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nyant Feb 2018
Algeria a rich land poor people,
Angola seems to have kings,
Benin is blessed with voodoo,
Botswana blood bulls diamonds,
Burkina Faso can't cope coups,
Burundi twelve years a slave,
Cape Verde has half a million,
Cameroon got cocoa,
Chad's lake is shrinking,
Comoros has under a million,
DRC is third largest,
Congo is it's neighbour with capitals facing,
Côte d'Ivoire has few elephants,
Djibouti's on the horn,
Egypt has mummy's,
Equatorial guinea struck oil in 95 but didn't loose change,
Eritrea has 5000 running annually,
Ethiopia's great rift is pretty ******,
Gabon is subject to black gold,
Gambia got a peace of it after 65,
Great Ghana oasis of peace,
Guinea is diverse,
Bissau too,
Kenyans have beautiful smiles,
Lesotho is SA's baby,
Liberia oldest republic,
Libya needs liberty,
Madagascar where are the penguins!
Malawi has warm hearts,
Mali is 8th,
Mauritania is 11th,
Mauritius marvel,
Morocco fine leather,
Mozambique keeps the dugongs,
Namibia Windhoek ah,
Niger after a river,
Nigeria makes zuma rock,
Rwanda listen,
Sao tome and principe 2nd smallest,
Senegoals,
She sells Seychelles,
Sierra Leone free?
Somalia loose,
S. Africa reign,
South Sudan independent?
Sudan - black,
Swaziland more than solo men,
Tanzania trade,
Togo up down,
Two knees yeah,
Uganda teacher come simeon,
Zambia's peace?
Zimbabwe got rid of Mugabe.

Always thought zed was co.za but we're actually co.zm,
so what's zim?

One way we'll loose change is when the overseers begin to acknowledge the under looked.

-nyanta
nyant Feb 2018
Oh JD how I admired thee,
your sinister sarcasm,
your sharp screeching scream,
your pink pursed lips,
always as if you were to whistle.

You sat in your chair arms rested,
after another exhausting session with
disengaged delinquents,
I'd always feel a sense of guilt,
as your red face cooled down after every class.

I'd always appreciate the days when we pleased you,
How hard it was to please you.
The prince of of punctuation,
when will these fools stop forgetting where to place their commas,
when will they wake up and realign to the standard Oxford rule.

I wonder if you studied there,
or why you wouldn't drive one,
perhaps that's why you loved the phrase manners makyth so much.

You taught me about literature and African history,
the best possible combination of Shaka spear,
I feel that I impressed you more in the latter,
but that doesn't really matter.

We're world's apart now,
as you continue in your most precious profession,
I lay in my bed writing poems,
slightly clueless about this post adolescent world.

I forget much,
but I'll always remember the strolls to the cats and dogs,
the advice and complaints,
the doubts about saints,
the sky blue in your eyes.

How I wished you would fly,
above  from the gloom that seemed to,
keep your head bowed down to the ground,
that you would once again smile at the sound of the birds at dawn...
Bygones be bygones.

Little did you know that you became a father figure,
I respected your resolute resolve to stand for your convictions,
clarity climbed off the cusp of your tongue as you cried,
you were sure of yourself and spoke your mind,  
I do think you could have been a little more gentle,
kind.
So could I.

I learned so much from you,
but I may have also learned your sadness,
but it's something I had to let go,
your roots run deeper than I'll ever know,
maybe something sour happened along the way to embitter them.

Whatever the case may be,
please forgive any inaccuracy,
I'll always hold you fondly,
JD.

Kanyanta
nyant Mar 23
Life appears as a sea of disease,
with waves that whelm woefully,
while wisdom wails from the deep,
"Perhaps in pain, they'll notice me".

What a mess we've made,
foolish game we've played,
the scene is tense,
at what expense?

Nonetheless we must not cower to fear in this new year.

Be cruelly kind,
frightfully fearless,
expedietly patient,
drunkenly sober.

Believe a better story,
knead a neater narrative,
apathy is insidious,
for every sickening sad tale,
seek a double dose of positive too.

There is a call to resolve,
till the final curtain creeps,
there is a call to dissolve,
till one's final baited breath,
there is a call to live in love,
embodied and embellished,
laying awake with a dream of a better day in the face of apparent decay,
putting on the full shield,
we must not yield,
either hand is the upper hand,
having done all we can, we must stand.
nyant Dec 2018
Once a time I heard it said,
let the dead bury the dead,
I never quite understood what it meant,
until I felt a numbness in my chest,
a desire to die,
a dream deferred,
a strangled sigh,
a song unheard.

I often feel like I walked in the dark,
Ever since I ran from the wilderness,
with all its doubt, drear and shame,
I never want to go back there again,
I strolled the streets of the cold Cape,
saw men punching and talking to the air,
wondering if they're led by its spirit,
I could almost hear their right minds crying from this coat of confusion,
a caged bird singing,
what could lead them to such a crawl,
each man for himself,
God watch us fall.
nyant Apr 2018
"Lookin' in the mirror like I'm runnin' for ya" @mrswoope

I found free bread,
looked like I was living,
deep down I've been dead,
he's the only one who knew it,
said I'm forgiven,
said he isn't a liar,
said it's the truth,
I saw the evidence,
denied the proof.

Multiple ifs,
if I made a will would it be the Fathers?
If I showed them my ***** laundry,
would that make me clean?
If I wore all the T-shirts would it prove I'm part of the team?

If it doesn't profit I'm accounting the losses,
drunk from a bitter well,
still thirsty,
boy better know...

