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Thapz Kolatsoeu Oct 2017
Ndivumele juba lam sthandwa sentliziyo yam
ekuseni we langa indi ku balele
incwadi Yothando Yesizulu
(A Zulu Love Letter)
Nguwe be ngi ngo #kiss
incwadi Yothando Yesizulu
(A Zulu Love Letter)
Sthandwa
Ngifisa sengathi ungangibhalela incwadi Incwadi yothando yesiZulu Esho ngemibalabala na ngamabalabala
Axoxa indaba ejulile yemizwa nemicabango Idayimane, ngelo thando lweqiniso
Omhlophe, ngowenhliziyo engenasici Indilinga, ngoba olwethu kalunasiphetho
Oluhlaza-sasibhakabhaka, ngoba wena ucabanga ngami
Unxantathu, ngoba amazulu aphezulu Kanjalo nomhlaba nolwandle ngaphansi bayazi
Onsundu, ngoba kuyitshe kunothile futhi okwemvelo
Njengomhlabathi ongaphansi kwezinyawo zami
Noma ungawu shiya umbala ophuzi Kungani kumele ungithande ngenhliziyo enesikhwele! ?
Ngifisa sengathi ungangibhalela incwadi
Engiyoyigaxa emqaleni
Ukuze zonke izimbali zase maqeleni Ziyohawuka lapho zingibheka
Ngenxa yayo yonke lemibala egqamile Incwadi yothando yesiZulu
Ngobuhlalu bothingo-lwenkosazana Ubuhlalu base mazweni aqhelileyo Minake sengiyoba nentokozo emangalisayo
Lapho ngiphendu-phendula ulimi lwakho
Kancane-kancane, futhi ngesikhulu isineke
Ukuze ugcine usukwazi kahle hle Ukubingelela abazali bami
Ngendlela eyiyona-yona, ngolimi lwesiZulu
Molo sethandwa sawubona ngiya themba ulale ngahle?
African zulu love letter, zulu is an african spoken language in south africa, a language that originate from the zulu land, the roots of the late zulu king, shaka zulu
Nikita Tshawe Sep 2019
Sons of the soil.
Daughters of the soil.
Wake up and rejoice, for its the day of your heritage.
Celebrate your culture, for it is your privilege.

You are Africa, Africa is you.
A nation so diverse and true.
A real rainbow nation.
Deeply rooted in our tradition.

Nna ke mo Tswana, ebile ke motlotlo ka bo Tswana bame.
Nna ke mo Pedi, ebile ka ikgantsha ka go nna mo Pedi.
Mna ndi ngum Xhosa, ubona nje, ndiyazi dla ngo buXhosa bam.
Mina ngi ngum Zulu qobo, futhi ngiyazi qhenya.

On this day, remember who you are.
On this day, commemorate who you are.
Take pride in your true identity.
Let there be peace and serenity.
In South Africa our land.
Together may we all stand.

Le ga ole moTswana wa Afrika.
Noba ungu m'Xhosa wase Afrika.
Le ha ole mo Sotho wa Afrika Borwa.
Are rataneng. Masi thandaneni.

On this day, speak your mother tounge.
On this day, sing your clan song.
A moTswana eme a kgibe.
UmXhosa maka phakame axhentse.
UmZulu maka sukume agide.
A moPedi a emelle bine.

Sons of the soil.
Daughters of the soil.
Wake up and rejoice, for its the day of your heritage.
Celebrate your culture, for it is your privilege.
The screaming
children of Gaza
torment the sleep
of a troubled world,
and remain a real-time
unending nightmare;
anointing The Levant’s
fevered brow
with a diadem of
incessant grief.

Gaza is a burning
ankh that sears the
madness of sorrow
upon Egypt’s skull.

Gaza,
an unblinking
third eye
of shame,
peers into
Lower Egypt’s
closed window
ever reproaching
it’s turbulent
conscience;
chiding fellow
Muslims with
the ugly memory
of abject affliction,
the endless images
of a living Guernica
suspended in the hell
of indefinite imprisonment
all Palestinians are forced
to suffer.

As Zionists ***** the
steep walls of Apartheid to
extend its occupation
of Palestine, it
condemns the youth
of Gaza to a life of
incarceration with no
possibility of parole;
hardening the hearts
and steeling the resolve
of a new generation of
militants to demolish the
walls and the wardens
that imprison them.

