!”
And the leaves rustle,
And they listen.
And the felling stops,
And the yelling stops,
And truth dares to bare itself on the forest floor as
A shoot luscious green, midribs transfigured
In the shimmer of the star of the amber dawn.
Communication can hurt or heal, it all depends on the wielder. But I’ve seen the simple exchange of perspectives lead to new solutions yet unheard of, which lead to bright futures for people whose positions hitherto seemed so radical that no consensus was possible.
Let’s dare to challenge our status quo. The future is ahead of, not behind us
It all starts with a good intention If I could change the world? The switching of seasons can’t bring constancy of reason, Where my people live treason, and profound division In silence, in a world Where their full potential is nobody’s goddamn mission. And escalates with good intention And that’s insane! My damn mission is to alleviate your burdens, Elevate the status quo, no matter what the wardens Say in this bloody prison, I’m breaking the chains I’m going to fight for you sisters and brethren! And intentions with fodder gain attention And graciously turn to further actions Fight till my blood’s gone. Walk with me, fallen and lost, walk with me past the present Into a future where there’s no sullen, no dreams evanescent Only throngs growing strong, And I’ll make you see Heaven on Earth when I’m president! And the actions grow to the expectations Of those good intentions And now I’m president, how much better! See justice live in day, live from vampirism of before, See collaboration with the opposition, but I want more! Let’s find solution to every matter Through collaboration, I’ve told you I need more and more. And temptation comes to haunt the decisions As attention clouds intentions, warping the actions I told you I need more, more! Walk with me. What? I said coercion isn’t a foreign language, When the army can assuage, or assiege your verbiage Of disses to me, and my chores! Walk with me now, or you’ll be safe from hampering us in your cage! And the actions warped by other intentions… For we must reach this target, Set by him who pays our bills. We must comply with the majority’s wish. Nothing else matters than keeping this power I have, this power which Ebbs from my assets, And if you think of stopping me, we’ll have you served a gifted dish And the actions warped by other intentions… And if anybody complains, We are taking them out. Ungrateful lot, I made you who you are And now you question the very mind that took you out of mar Into a new existence plane? Damn you all, let’s see who can get me off this high of power! And the actions kill the budding good intentions, As if good intentions were greed, Forgetting, where they came from, Forgetting that they were fighting greed. And that all started with a good intention. (c) Nyonglema
Ever seen termites work a mighty tree down to a heap of saw dust and firewood? Out in Babadjou in Cameroon, I saw a couple of these, and it made me consider what happens when our politicians pilfer to fuel their expensive lifestyles….little things can break great things.
First, add a male and female termite.
Bullets and teargas canisters waltz on innocent citizens
And smoke and mud mingle macabre muffled paintings.
They are chanting “Freedom” to an invisible steel prison.
Then give them a tree to infest.
Angry the mob drenches the streets with angry chants
Division wrought by the Puppet Master now works its magic
The brother is the enemy, the cause is forgotten, just angry rants.
Then leave them to grow in might.
You bemoan the infection to your brother so different but similar in pain,
But, they keep pushing you to see the messages not on the wall with cryptic
Words and thoughts from their hearts making them look better than your disdain.
Building hoardes of this pest.
The words they utter offer no solace, but promises on sandy beaches where
The crab harvests the turtle’s eggs, and multiplies to infest the beach
Where hope was born still, barren, hopeless, but unaware
Riding the bark, then diving inside.
That the votes that put them there were in good will, with faith and hope as motivators
While the campaign swishes were but fantasy to match the populace’s wishes
To have political saviours, but now clad in the armor of the captivator
Working the bottom to the crest.
Infernal infestation by inhumane inhabitants instigating abominations,
Abrogating harbours, abolishing honour, abridging hope, love, faith,
And leading desperate souls to enlightenment in self-termination.
There: a wooden giant just died.