If He's the forerunner I wanna be among the runner ups.
uneased,
attention sicker,
face booked,
mind felt thicker,
new addiction,
birds on twitter,
running from my situation,
looking for instagrammyfication.

I'm back in the lab,
don't tell dee dee,
no magic tricks,
now you see me.

Just grazing amataba,
corn liquor,
I see the mountain dew as the moon shines but I won't drink,
I don't wanna go to court,
had enough miranda,
pass me something fresh,
life-giving 7up now I'm full of pep, see?

101 denominations Cruella smiles at my blind spots,
feeling Shaggy,
stole my dogs,
let them out,
don't tell ******,
chasing a double standard of living,
lowering my own,
trying to be real ended up a clone,
whitewash inanimate,
despicable like a minion,
peeling my plastic,
under a basket.

Cashier at the pharmacy,
chuckling at the after life,
said he only went to Sunday school so his mum would keep being nice.

Have 99 problems ahead,
he never leaves 1 behind,
thought I stood,
felt the fall,
read the writing on the wall,
started righting all my wrongs,
listing them from the least to greatest yeah I hope he erased them.

Knock on the door I'm Judas peeping through the keyhole,
cares of life lost for Word,
can't fill the gaps suicidal,
hanged man,
Jesus Christ died once,
even though I double crossed him,
He said it is finished,
he came for the lost,
I count it all loss then.

Had sweat on my brow,
trying to toot my own horn,
it took a while but I found a better one to blow.

amataba(maize in icibemba)
nyant Feb 2018
Banakulu
She died, I cried,
at least I tried,
she's gone, I realized,
Will I see her again?
Another life,
Diabetes took her away,
Her pain was visible.
She held on but let go,
condition critical.

I didn't know vernacular,
that was sometimes a barrier,
more time we could've spent together,
but I preferred my extra time with video games and TV on the weekend,
so when mum would ask, "do you want to see grandpa and grandma today? "
I'd say maybe next week and sometimes next week was a month or two.

I played a song for her in the guest room as she lay there days before she was taken to the hospital.  I sang my heart out as she shed a tear.

I know she would want the best for me,
she was diligent concerned and had pedigree,
she seemed to find the miracle in the mundane,
or maybe she simply settled in the calmer seas of life early,  
she left her imprint on all her daughters,
care, action, cleanliness, and honesty.

Banakulu is missed and hopefully, I'll see her again. For now all I know is bonds are formed with memories and memories by time spent together.

*banakulu - grandmother in icibemba(Zambian language)
nyant Jul 2019
They'd be debating over the msg, kjv, niv, etc,
while he drowned in *******,
tormented as he trialed his conversion,
vice city no longer a mere game,
but the vicinity of his brain,
conscious corrupted in chains,
marveled at unfruitful doctrines strange,
left sick on the verge of deranged,
eyes laying sight on the vile,
called out but took the bait of the Nile,
stiff-necked afraid to plough the furrow,
skin-deep till it got to the marrow,
no shield when struck by the arrow,
backslid and strayed from the narrow,
birthed in sin,
lost within,
had it not been,
for Christ the King.

Thanks to Obi wan & Pam and every other person that's crossed my path.

matthew 23:28

#7670daysonearth
nyant Feb 2018
Brothers and sisters borrow me a blessing that brings no sorrow,
everything I chase seems to cage me in this rat race of life,
why must all that I do require such strife,
as long as the outcome is income they say,
sometimes I'd do anything to make the
pay go away,
even if I've never worked a 9 to 5,
just so that I could run outside and play,
carpé diem,
seize the day they say,
well okay,
what if the day has nothing to hold on to?
Must I make myself mused by the mundane,
married to the morbid mistress that has become my mattress,
spark a fire when I'm matchless,
I'd much less be away,
chalice to wonderland,
peter to never land,
perhaps Rome,
no Juliet,
all alone,
see the sunset,
gone,
take flight,
into the night.
nyant Apr 20
Tik tok kilks the clock,
Twitter when I'm bitter,
Insta when anxt,
Facebook for a quick look at my standing on the social strata,
what's the cost to my oblongata?
nyant May 24
Can't forget the depths from which we were brought,
that would waste the weight of all
we were taught,
the tension in the string,
as puppets pass the plate,
hoping it will decide their eternal fate,
little knowing the price was paid in full,
sometimes it matters where you go to school.

Now the brain is bullied and battered,
as the oppressor is the professor,
divulging deceit so they can never find their feet,
there's a dependency on piety as to a diety,
drinking from a stagnant stream,
thirsty for fresh waters,
calling all sons and daughters to the river of life,
branch on to the vine that satisfies the soul.

Wrestling in the centre of the ring,
the compression in the spring,
once slaves to the waves that toss,
count it all as loss just to know the one who paid a great cost.
nyant Feb 2018
I will do it,
when the time is right,
I will do it,
before you take my life,
I will do it,
make my wrongs right,
I will do it,
show you my loyalty,
I will do it,
show you my trust,
I will do it,
show you my love,
I will do it,
tomorrow will come,
I didn't do it.
nyant Feb 2018
Professors with professions listen on the sidelines to my cryptic confessions like I'm still under the lineage of the plane papacy taking note of my blank boredom.
Don't even know if I deserve to saint this message.

Look warm,
they'll think you're a sky walker,
be hot they'll think you're an odd joker,
cause these days there's no truth to bat an eye on,
Even christians bail on the touchy topics,
I too would rather travel the tropics,
But we can't piece up the peace in these last days.