The Zionist jailers
bestow upon
Ishmael’s Children
phylacteries of shame,
wearing the rolled
prayers of wailing pain
scribed with bits of
dust from the
the broken walls of
demolished buildings
and desolate homes
beyond habitation,
now housing grief
of trampled souls,
forcing recitations
of deliverance
to Allah while
davening an
incessant drone
of anguish at
the Wailing Wall
of Resentment;
decrying the
blood lust of
undying acrimony,
victimization and
the slaughter of
innocents, carried on
with the imperial license
of state sanctioned impunity.


Father Ibrahim's
feuding children may
share a sacred paternity
but remain the
divided brothers
of different mothers;
stoking a sibling rivalry
more bitter then
Cain and Abel.

Our anguish
never dissipates,
the gnawing
impulse of empathy
to assist the distressed
of Gaza is dashed
by omnipotent
powers recusing
the ability to act.

Sympathy is
embargoed
in the black
obfuscation
of religious
partisanship
while timely
assistance
to aid the
distressed
lie netted in
blockades of
realpolitik
affinities.

Gaza, where
Hashim is granted
his eternal rest,
restlessly inhabits
his unknown grave
from the destitution of
his profaned homeland.

Ghazzat,  “the stronghold”
countlessly conquered,
falling to Roman Emperors,
Lionhearted Crusaders
Ottoman Caliphates,
and British Mandates;
slipping from Egypt’s
geopolitical grasp as
as a casualty of
The Six Day War.

Gaza is now a stronghold of
resent and desperation for a
desperate conquered people.

Ghazzat, the prized city of
the western Mediterranean,
a four star Phoenician port of
caravansaries now unable
to trade with any partners
due to ungodly blockades.

Gaza, has grown wholly
dependent on the largess
of UN aid and meager
subsistence portions
doled out by well
meaning NGO’s.

Gaza, the foot stool of
the Levant and surely
the pathway Father
Ibrahim, Jacob,
Joseph and Jeremiah
traveled to escape
Canaan's famine;
finding at the close
of their sojourn
a table set with the
plenteous bounty
the Blue Nile
unconditionally offered;
the veritable feast
of abundance,
the generous yields
of the blessed delta
that sustained the
Prophets of Judah
and a thousand
generations of the
Nile’s Children.

Gaza, the Achilles
heal of Middle East
peace, land of the
Canaanites, Philistines
and Old Testament
heroes.

Gaza, a fortress for
Philistines who
imprisoned the storied
Sampson, revered for
breaking the chains of
imprisonment and righteously
destroying a pagan temple
in a suicidal act of heroism.

Gaza, where the myths and
legends of rapacious
holy crusaders captured
the western imagination
with the chivalrous gallantry
of religious warfare and
valiant last stands of
Templar Knights employing
the tactical imperatives
of terrorism in service to their
higher God.

Gaza, an oasis
by the sea now
lies dry and brittle
as the precious Hebron
waters of Wadi Ghazza
are diverted to serve
the agriculture of
Judah; condemning
a dehydrated Gaza
panting of thirst
to an imposed drought
and a war of
self preservation
to remove
the dammed rivers
of justice controlled
by intractable powers
laying upstream beyond
Gaza’s mean borders.

The Qassams
lunched by Hamas
are desperate
expressions of
exasperated people,
eager to call
world attention
to the growing
insufferable plight
of a people living
in a perpetual
state of siege.

Its a modern day
David slinging rocks
against an armor
clad Goliath.

Each Katusha
serves as
a justification
for Zionist
intransigence
and condemns
any possibility
for peaceful
coexistence
of a Two State
Solution.

The pointless attacks
invite massive
disproportionate
retaliation and succeed
in prolonging and
increasing the
measure of Gaza’s
agony.

The mystic grace,
the divine power
of satyagraha
-a non-violent
response to the
cruel enforcement of
Apartheid- is Allah’s
way to secure the
moral high-ground
and the surest way
for Palestinians to
expose it’s unholy
adversaries innate
contempt for civil rights
and a refusal to
recognized the
shared humanity of
all of Father Ibrahim’s
wayward progeny and
recalcitrant prodigal sons.

