Whispers in the Night #supportWidows #supportWidowers

Whispers in the night, longing for your ears
To drown every fear
But the sorrow sleeps with me tonight.

Whispers in the night, saying a bitter prayer,
Gone the summer cheer,
Only cold snow fills me deep inside.

Remembering the fun-filled laughter, the dreams we shared;
Together we made it: built that home of kids and bricks.

Remembering the hurtful wards, the chemo and meds,
That instant you were mine, then reality killed me: us was history.

Whispers in the night, saying our favorite prayers
Seeing you everywhere
Your smell still lives painfully in this house

Whispers in the night: “Oh why not a few more years?”
Still so much to share!
Nobody to hug and care for life!

Remembering the fun-filled laughter, the dreams we shared
Together we made it: built that home of kids and bricks.

Remembering the hurtful wards, the chemo and meds,
That instant you were mine, then reality killed me: us was history.

(c) Nyonglema

Dance #dance

DJ Drop the needle on the record
And send strong waves singeing my synapses,
Nudging my senses, confounding each cord
Composing my sinews to move in accord,
Enthralled by the notes dancing on the staff.

(c) Nyonglema

The Irony of the Red Smiling Cyclops #nuun #nassara #genocide #isis

It appeared on the doorpost as a Cyclop’s smiley face
For some Cyclops WhatsApp icon, but red-themed application
Yes gruesome red, in contrast to the expectation
You would get from a smiley face, even for a Cyclops.
It quizzed my curiosity and I dug further on Google’s interface.

It appeared on the search page as the queen Isis,
Long told in Hieroglyphics, Cyrillic and Roman alphabet,
Patroness, mother, queen, blessings with love met,
But unlike these grim Arabic script in an ominous logo,
And tales of death, pain littered with deeper crises

It told of “nuun”, 14th letter of a blessed script
In which many beautiful and wise thoughts found life,
A letter which told of blessing and not of strife
Being in a position multiple of seven, a number blessed
By God Himself when he Earth and Heaven in 7 breaths whipped

It told of the Magen David, a shining star, which should be a good thing
Only that it brings memories of gaunt bodies piled in trucks
And human experimentation, and as history at our door knocks
And Isis or Isil opens to let in what we dread most
“Nuun” is stuck in my iris with pain and scary sting.

For I have seen the blank stare of heads painting in red drips the pickets
And Leonidas’ 300-style gore re-enacted in modern city streets
As heads are divorced from bodies and all around are scared heartbeats
For even bloodied child clothes cover head-less bodies,
As Christians are beheaded like one would roast crickets.

It brings back memories of my ancestors up in the Samba regions,
Fleeing the harsh choice given to them by the jihadists:
To adorn the village picket or join the cause of the Islamist,
Forced to create a third choice, which was to leave their homes,
Friends and family to pseudo-Islam or lurid lethal lesions.

Is it that time again for Iraqi Christians?
Shall the world once again watch the Red Indians’,Tutsis’, and Jews’
Story take gruesome form and hack through human sinews?
How many litres of innocent blood, and kilogrammes of hacked human flesh
Are needed to realise the vanity in the life of Homo sapiens?

(c) Nyonglema

Rainy Season #Murphy’sLaw

We ran from outside, ducking and hiding
As rain in monstrous drops our faces a-riding
Drenched our gear
But we made it in here
…then the roof caved in and rain did more riding

(c)Nyonglema

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