It's a relative subjective river that you can choose to glide on.
Why do foolish ants labour to protest works?
Perhaps it's a minor issue and we're digging too deep.
Perhaps the devil's wearing denoms down with bootleg discussions,
that bow out but never stand in the gap,
Perhaps there are finer issues like my blessings.
Perhaps everyone will eventually find their way.
One man for himself...

I used to pray for mercy,
then I'd pray to messi,
It's like now I prey for merces,
distractions and direction,
promises of perfection,
leave me licking lumps of wounds that the leaven left.
We all want to hear something new,
twerk the message and please the pew.
I can feel the Ichabod as the teaching scratches my ears.

Can a name be enough?
Can a call really save?
Or is it just a ploy to keep the black man a slave?

- nyant
nyant Nov 2018
May my dreams not die before I sleep.
Eva
nyant Feb 2018
Eva
I had a sleep in Saturday morning,
till I decided to go outside at noon,
walked to shop rite,
got some telekom talk time,
and strolled to the park off main road,  
guitar in my right hand,
adidas backpack,
first sat on a bench but strayed from the heat,
to a spot of shade and squatted,
I began to lament as I strummed the acoustic.

Everyone around the park quietly perched,
a child came by with her mother as they played by the ground ,
then some boys came around to kick it,
it was time to leave.

I walked north to another park I knew,
I still found activity.

An old lady in a wheelchair,
some parents and their children,
some people with their dogs,
all enjoying the little enclosure.
I skipped that section and walked into the wide expanse of gleaming green grass,
unaffected by the long drought,
there was a little bench facing the enclosure,
that's where I sat.

As soon as I sat down,
she came running to me,
her father following suit,
understandably so,
she paused and smiled at me as I unraveled my caraya,
she said, 'what's that?'
Her dad with his cool 'rock' t-shirt said it's a guitar,
she repeated,
pronouncing it in an odd way,
I asked him if he played and he said no,
to my subconscious surprise,
he additionally had long black hair which added to his rockstar vibe,
she suddenly stretched out her hand and plucked the 3rd or 4th,
as her dad gave her a slight rebuke and told her to follow him,
he said she's his only one,
I waved goodbye.

I could see a blonde haired lady,
watching from the enclosure,
slightly apprehensive,
her mother perhaps,
she eventually left after the trio sat diagonally facing me,
just playing the same chords I've known for so long,
feeling as though I'd been stuck in a stagnant cycle,
birthing nothing more,
menopause.

She raced towards me again,
this time her dad simply watched,
she just stood around as I played,
almost enchanted by the sound,
I partially flabbergasted,
sure this muzungu has never seen a guitar?
She ran back to her apparent guardians.

A few minutes later she raced back,
surprisingly quick,
her hair was bouncing and her packet of mini tennis biscuits shuffled in her hand,
she halted in front of me and stretched out her hand,
I asked her to pick one out for me and I ate it,
she took them and came back with a bottle of water but I told her I was fine,
she had already paid me enough joy.
I wondered if her dad was sending her.

She continued to run around with her dad until they parted east.
She hopped on her pink bicycle as he shepherded behind.
Fading into the distance,
leaving me wondering of I'll ever see her beautiful bright smile and eyes  again.

Eva brought life to my day,
more so my existence ,
she showed so much love,
in such little time,
unlike most toddlers,
she gave,
not only that she gave the little she had,  
of her menial mini tennis biscuits,
that made a racket in her packet,
and her tiny 350 ml water bottle,
with all of her running,
never even considered my race,
after meeting her I feel like I've seen all the beauty this life can show,
she was a highlight from the Author's book,
it's these things that keep me going,
these things that keep me knowing,
maybe just maybe I haven't blown it,
I hope she turns out to be a fine young madam,
I hope she gets to meet the second Adam.
Eva Saturday love gift
muzungu means white person in Bemba(Zambian language)
nyant Feb 2018
The day I opened a Bible was a tale of two cities,
The best and the worst of times,
I could no longer lay back and leave the sand in my hourglass,
watch the days of my life drift,
while logans lurk,
wolverine around the brook in the forest,
looking to claw the hope away,
make a ridge between the family I claimed to love.
There seems to be harmony in passions,
But not even Timmy knows which spell Tabitha will cast to cause more division.

The continent of the canine always barking with it's mouth open,
Feed me,
We cry,
now we are fat with corruption,
preying on the piety of poverty,
prophiting leviathans,
the cultish land with a superstition,
fearful never able to hear the mission.

We hold fast but not to the word,
starving ourselves from understanding,
traditions trump truth,
as we defecate more dangerous nonsense into our ear holes,
perhaps we're better off,
we have some peace and food,
we don't have the rat race,
maybe I've been too sheltered,
failing to truly discern the state of the land that houses me.
I couldn't even see that my house was burning but it was cool if  it was watered down by a firetruck .

I used to think that every African knows Jesus. Sometimes I act like I don't.

-Kanyanta
Fire truck reference is a silly satire at zambian government
nyant Dec 2020
An ode to Dunbar,
I binge on his broken wholesome pieces,
how strange the words of a man of long ago and a life so different from my own can strike a chord so true to my aching heart.
nyant May 2020
Much can be said about freedom.
Is it a feeling, a state of mind, is it found in what we possess?

Perhaps you're like the African child who writes this,
often carrying a rootlessness that he can't articulate either in his mother's or his borrowed tongue.

All he knows right now is 'they' came, 'they' saw 'they' conquered.
We bowed, we wept, defeated.
To this day our ebony coating carries a curse.
Often perceived as less than,
with a lucky few who are above the rest.

Perhaps you're well versed in the beautiful tragedy of who we are.
You're acquainted with our jovial spirit,
Our fierce fortitude and our soiled scars.
I appreciate you and I hope you continue to teach others.

