THE UNION #supportWidows #supportWidowers

From far away past where silent orbs

Danced to rhythms of unknown forces forging

Newer niches in cloud then soil then rock,

Smouldering, sizzling silently as time tic toc

Ebbed away, watching life on some lifeless rock surging,

To this day when we dance to the rhythm of Forbes,

The moon and sun in divine love urging

Have danced about the earth: light source upon a rock,

Bringing life to earth when the sullen clock

Calls out the grim owl, vile wolf, and sturdy sturgeon

Through the silent night nobody else disturbs,

Locked in eternal enthralment, watching the dark dungeon

Earth would be but for the sun- or moonlight it absorbs.

Moonlight from sunlight like new groom and virgin

Locked in an embrace older than Eden’s first baulk,

But sealed forever to work on this blue rock;

Bringing light to life on earth at dawn then dusk, merging

Efforts: sun casts its beams on daytime suburbs

But when the earth turns as if to shun its scourging,

That age old mission bound to fail as dusk struck

Finds new life in the passive glitter on that battered rock,

The partner playing its part, for so it was from the first forging.

From far away past, as far back as the silent space orbs,

The sun and moon in sublime love urging.

Have danced about and cast shadows out of this rock

And so it should be, for when one’s gone and you lose the rock

Foundation of the union, then is there but darkness and dirge in

The picture, and the survivor is just a lifeless rock listening for hope in the orbs.

(c)Nyonglema

Sheep in the fold

One sheep two sheep three sheep go

Four sheep five sheep go where the others go

six sheep seven sheep walk into the door

Seven sheep going to where they do not know

 

Eight sheep nine sheep walk into the door

Ten sheep eleven ’cause the other ten do

Twelve sheep thirteen see stains upon the floor

Fourteen fifteen march to where they have to go

 

Sixteen, seventeen heads start to roll

Eighteen, nineteen sheep have left the fold

Twenty many more follow as they go

Following stains and sheep heads upon the floor.

 

(c) Nyonglema

The gods are passing

Picture this: the sun engraving sweat streaks

On your sizzling skin, stinging your eyes

As the humid heat hits your cheeks

Painting pain all over your 37°C-and-rising

Body stuck in the thick traffic like on all weeks

Barely breathing, headed home from the day’s trials.

 

And a-blaring come crowding the air those sirens:

The horns from cars speeding as if to mock

Our stillness. The cops with walkie-talkies pulling reins

On all who wish the way home were shorter:

“Order!” “wait!” The horns go from shrill – and since

There’s “order” – to barytone peace while we still sweat.

 

The sun’s still engraving its streaks on me

The heat still heating my sorry cheeks

This metallic cage stuck amongst so many

Others like it, ordered to stop for the glorious horns,

Is starting to feel like a microwave oven to me.

But what can I do? The gods were passing.

 

(c) Nyonglema

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