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Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
Wind-whispered lullabies
Caress your apple cheeks.
The soft glow of moonrays
Light up your cow-brown eyes.
Resting on moss-covered branches,
You listen to the symphony of life.

Dew drops dance in the light of night
To the song of the Nightingale-bird.
You watch with rapt attention
Phoebe's bright ascension
In the black-drop of a purple midnight.

Do you hear the song they sing,
My child?
Do you hear the song just for you?
Listen to the voices of a dying tongue
And be lulled into slumber
As I once was.

"Mo bee dao gui ya ya
Ve song tou song tzak tou fa
Tou fa, Le fa buun ng tzak,
Mo tzak ngai ge miu dan fa,
Miu dan fa.
*Ngai liu buun ngai ji zhun moi ga!"
My native tongue is a dying language, but still I hope to show its beauty and finesse to my one-day children.
I am Amadioha the earth goddess  of Igbos,Ngai wa mugo wa gatheru
who created the nine daughters of mumbi ,and Gikuyu a man,
I am Wele of Dini ya Musambwa,creator of Elijah Masinde
I am  Katonda the creator of Kintu and Namiremeb hills at Makerere
I am eshu the god  of the  Ijimere and Achebe and Soyinka,
behold today  I stand in Egypt,where the sun comes from
where I similarly  stood billion and billion of years ago,
to create all the stars the moon and the universe
not even known to the son of man until today,
this is where i created my first born of  humanity;
dear Africa the generations of Negroes,
the beacon of my eye, i enjoy a look at you  minus blinkers,
i stand here a fresh to correct my creation mistakes
i formerly made, when creating my dearest son in Africa;
Kenneth Binyavanga wa wainaina, who hails at Nakuru hills,
he is the sweetest song to my heart, classical music of my ears
i contrite much , as i were not to create you a blended blood
from an  Omuganda  girl and  an Omugikuyu  boy,
i  was to create you a pure Muganda, like Okot P' Bitek,
or a pure Kenyan , like Francis Davis Imbuga,
i were to control your academic fortune , that you  don't start,
your maiden education  Lena Moi primary school,
an epiphany of a divorced woman,spelling curse of wifelessness,
on those that pass through the very  school , i was wrong.
had i known i could have not  sent Cleophas to work
in your fathers home , for him  to sleep in the horse shed,
cursed is the ******* memory of what he did in that quarter
as you preened  and eavesdropped outside like a hen
listening to the eagle's contralto,
why did i sent Wambui to be your nurse maid ,only to preach
the gospel according to the power of peasant ****** to you,
she tangled her buttocks before your **** eyes,senting
your young heart to sensuous extremities, Wambui ,a she devil,
Wow! Kalenjins are bad neighbour, they are dark and ugly
slow in the brain and sadistically malicious in the heart,
i  know not why i made them to abode with you within the
great valley of kenya, they throng schools and they cannot learn,
but i have now held them captive, i have made them your footstool
for ever and ever my dear son ,as you hold the scepter of power,
i goofed beyond  remedy by all ethereal to send you to Njoro boys school,
for you to meet Sigalla, that extra-masculine Sigalla , the ******* hunter,
i gave you wrong sisters, they made you put on your mothers dress
and her long hair,then you posed to the female public as an Americanness
your romantic number was fwive fwive fwive fwive , fwive at New-york,
i wonder why i did not give you enough power of languages
so that you generate a numberless fantabulousies and Goalies and so forth,
only to borrow from a young woman;Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
the  yellow sun's slapslap  slapslap slapslap slapslap slapslap   slapslapp!
Mangu Boys School to you was a blessing , had it not my fault,
of giving you a mutton headed faculty full of annentcy,
that went for the persiflagery and aesthetic phantasmagoria,
in the art and theatre prose and poetry; the Bigger Thomas Lawyer,
your only  misplaced  mentor  that gave birth to what i love in you ;
hence i am writting about this place now,this place kenya,
folly of folly is when i goofed to take a natural writter like you,
to commerce class in the land of apartheid, Nadine Gordimer's  front
that sired Brenda Fasie a top Lesbian, the song bird of my times
as you all know we the gods also jealously love,
she only charmed you with her naked ****
swinging like a pendulum on the  musical stage,
after her communique of being a top lesbian,she call it Africa,
o! no,  Africa never came from Lesbians, it comes from simple nature;
mother and father, in natural and collective  heterosexuality,
You only saw and revved in dope culture in the cubbyhole of Victory,
and hoped clubs from Dazzle to the rest , in hunt of  your boyhood,
sadly to be befallen by dark clouds  in victim-hood of optical nutrition,
abiding among the  tall, beautiful, smoking bunch of Lesbians.
My son, from  today and henceforth,  i the Africanus,
the god of African fertility,poetry and art,
humbly chose to recreate you the king of kings and queens,
of African story telling  at global status, to tell all African songs,
beyond sham fallacy that gay and Lesbian literature
are the begotten  apex of modern and Global literature
these are only white lies featuring a death bound imperialism.
Del Maximo Feb 2010
15 tons
26 miles out to sea
10 boats brought his blessings
of luck and safety to shore
gracing a people with his presence
even in death 

with a reverence that translates
the smoky scent of incense burns
at the site if his future temple
as mourners bid 10,000 farewells
thank you Your Excellency
good bye Ngai
(c) February 26, 2010

http://www.boston.com/news/nation/articles/2010/02/23/thousands_give_last_rites_to_dead_whale_in_vietnam/
sean pomposello Mar 2017
She lost her
husband in
Quang Ngai
Provence
fifty years
ago.

Now, a
lifetime,
another
husband
and two
children
later, in
retirement
she pushes
a coffee
cart and
makes small
talk at a
local VA
hospital—
her way
of giving
back.
.
Fifty years ago
to the month
that they laid
you in the ground

.
Only now
have I found
the words
to make a sound

.
You came home
closed coffin bound
Not suitable
to be viewed

.
Only now do I frown
Thinking about
the name in stone
that's hewed

.
That day you died
I was left to cry
I didn't know
what to do

.
Two teenage lives
both said goodbye
never
to be again

.
One under
21 gun salute
The other
under pain

.
They are
still burying you
in my mind
my time has been unkind

.
I've lived through
a thousand deaths
looking for reasons
to find

.
Resigned
I am bound
by the truth
of October '69



Dedicated to :
Marine PFC
William Le Grand Dawes
Born 6/24/50
Died 10/19/69
Quang Ngai Province
Vietnam
Myra Jul 2019
She longed for the African soil
Oh how she wanted to go
To where the beasts of the land
Matched the wilderness of her soul

She longed for the Sahara sunsets
To see the peak of Mount Ngai
Where the endless yellow savannah grass meets the infinite blue sky
She longed to hear zebras chirp
And elephants trumpet on the water
To hear a lioness's chuff at her cubs
To hear a hyena's laughter

but time continues on and life happens every inch of the way
And so she whispers to her heart
"Maybe someday"

But she's learning that Africa isn't just a place on television or on a globe
Africa is wherever her heart finds adventure
It's already in her bones

Africa is where she wants it to be
Africa is already inside,
boiling the blood in her veins
Africa is where adventure thrives
Ducphotran May 2020
He returned to Quang Ngai to visit Chau Sa
To remember the ancestors under a setting moon
The lost kingdom had been destructed
only inert territory left
The old citadel had been crumbled
since that the ghosts have been wandering
Behold, the courageous, young men might have been
on the King’s boat
Those could have been the sacred elephants
next to the ivory towers
Beautiful women, magnificent ancient temples
Once there was the glorious land of Chiampa

— The End —