Maybe you're a young Paris Hilton who doesn't know there's more to us than south and west,
Be our guest,
but learn our story,
strive to know me and my children for who they really are,
some will try to deceive you like all is well and rosy.
Others will make you weak with worry,
portraying me so pitifully,
wailing my woes while waving my wins.

Anyway, today you celebrate my freedom.
As for me, I grimly grieve.
From my vantage it seems that foreigners feed the feet of the ones most trampled.
Yet your own heads gormandise at their expense.
Many are conforming to the very ways that enchained them.
Sometimes I'm ashamed to call you my children.

Yet I still hope, I always will.
That one day you will begin to shine in this darkness with all of your blackness,
ride with all of your beauty,
tread upon the slick serpents from abroad and from within,
loosen the limbs of the lions and wolves that corrupt credence to your detriment.
Find ways to forgive the injustices all the while resolving them beyond words.

Perhaps it's a dream, but I hope one day all of you my dear children, near and far, one day, may all of you be truly free.

With love,
Mama Africa
nyant Feb 2018
There's nothing more that I long for now.
To taste,
to feel,
the vista,
the sound,
the scent,
the love,
a piece,
enjoy,
so pure,
so true,
so right,
the cure,
so bright,
imbued,
to stand,
to walk,
to run,
fearlessly,
truly me,
new,
whole.
A dream.
nyant May 17
Is all fair in love and war?
Clothe me when I'm naked and bare,
Put off excuses that you are unaware,
Do you see me? Do you care?
I'm flailing in flames yet you simply stare.

What are you running from?
Do you see that we are all refugees?
Seeking our own ideas of peace and harmony,
We all just want to be free.

I had an Israeli peer named Mahdi,
a Palestine named Ali,
both came to my country to live regularly,
they could have been great friends but war makes a stranger an enemy.

What is the price of the wars we wage?
nyant May 25
I'm at the brink of my ink,
the more time to think,
the deeper I sink,
it hits the fan,
the room starts to stink,
change the web of my patterns,
trying to see the link,
little extra ****** oil left in my lantern,
my light burns dimly,
you said you won't be quick to ***** a smoldering wick,
I'm tired and sick,
sad stories and tragedies,
got me feeling like faith is a fallacy,
recently all I've had is grief in my gallery,
concerned by my comfort with pain,
tell my brother not to be like professor X but I often do the same,
carry the weight of the world,
thinking that will bring some change.

If you're just about to quit,
jump, hang or slit,
I don't blame you,
this place can break you,
before you leave,
have you ever been?
have you ever seen?
The pitiable prince of peace?
I don't refer to the replicas but the real thing,
the true King,
have you ever picked up his call and let his words ring?
don't leave his message unread,
if you feel like the walking dead,
he's prepared a table for those who,
thirst for water and hunger for bread,
I can't guarantee an easier road,
but I can testify that trusting Jesus lightens the load.

After visiting his gallery,
I was perplexed by his power,
curious of his character,
lopsided by his love.

I hope he gives you enough to hold on.
nyant Nov 2018
I know your to and fros,
your sisters and bros,
how many steps you take each day,
how your face looks,
where you stay,
I know what's best for you,
I don't care if you think it's okay.
Play on the word Google and cyberscurity/privacy
nyant Jul 2019
You will be the head and not the tail,
girl,
you will be the head and not the tail,
boy,
are you the head and not the tail,
woman,
are you the head and not the tail,
man,
You will be the greatest and not the least,
you will be at my table when we feast,
nyant Feb 2018
I write my opinions here,
but they are pinions if you weigh them against truth,
don't let my words be final,
my writing is a petition,
a plea,
it's my permission,
to let others see what's been done in me.
nyant Mar 2018
You know my wickedness,
my darkness,
my shame,
you've seen my barrenness,
my burdens,
my pain,
you've touched my scars,
my tears,
my scoff,
you've smelt my temptations,
my sin,
my pride,
you've heard my delusions,
my boasts,
my lies,
You've tasted my lemon,
my leaven,
my old wine.

You wash the awful attire that I try to lord,
offering me clothes that I could never afford,
I stay in my nakedness,
I feel set in my ways,
you say you're older,
the ancient of days,
I have removed the blocks from the road,
help me drop the lies of this load,
help me ABBA,
dear lord,
my striving has ceased,
by your grace,
help me to walk,
in a way that you're pleased.
nyant Aug 2020
Deers panting painfully,
the breath of death roams optically,
fibres of fear torn through the year.

Peering through a glass dimly,
ripping what was sewn grimly,
hollow laughter stitched by a phony braceline.

The tears were always true,
dormant they had been till they poured down bountiful.

An ocean of gloom.  
All the while a joy at the base vibrates with every rising tide and wave.

Even with a desire to cease and find reprieve,
The birth pangs insist that the vision they must conceive,
behind the cumulative nimbus lies a quantum of solace that will make the ghastly trip seam a breeze.
nyant Apr 16
"Clocks" coldly plays in my ears,
"...part of the cure or the disease?"
It's amazing how misunderstandings (and music) can help one cope.
When I feel short of oil in my lamp,
the right words at the right time act like an amp,
"Rage rage against the dying of the light."
As Dylan Thomas mourned paternal mortality,
in ignorance the words of the weeping Welshman gave me temporal vitality,
even now that I'm aware of their accurate intent,
to my own interpretation I remain bent because if I don't hold the meaning that I first saw I lose breath as they become irrelevent.