Mubarak’s fall
has allowed the
Rafah Gate
to swing open again.

The concertina
wire that separates
Gaza and Egypt
has been removed.

The prisoners
of Gaza have
an open portal
of freedom.

It is a Day of
Jubilee, a day
of pardon for
for the inmates
of prisons built
for victims.  

It is a day of
possibility for peace.  

It is a day to declare an
Exodus from the land
of bitterness.

Humanity is
offered the hope
of escape from
the prisons of
acrimony, to
freely move across
the staid borders
of intractability
and exclusion.

The hearts and
minds of Palestinians
and Egyptians
are free to connect
and unite once again.

Liberation is
possible only
when we uphold
and honor the
affirmation
of all humanity.

Music Video:

Silk Road
We Will Not Go Down

Oakland
2/9/12
jbm
a poem from the epilogue section of Tahrir Square Voices
Have you ever been to Nairobi?
What did you see there?
Buildings, people and vehicles?
Uhmmm! Let me share with you my case
Hence I was there yesterday,
And I saw wonders of life;
Jubilant politicians clashing for tyranny,
At the Nairobi parliament,
Making anti-human laws,
Under faked canopy of de-terrorization,
With no tincture of surrender to open truth,
That; in juvenile states like Kenya,
Corruption is a minefield of terrorism,
Corrupt management of state organs;
The policemen and state spies,
Hired on full back-up of corruption,
Gives leeway to thriving of terrorism,
As a security agent hired nepotistic-ally,
Will never fight terrorism with a knack,
Leave police work to policemen with passion,
Not to your kinsmen and loyalists in politics,


I saw jubilant politicians high on nerves,
Excited like a swine on ****** heat,
Or they were possessed by the evil spirit,
Or crushed by the African cult of dictatorship,
Where humanity derives pleasure from political pains,
Scornfully viewing humane governance,
As dictatorship will fortunately give a bloom,
Of swift doors and windows of corruption,
Primitive accumulation of filthy wealth,
And apotheosification of the worthless self,
Into a lull of blind self-made god-ship

I saw a jubilant politician going pugnacious,
Forcefully restoring dark days of Toroitich arap Moi,
Making a law which a monkey cannot make,
Hitting a fellow politicians,
With all might and knack of a devil,
Shredding into laces the trouser of a colleague,
Exposing red lingerie of the fellow colleague,
Partially exposing the tools of child making,
Only to the positive chagrin of us all,
On discovery of the circumcised *****,

I saw jubilant dictator-maniac politicians,
Passing a law of shooting to death,
Him the police feels may be a terrorist,
Or detain at pleasure, without trial
Him that looks ugly like a terrorist,
A suspect is a snake to be crushed the head on sight,
But not all snakes are poisonous Mr. Politico-Jubilant,
Some are ornamental and others poisonously harmless,
Even snakes need fair trial,
Just like suspect of genocide,
Before the international criminal court,
Before a blow of hammer crushes their heads,
Let me ask you my dear reader,
A foolish question as usual;
What are snakes to the jubilant politics of Nairobi?
A political non loyalist who perhaps can chide,
The powers that be from their gusto of power,

I saw jubilant politicians in full gear of idiosyncrancies,
Passing the law to gag friends of the poor,
The NGO’s; the poor man’s uni-source of hope,
They have been relieving the poor man of Kenya,
From horrendous traditions of   epidemics,
In Turkana, Budalangi and marginalized Mandera,
Helping men and women of these areas to be free,
From tyranny of perennially missing basic needs,
This freedom is now thwarted,
Lest it gives these poor men right of speech,
Thwarted artfully in the **** of NGO’S,
Through false label of the time,
That they play *** with terrorist groups,
What a big a lie?

By
Alexander Khamala  Opicho,
Eldoret,Kenya
Jayantee Khare Dec 2017
On 2nd Dec 1984
Occurred
World’s worst industrial disaster,
“The Bhopal gas tragedy”
Leaving thousands dead,
Children orphaned and many people with disabilities for life.

Following day,
Cries of help were heard
Amongst the dead,
Lay few children alive
Shone bright, a ray of hope,
Miraculously the deadly effects
Of the gas they could cope.

Taken under the caring wings of an NGO,
With Medical aid administered
And the vital  support to grow.

