Thanks #myRose #myLove

That night, the night it all started,
The night I first saw my rose
Gliding in beauty, blissfully baffling
The listeners she had attracted,
I was still deep in my woes,
Dark in my soul: love to me was throes.
The first glance brought back hope,
That hope for true love we all have, but soon lose.

That night, the night it all started,
I thought roses were all prickly, hated everything
That related to that word, scared to cope
In this world, my pain not so abstracted,
For I had tasted it all, lay in my corner shivering
But you came into my world, a voice so comforting
Left me wondering why Mnemosyna had sent a muse
To faze me: Cupido got that one!

That night, after it had all started,
Her look during our presentation, no more would I mope,
Chewing my pen ‘tween 2 words, who’ll I choose?
All adventures crumbled, those roses had me scratched,
Left me scarred, thinking of a rope
End my life, end as lifeless as the bar of erudite soap
The 14th of July had brought to Lilian,
She who lied to me, traded me for my best friend.

That night, after it had all started,
I thought of Lilian and the similar moose
Who’d played me for a fool, my heart an empty can.
But that night it restarted
The sweet pain filling me, wrecking my sinews
As I looked at her look, chatted about the news,
But heard no other noise, but the beautiful blend
Of her melodious voice with music of the spheres.

That night, I knew it had restarted,
The psychological feeling, these 2 hearts were meant one,
She knew it too: she whispered it in a voice so fragrant
And together we traveled. It had started.
The skin smooth under my strolling hands,
Lips speaking a language all understand,
All the while, she returning my care,
Feelings we could not control.

That night, thank God it had started.
Everyday I pay God it never ends.
A rose whose prickly stem I could bear,
And who my weaknesses knew but never retreated.
A firm stem to lean on, when pain gets me bent,
By my side, forgiving the unfaithful ends.
I have been given, and never will let fall
My rose, thank you for giving me hope.

(c) Nyonglema

Turtle passion #poetry

The slow passion that ebbs and flows
From the mixing of words into some story,
Some hope from some other joyful or not story,
Unexpectedly grips the silence and grows
The words on the pages into hyperbolic worlds.

Then you’re hooked to seeing pages come to life
At the corner of a library aisle, where books
Watch you drink in the words. Those moments are
Magic to your soul as like through butter with knife
You wage epic battles with fantasies unknown.

Then the pages that your consciousness builds
Slowly unfold in Roman script on some page
As you strive to share that passion that ebbs and flows
From the mixing of your words. You’re now part of the guild
Of wordsmiths building hope one metaphor at a go.

(c) Nyonglema

Power #africa #cameroon #noViolence

Is it the dark tunnel through which the bullet
Travels to draw blood and replace breath
With the reek of death?

Is it the bland plunder in schools of the culled kids
For their colour or deep rage born
From the system’s scorn?

Is it the grab-n-lockup foolishness you’re pulling
When any born cause is a menace for you:
Jail or the Reaper’s costume?

Is it the canisters seeking kids’ gullets
With gaseous odours of real painful
Teary eyes, pitiful?

Where’s your power? In the uniform or weapon?
In the blood on the floor, or the one on your hands?
In the lives of the sons and daughters not to see tomorrow?

Where’s your power? I would have thought of more
In food for the poor, sick souls’ solace, in infrastructure!

Where’s your power? I guess we’ll never know.

(c) Nyonglema

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