Hence, in a an era of persistent pandemics, "progress" and injustice,
my spirit crawls with a flickering wick,
body weighed weak like a walking stick,
mind searching for life in a eulogy,
still seeking to slay the cynic in me,
wishing for wrongs to be made right,
raging against the dying...
nyant Mar 2018
Well it's pretty cold over here,
my doubt makes it difficult to draw near,
revelling in the *** of the ruminate that I retch,
wondering why I want to stay a wretch,
heeding fables,
constantly unstable in many ways,
as I mule and bray away my days,
wasting time looking for a needle in the hay,
worried about wheat and chaff,
never about the rod and staff,
forgetting what the Miller said,
the ball is in your court,
stick to your field old sport.

I dined the dark with the swine,
as we crafted the mud and mocked the divine,
on lonely island we speak of filthy things,
the kind that should be kept private,
like pirates out for innocence,
we burn our idle incense,
looking for a pharaoh to harrow,
any Jack or sparrow,
hovering to find any hose here,
little loose rats into the water with the Pied Piper,
we **** the fishmonger with fear,
he was meant to guard his stock,
we bribe the shepherd as if he never heard,
meant to guard his flock,
he probably never cared.

Casting out our cunning lines,
telling them to enter in,
but never through the gate,
hoping they'll take the bait,
carrot and stick,
on to the slave ship,
men of clouded Eris,
forever luring sinbad.

Timon and Pumba said hakuna matata,
that option was to obvious for my ominous oblanganta,
the rooster crows when it sees the raven,
but we forget our roles when we're in a haven,
rafiki said look beyond what you see,
but I was in the desert and the thirst was real,
you could say that I was in my feels,
I chased the mirage,
missed the ever open oasis,
still thirsty,
it didn't lust.
listening to my logic,
ate the food on the palace plate,
who can relate?

My spider senses were webbed by the sandman as I drilled for digital  dopamine to derail my depression,
dusty roads laid in the distance as my discernment was damaged.
Now I'm afraid to have a dialogue because I'm no longer used to analogue,
fight fleeting.

I'm fed up of spinning in cycles,
gotta check my psyche like Nike,
can't bet on chance,
I need discipline unlike Mike.

Do you want more?
I scream encore,
wondering why I've become so numb,
why I've lost control,
walking the isle of isolation,
hiding from the groom,
even after all the light,
all I saw was gloom,
tossed by the wind and waves,  
I hide in the bush from Ned like Homer,
I could make a joke of this quagmire,
but I really feel like Gomer.
Sometimes you have to leave the cast if you feel like you'll remain half the man.

With all my getting I never understand,
I just peter in the storm,
hoping He will stretch out His mighty hand.
nyant Mar 2018
Lone wolf where is your pack?
Was nobody fit enough to track with you?
What was Thomas without Percy, Emily and Gordon?
Would they have driven to all those great discoveries and found the lost treasure?
but you fed fast on pleasure,
ignoring the words of the fat director,
pretending to be strong,
all along 'you were wrong',
preferring that electric surge,
though could have ran together
you know there ain't no bolt without us,
but you chose to park the bus,
defend yourself from your perceived threats.

Go and lead your charge,
pay your own wage,
no time for the old way,
do what's current,
coin something new,
shave your heir off,
or bleach it,
quit our race,
howling slowly in the wilderness to your dearth,
crying who who who did this to me?

We'll stand by the trees,
boats by the sea,
with our big yellow eyes and just watch, feed on the vestiges of your lonely island.
as you sink in panic,
only to be remembered as that ignorant titanic,
Tell me how is it there?
nyant Feb 2019
He started a company called misery but he didn't get many shareholders.
nyant Jul 2019
It's said that a stitch in time saves nine,
well pass the wool to the fools,
stress to hem that nothing's as it seams,
coil caution tape around what's commonly coveted,
weary of winding up the woeful with warnings they're wound up to be wounded.

It's only a while before wit gives way to grit and the garments don't fit,
leaving behind a bare brother brewing bitterly on cold concrete,
his evidence is shaken,
validity made volatile,
placed on a polluted pile,
slide her a sweater for she shivers,
he should've known better.

Tell the young black stallion,
most times his mare knows best,
there's a stark simplicity to the test,
tell them all to labour to enter in to His rest.
nyant Jun 2018
This road to recovery is quite long,
at times I feel so far gone,
life would rock in a band,
friend's lend a hand in quicksand,
had to learn this fact the hard way.

Failed the city,
got struck by an arrow,
the plot took an olive twist,
thought I had thick skin,
I didn't check my marrow,
I became blind to the sparrow,
so I pirated my chest's treasure,
the problem was not the problem,
hard to integrate broken parts,
deceit hides in the arts.

Playing catch-up,
lost the sauce,
cos now the defects are patent,
tan wears off away from the sun,
would be pointless to dress it up,
sin's proved real and so has satin.

Maybe I was shadow boxing,
fighting on the wrong hill,
perhaps this dark night isn't so serious,
maybe I should just chill,
should I ruminate those net flics?

Glad not to have a credit card,
my ledger would not balance,
life is turning to a heath,
some melancholic saga,
acted like a rugrat,
you could hear me going gaga,
played facebook like poker,
seems I played the joker,
was supposed to be a man,
became a cimbwi no plan.

Went ghost to being holy,
I didn't see the flying phantoms,
the wrestle is not a royal rumble,
man's never been hot though he looked warm.

right here before your eyes,
either a warrior will rise,
or another king will take an impending tumble.

Django's unchained gotta pick up what remains.
'cimbwi no plan' - a phrase in Zambian culture that connotes idleness and purposelessness
nyant Nov 2018
Was it Medusa or Delilah?
the incision that distorted his vision,
once tore a lion's mouth when grace abounded,
once so confident, strong and grounded,
now he's like a stray dog that's confounded,
he was once empowered,
but his courage cowered to his affliction,
bold until he gave a foothold,
the slavery of sin himself sold.