Amongst the children
There was a girl named Ganga
And a boy named Ravi,
together with other such children,
they grew up,
Finding solace in each other’s
Company.

When reached teenage,
the girls had to be moved in a women’s hostel.
Distanced made them closer to each other,
And, the love grew stronger.

Ganga always dreamt of riding pillion on a bike with Ravi .
Ravi, the crazy boy,
sold his house (compensation by govt.)
And fulfilled her desire,
Often they went for long rides.

In the following years,
The love bloomed,
And
With blessings and love,
their marriage was solemnised
By the NGO.

All the women from the hostel
Joined the wedding ceremony,
Bollywood songs were played loudly,
The Haldi, Sangeet and Mehendi
ceremony made it more lively

On the wedding day,
Ganga attired in traditional weaves
And bridal make up,
A beautiful bride she looked
The hostel warden and her spouse
did her “Kanyadan”.

Fortunate was I to bear
the testimony of the union,
As I stayed in the working women’s hostel then.
Ganga moved in to her house
with Ravi to welcome a life anew.
When i stayed in a working women's hostel, i witnessed this marriage. It's a true story. 2 nd dec it completed 33 yrs to the tragedy. I recollected Ganga and wrote this.
(Sangeet: a dance party,
Mehendi: application ceremony of henna on the palms of bride,
Haldi: a body scrub containing turmeric, applied to bride as ceremony.
Kanyadaan: a ceremony of handing over daughter to the groom)
Thnx Sarita for helping in edits...
POETRY AND ITS IMPACT ON HUMANITY

Today the word poetry evokes images of love and sentimentality, but the term romanticism has a much wider meaning. It covers a choice of developments in art, literature, music, dance and philosophy, spanning the late 20 th and early 21 st centuries.

The romantics would not have used the term themselves and the label was applied retrospectively, from around the middle of the 20 th century. Man was born free in this virtual environment of real life but, everywhere he is in chains. During the romantic period major transitions took place in culture, as dissatisfied intellectuals and artists challenged the establishment.

Almost all the romantic poets were at the very heart of this movement. They were inspired by a desire for liberty, and they denounced the misuse of the poor.There was a highlight on the significance of the individual; a conviction that people should follow ideals rather than imposed conventions and rules. The romantics renounced the rationalism and order linked with the preceding clarification era, stressing the importance of expressing authentic personal feelings.

They had a real sense of responsibility to their fellow men: they felt it was their duty to use their poetry to inform and inspire others, and to change the humanity and their social attitude. Poet Rumpa Ray Ghosh believe in this theory on life and poetry of this time.

A PASSIONATE POET OF THIS TIME

For Poet Rumpa Ghosh, even a quatrain is what in a verse, which makes someone to cry or to laugh, or just be silent, makes your twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own.
Poetry is taking at the heartstrings, and making music within our solitude in life. Rumpa Ray Ghosh is a poet of profound obsession towards composing lyrical form of poetry. Her poetic enthusiasm makes her verses, extremely impressive and highly alluring. She is fast budding poetess of wisdom and emotional response. She had completed her Masters degree from University of Calcutta, though she is from Calcutta currently living in Mumbai.She started composing poems since her young age.

Intentionally or innocently, many of the poets are most often trying to fill a vast space with things that cannot satisfy fully. We look forward to fill the void with our own possessions for comfort, but unfortunately we normally end up wanting more and more. We try to fill it with relationships or pleasures, but we end up feeling even more empty and further more depressed than from the point where and when we commenced the discontentment as these thoughts were well presented by Rumpa Ray Ghosh in her poems, namely, “ The Roof”, “ The broken house “.
The only place that we can really find true fulfilment and gratification is in the hands of divine God. We need to recall and allow our convictions, not in circumstances, to govern our sense of contentment. The anthology freshly illuminates many excellent lyrics and short poems and are highly valued regardless of its freestyle genre.
For both the poet’s, self-consciousness is connected to the new eminence established to poetry by the feelings of the self, which truly resembles the title of the anthology, “ The Musical Marvels of Self “. Her poems are lyrical, close to heart, soft and romantic. The scrupulous flow in her rhyme magnetizes the readers. Her works were widely published in many national and international journals. She is a regular blogger. She takes the images of her writing from simple every day incidents, uses metaphors and imagery to add grace in her skill of presentation.
Her language is simple, easily understood by lay man, quite touching and heart rendering. Her first book " Musical Marvels of Self ", an anthology of 43 poems came out through Zorba publishers.

The anthology was a combined effort in association with honourable poet Dr Ujjwala Kakarala during September 2017 Besides, being a talented poetess of lyrics, she was an excellent singer Proficient in Bengali folksongs, Rabindra Sangeet and Nazrulgeeti and ghazals and has sung in numerous local stage shows. Rabindra Sangeet merge gracefully into Tagore's literature, most of which—poems or parts of single scene plays alike—were beautifully transformed or converted to lyrical formats. Influenced by the “ Thumri “ style of classical vocal music, this has made the entire scope of human emotion, ranging from his early songs-like Brahma devotional hymns to human soul.
This has emulated the tonal color of classical “ragas “to varying extents.
Earlier, She had also the chance to attain a position as Quarter-finalist in BBC Mastermind Family Quiz competition aired on Disney Channel.Poet Rumpa Ray Ghosh, an Indian by nationality, she hails from West Bengal, the “ City of Joy “, but currently living in Mumbai, Maharashtra, India. She is by occupation a teacher, content writer and a blogger. By obsession she is a poetess and a singer. She has completed her post-graduation and B.Ed. from the University of Calcutta. She has worked as a teacher in St. Thomas School, Mumbai, as a content-writer for ‘Pratham’ (NGO) and as an English curriculum developer in Vibgyor High School in Mumbai.
She publishes her writings on her own blog with a name ( fragmentofimagination). She is also a writer for some literary groups. Some of her poems have been published in national anthologies. Recently one of her poems has been published in a US e-magazine "Beyond Borders” in a popular poetry site. She has also participated in an open-mic poetry reciting performance in the Prithvi theater arena in Mumbai. Being Proficient in classical vocal music, she had the opportunity to perform in classical vocal music on various musical events. She is a Sangeet Visharad from Bhatkhande Sangit Vidyapith, Lucknow and is trained under Late Pandit Vinayak Vohra. More tha a Poetess having a deep passion in writing, she enjoys dance, music and teaching his students as part of her professional skills. Stay blessed in all ways at all times.

WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
Dan Filcek Apr 2015
their recent deal met with shouts of betrayal:
the new Neville Chamberlain,
The refrain quickly sounded on Capitol Hill.
sympathy should be qualified.
speaking in accurate French
This is our moment ... our chance to join together
But then when is it not a moment?
repeatedly mispriced and misapplied,
often with disastrous consequences.
A complete list would fill a book,
but here are a few items:
the spectre of war
the American invading forces
the border with China
the British appeasing ******
the whole woeful Suez adventure
the occupation of the Rhineland  
the Cuban missile crisis
the fire jobs, in which hundreds of thousands civilians were incinerated;
the saying “extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice.”
the hailing of Ngo Dinh Diem, as the Churchill of Asia
the Kennedy administration giving a nod to the coup
the latest culture of appeasement
the drawing of Jimmy Carter carrying an umbrella.
the mirage of a peaceful alternative to war
which is really a defeat,
peace in our time?
Why do I think that isn’t going to happen?
This year for Poetry Month, I decided to post a "found poem" every day. If writing a poem is like painting, a "found poem" is like sculpting. - source https://newrepublic.com/article/115803/munich-analogies-are-inaccurate-cliched-and-dangerous
Lawrence Hall Dec 2016
For Ngo Dinh Diem

No flame eternal burns over your lost grave
Unknown beneath an hourly parking lot
Or maybe out back among the garbage cans
No guards of honor pace in mirrored boots

Forth and back in mummery choreographed
Along a field of honor’s concrete walk
No busloads of tourists leave gift-shop wreaths
No bands or speeches mark your martyrdom