Has his heir been cut off he ponders?
lost his source of conviction he wonders?
did he stop taking things day by day,
needing every hour?
Did he let that root grow bitter,
to the point he's tasting sour?

He could've broken down false pillars,
now he feels like an empty salt cellar,
better yet a basket case,
can't recognize his master's face.
betrayed himself so greatly,
put his trust in a chariot,
wore the coat of Iscariot.
He knows the past is not a place to dwell,
but he's reminded by a ceaseless thirst,
the by-product of seeking water from a broken wishing well,
discernment had diminished,
he simply couldn't tell,
slowly but surely,
pride was how he fell.
He tried to build it up again,
but to no avail,
perhaps a case of Ichabod,
has the spirit left his tail,
is it hocus-pocus,
the reason he can't focus?
Less time with fellow ironmen,
more marvelling at unfruitful doctrines strange,
identity issues like Ben Tennyson,
perhaps he's gone insane,
he keeps on going in cycles,
his habits hard to change,
or maybe he has lost the upper hand?
because every time the rain falls and the wind blows,
his house just will not stand.
nyant Oct 2020
Capillaries calloused colluding to cease circulating,
septum slowly severing,
ventricles vilely venting,
atrium awefully aching,
worn out walls wailing.

Captain Cranium capture that cunning crooked Cupid!
Hazardously hasty it hangs from his sleeve,
dodging the darts of desire,
new neural paths he tries to rewire.

Drive slow weary heart,
too fast too forward you start,
travel to a more tender tune,
beauty will bloom soon.
nyant May 2018
Power less is how I feel,
once I was a superhero,
a man of steel,
now more of a zero.

Between allies and alloys,
I mixed with the wrong team,
boys will be boys,
for a moment at least it seems.
We were meant to be kings,
but didn't hold to the principles.
nyant Jul 2019
king by side
queen takes knight,
dusks to dawns,
bishops preying on pawns,
crannies and rooks,
1000 Benji's in The Book,
30 pieces silver all it took,
fishers of men by hook or crook,
ends justify,
ying for the yang,
black for the white,
depths of duplicity,
deadly duality.

The prince of platitudes,
logging for wolves,
specks by his eye,
maybe a stye,
he thought he could see,
learned that he's blind.

Dexter's and Deedee's,
Ed Edd's and and Eddy's,
washed in the red,
sailing unsteadily.

Gotta grind to acquire a k9,
a Cannon or a canine,
merry in the mundane,
simply to stay sane.

Tiger Woods nails a hole in one,
The Lamb nailed a hole in three,
took the L never kept the score,
hoping to see his eaglets soar,
back as a lion ready to roar,
not an apparition he let them feel, no longer heard the hissing at his heel.

Mirages made in desert thirst,
caused them to stray and whine,
to the point it was fine to dine with swine,
in the cool shadow of his wings their wounds will heal,
for it's for his house he has the zeal,
refining ore he's packed and sealed,
the greatest gift to men revealed,
salvation for every nation,
with the gospel's propagation,
disciples' proliferation,
entire generations,
discover true liberation.
nyant Dec 2018
"could you keep your head up,  when you're losing ground?"

On this day he was feeling the plight of vision-less sight,
recalling α.ω. Tozer's the "result of rejected light",
like an assassin he claimed all the creeds,
till baseless words were exposed by his deeds,
sometimes apparent depth is hollow and deceptive,
one cannot give anything to one who is unreceptive.

Raised in block C and chalala bedrock,
it's time to go Holme,
what went wrong?
investigate like Sherlock,
perhaps it was when he decided there were weightier matters than his gran,
or when he distanced himself from his fam,
or he spent to much time on the gram,
whatever the case let's make it brief,
the young man simply succumbed to utter unbelief.

The wrestle is not a royal rumble,
oh that cornerstone can make a goliath stumble,
all the words he heard at youth camp,
Couldn't speak when folly gave him the sock,
He didn't listen to the people's champ,
Yes,
he made light of the Rock.

That's enough of lamentation,
it is time for a revelation,
creation groans for the manifestation,
tribes and tongues of every nation,
by the power of Christ find true liberation!
nyant Nov 2018
In the quiet of the consequence,
rises the volume of his guilty conscience,
another year has gone by leaves him asking why,
his legacy is potential,
Captain could've should've would've,
had he sharpened his mental,
he could have rewritten his story,
partook in the glory,
all he's left with is sorry.

Right now he must resist resentment,
realize repentance hoping the ominous cloud,
the one that stands imposing and proud,
will not pour the cold judgment to which he's been sentenced.
nyant Feb 2018
In simply city,
every skyscraping thought is crushed,
in simply city we try to have one mayor,
who abolished slavery,
we don't fear danger,
we show off but only about our weakness.
nyant Nov 2018
A half empty vessel I make noise,
half fool trying to man up and stop boy,
eating plenty but giving few.
know how to be filled,
not how to pour,
know I have wings,
though afraid to sore.

My house was swept but I did not shut the door,
when they were chased they came back with more,
now I'm crying back to sender,
when I opened the door for them to enter,
may we treat our temples with reverence,
masterpieces sculpted from Genesis.

Pain was promised but so was joy,
moths and rust shall not destroy,
the beauty that is beyond fasting from bacon,
the call to a kingdom that can't be shaken.

There may be reason to be in fright,
but he calls us to be salt and light,
ask for strength to fight the good fight,
to mortify the flesh to be filled with Christ.

May we be okay being perceived inferior,
to know there's treasure in our interior,
to learn to find joy in shadows,
to know that only he is hallowed,
let us learn to serve in love,
fix our eyes on things above,
working out in fear and trembling,
God will bring it to an ending,
may condemnation not refrain,
the grace that makes us born again,
when all our deeds are purged by fire,
may we live for a cause that is so much higher,
may it truly be found that we loved The Messiah.

It's time to seek the ancient paths,
to tread along the greener grass,
for time is short,
and life is faster,
may perfume pour through our cracks soon after,
may the Potter jar us like alabaster,
to be worn and wasted by a wicked world,
to replace the fragrance of sin's foul penalty,
to lighten what was once so grim,
to know that suffering will make us more like him.

It's time for speech to turn to traction,
to be whole when feeling fraction,
to be simple and true,
to trust in the dark the one who made hue,
to walk by faith and hope that grace will bring us through,
seek his face when you can't recognize yourself,
he is our friend an ever present help,
he's writing our story,
we are seated on a right hand shelf,
the library of love where his presence dwells,
not by power not by might,
he will help keep us in the light.

If the King emptied himself,
who are we to be full of grief?
should troubles always bring unbelief,
don't we know the one we follow,
the joyful holy man of sorrow,
the pages in our story that none will ever see,
were authored by the one who set us free,
the message in the bottle was meant for we,
open the scrolls and pray we see,
that ours is overwhelming victory,
that we have been given mercy,
to no longer bear the weight of iniquity,
to boldly say we're free indeed.

For wretched were we and far from pretty,
naked in shame and to be pitied,
trusted in things that don't sustain,
in wisdom and teachings that bind our brain,
let's run to the name that will not fail,
the one who leads us from the prison doors,
the one who paved the streets of gold,
for all our losses sevenfold,
the one who bought us with a precious price,
the one who died to give true life,
the prince of the peace who gave us bail,
Hold fast to the truth His Word won't fail.
References: I Corinthians 13:11-12, Matthew 12:45, I Corinthians 6:19, Matthew 6:19, Hebrews 12:28, Matthew 5:13, Romans 8:13, 2 Corinthians 4:7, Galatians 5:13, Phillipians 2:12, Romans 8:1, Ephesians 2:8, I Corinthians 3:13, Jeremiah 6:16, Luke 7:37, Jeremiah 18:4, Romans 6:23, Romans 5:3-5, I John 3:18, Psalm 46:1, Hebrews 12:2, Zechariah 4:6, Phillipians 1:6, Phillipians 2:7, Mark 4:19, Romans 8:37, John 8:36, Revelation 3:17, Colossians 2:8, Hebrews 12:1, Isaiah 54:11
nyant Jul 15
Time has revealed things about myself that i'd rather un-see,
i'm not the person i thought i was,
more of a monster than i thought i'd be,
toxicity is a spectrum.
nyant Dec 2020
Hold on a little longer,
keep on getting stronger,
Foolish things to confound the wise,
nearly met his demise,
but to his surprise,
He told him to arise and go to Niniveh.

Not a betting man but double-check the trifecta,
flipping the script of the natural selector,
dark horses coming through,
tried and tasted what is true,
mongrels mounting up from misery,
as all scream and shout,
who let the dogs out!

Once commissioned as causes of concern,
had a lot to unlearn,
underwritten as risky investments,
downtrodden and dejected,
the last to be selected,
with all eyes on the high and mighty,
they sought to divide the word rightly,
each day the weak ones learned from their losses,
joyfully carrying their crosses,
now they stride strong in synergy,
saved from the scrutiny success solicits,
they kept being pimped from their torn down state in preparation for exhibits.

It's a marathon building shelter for my family of vagabonds and pariahs,
He brought us from a low place so we lift Him on higher,
adopted into community with my gang of refugees,
the prince of peace is our metanoic pallisade,
we don't need an accolade.

I'm a werewolf from the wilderness of woodlands trying to feast on a ****** lamb hoping I can be freed from the curse and be made new.

A walking contradiction,
trying to earn distinctions,
attempting to distinguish,
between the matter of the fact and the substance of the fiction.

Stones from my glass house,
an heir intertwined in the vine,
Jack on a beanstalk trying to make of this life the most,
gotta eat the bread of his flesh,
drink the wine of his blood and make a toast to the only one in whom we can boast.

Coasting between Kendrick and Kanye,
Exhausted by dichotomous extremities,
I'm simply seeking serenity,
He says He sings over us, serenades,
grilling in the fire, salt of the earth I guess we're marinade,
know my target audience so I let these rhymes perform their aim,
whatever that may be,
blind Pharisee trying to see how far I can,
hollow man looking through the the lens of of The hallow man.

I don't seek no sympathy I'm just making symphonies,
quite aware of my apathy,
groaning in my atrophy,
body of death is taunting me,
still I cry out victory,
sprinting for a real trophy,
already in pole position,
impossible it seems as Tom's cruising on this mission,
looking to express the beauty of good religion,
wrestling like a Russian named Ruslan from the west to manifest the Kings dream,
show that he's forever blessed,
while trying to entertain,
got no time to stress,
set up for success,
grinding everyday to enter in to his rest.

His rest is history,
what Jesus did for you what He did for me, concurrently, paradoxically He's presently still working through beings like me and you to make things new.
 
We need His assistance but we act in resistance as we focus on the current waves,
we lose our power,
we must depend on Him in every hour,
our lives are but a flower and a mist,
a brief moment we're son-kissed
dark clouds hover with painful rain,
imminent is His reign,
we will rejoice again.

I played with the pied piper or Prometheus,
I guess I'm just tired of all the things that are misleading us.
 
If you didn't get any of these lines let me try to make this worth your time:
The son of man,
the great I am,
the lion of Judah,
the Holy lamb,
took this son of OB1 and Pam,
showed me light in my darkest night,
though we stray and wander,
he's a good shepherd who calls us home.

If you too feel broken and alone,
there's always a seat at the feet of the faithful friend,
it doesn't have to be Christmas or Easter,
we feast daily on tears, joy and all the beauty and grief between,
washed by the water of His words He's made and is making us clean.

First is how it ends don't worry about the queue,
Foolish things to confound the wise,
nearly met his demise,
but to his surprise,
He told him to arise and go to Nineveh.
References: I Corinthians 1:27, Jonah 4:2, Psalm 34:8, Matthew 15:27, 2 Timothy 2:15, Matthew 11:28, Colossians 1:13, Psalm 9:9 John 6:53, John 1:29, Galatians 3:13, 2 Corinthians 5:17, Matthew 23:37, Galatians 5:17, Romans 7:15, Romans 8:17, Matthew 7:3, Ephesians 5:16, I Corinthians 1:31, Zephaniah 3:17, Matthew 5:13, Romans 7:24, I Corinthians 5:57, I Corinthians 9:25, Luke 1:37, James 1:27, Psalms 21:6, Hebrews 4:11, John 3:16, Romans 12:1, I Peter 1:24, Phillipians 4:4, I Timothy 4:1, Revelation 5:5, Isaiah 53:6, Psalm 34:18, Ephesians 5:26, Matthew 19:30, I Corinthians 1:27
nyant Mar 2020
Sometimes I put pen to paper,
or thumbs to keypad,
that my cares may rise like vapour to one that's greater.

These times have left me aloof,
often blind to the truth,
waking up everyday with a sense of renewed hope,
simultaneously with dense legs that don't want to get out of bed cause I won't cope.

Walking this fine line where I'm subject to a steep positive ***** with my head in the clouds or a negative drop with my face in these psalms.
Selah.
A carrier of this deceased old me hanging and weighing down on the free man.

Coming to realise how hard it is to optimize in this life,
much easier to stay paralysed and pessimize all the strife.

I got so many lines about these tough times but only one thing I'm really trying to say.

When we see a monsier or madame on the other side of the lane and they're clearly in pain we shouldn't refrain, to engage in their sorrow; whisper a word or two for them to the one called True. Maybe go a little further and ask them how they do?

Oh how consoling it is to know a faithful friend from the bitter days to the better ends.

Whichever way that the valley bends may we say that we never really walked alone. Plucking from the beak of a famous duck: It's hard to do these things alone,
so just hold on we'll make it home.
nyant Apr 24
I used to think I was humble till it was tested,
Same goes for patience, honesty, loyalty and every virtue you can measure,
Can't be a healthy dog if I've never been vetted.

At my most creative when in a crisis,
those momentary lapses when the pooh hits the ceiling and there's no piglet in sight to console me,
yeah no homie just the mirror,
all's left bare and I see a little clearer,
they say draw near to Him and He'll draw nearer...

All in all it's always easier to theorise a response,
I'm starting to realise there's more to myself,
gotta stop being a spectator and get in the driving seat,
will I gain sweet victory or defeat?
We'll have to weight and see.

To some we are serpents to some saints,
I guess it all depends on the picture one paints,
I've learned not to bother to greatly about perception,
there's a deformity of person hood that comes with the fear of rejection.

I'm out of time but I can't let that rush me,
most errors are made in a hurry,
I need a dream team of people,
perhaps that's the difference between LeBron and Curry (lol respect to both),
though I can't tell between the wolves and the sheep though,
haha that sounds a little hypocritical right?
Didn't I just say earlier that to some we are such and such?
Well I too reside among the some,
with people that I've learned to distrust,
iron sharpens iron but the wrong friends can make the whole structure rust.
Nonetheless if they moving shaky,
still might offer a hand of help.

Here's to the pursuit of life in existence,
going against the grain,
the resistance,
when you're trying to preserve things,
you take everything with a grain of salt.

I hope you find something valuable in my random rumination,
I guess it's goodbye till my next 'revelation'.
nyant Feb 2018
Wisdom, truth and honour.
They lay like mantras on the mantle of his soul,
the message is the mandate,
heroic heralds stand before him,
courageous cowards that came cried and conquered,
but he sleeps,
as his Master prays,
he pries,
the night dawns and the valley violently veers his confidence,
after all he's being through,
he still doubts,
the sweet sound of sensuality seeps into sight as he sings the song of the serpent,
"it doesn't really matter,
Ignorance is bliss,
take these silver coins
Hiss"
Judas' kiss cold as the skin of a cold cobra,
spitting in the face of the Faithful,
change for change,
a bitter trade,
sticks and stones,
hangman,
the word went on the bitter betrayal, though ******,
was not the final word,
the fear of death that led him to cheat,
was now destroyed under the teacher's feet,
a lesson for all those that would follow his steps.
Virtues curfew cancelled forever.
nyant Jul 2018
When the world is tone deaf to our pleas,
when everyone proves so hard to please,
when we've cried aloud on our knees, 
 feel we've crossed a thousand seas,
imprisoned within a jail,
efforts come to no avail,
speeches become cliché,
all we've done is watch and pray,
with no sight of a brighter day,
"all is well" but it's not okay,
darkness seems to hide the light,
only one option is left,
we pick up our pens like swords,
we write.

— The End —