Nor would you need them
Nor would you want them

For your small flame is on an Altar set
Sukanya Basu Apr 2014
je t'aime said my first lover
France had given me love
Te amo said Spain
Still love wasn't enough
wô ài ńi i heard while eating sushi
China had given me her heart
ich liebe dich i heard in Germany
i thought maybe we'll have a start
s'agapo said the greek beauty
But i wasn't mesmerized in her soul
Doo-set daaram said my persian lover
i still didn't feel the warmth, i still felt cold
Ya tebya liubliu she said and kissed
But Russia was the same, still nothing new
ik hou van jou said dutch lady
but real love in this world was really few
Ngo oiy a  the cantonese beauty said
But i still kept searching for love
ani ohev otach by hebrew girl
But somehow it still wasn't enough
My bengali beauty said ami to make bhalobashi
but i wasn't yet satisfied
my arabic princess said ana behibak
But still i didn't have a peaceful night
When i sat back home
i realized which one is true
Arms wrapped around me, hugged me and said
"i love you".
languages are different everywhere but love is universal. love has no boundaries.
Lawrence Hall Jul 2022
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                          Non-Profit, NGO, and a Yo-**-**

The status of my bank account tells me
That I too am a non-profit organization
Aaron LaLux Jul 2016
Volume 1 of the new trilogy came out today, 7/7/16, but won't be ready for sale until tomorrow. I'm deciding between 3 charities to donate all profits to, and they are, 'Human Rights Watch', 'V-Day', and 'No Means No Worldwide'; All three of these charities focus on preventing ****** assault on women and men, and are humanitarian based NGO's. If anyone has an opinion or feedback on which of these 3 charities I should choose, please let me know. ALSO, I have a 40 minutes song that I made with some of the material from the new book, and it's available FOR FREE to download on Soundcloud. Basically everything I do with poetry is given away for free, and if there are profits they go to charity. I do it for the Love not for the Money. Here is the song. Stay tuned for the book. Much Love & Respect ∆ https://soundcloud.com/americandreamin/aaron-lux-truth-live-sky-tower
Salmabanu Hatim Nov 2017
I was drunk,
Lying on the Delhi Street,conked,
I was thrown out of a bar nearby,
I can't remember why?
I woke with a start,
I found myself in a cart,
Pulled by a shabbily dressed man
With a tattered turban,
And a ragged **** cloth round his waist.
Was he here to collect waste?
Not to ask I thought best.
I threatened him to stop,
Or I would call the cop.
Immediately he put the cart down,
He thought I was gone!
We had a long talk,
His sorry tale made me baulk,
Made me sober.
He was a corpse collector,
With a six year old daughter.
For a few miserly rupees,
He collected corpses,
From the alleys and streets,
And performed their last rites.
The corpses were mostly of those who died of cold,
Their stories untold.
The man had no home,
Come rain,cold or storm,
They lived under an old building's  dome.
The little girl with him tagged along,
Looked at life as a song,
Never a complaint,
The little grubby saint.
On cold frosty days,
To stay warm,the only way,
The corpses became the child's blanket,
She cuddled amongst them as if in a basket.
Tears welled up in my eyes,
This was reality, not lies,
The strings of my heart broke,
From a lifetime of dreams I woke,
I have to turn the hands of the clock,
The Almighty had cleared my vision,
I was sent here for a reason.
I made up my mind,
Gambling and drinking I left behind.
I adopted the pair,
On the same street,I opened a Shelter,
For the needy and underprevileged,
And a Home for the aged.
In life I found my mettle
With wife and children I am settled.
I also work with other NGO's
For the betterment of people's lives.
When we lead a cosy luxurious life we are unaware about the tragedies that befall others until we come across a situation.
wendy maqwazima Mar 2016
Latshon' ilanga kumnyama entla!
Laphum' ilanga ubuhlanti busavaliwe!
Yhini mzo ntsundu asisena mithetho ithotyelwayo?

Ndeva uThamsanqa utshatile,kanti naye uNomathemba wendile!
Kalok uSthembiso ebengafun uk'phuma endleleni walandela utata wayi tishala!

Way'mosha umakhelwan' ngoku gxeka intombi izakhela igama!waqala uMandisa wajola'jola,walendela ngokunxila...Wabahlalisa phantsi ngoku shiya ikhaya!

Engqondwen' yakhe ebefuna ukushiya intlupheko akhangele impucuko,eyakhe impazamo ibikuthengisa ngo mzimba ngethemba lokubeka isonka etafileni!

Hay' wethu ungambuzi ebecinga ntoni..Ngoba naye ebengazi!
aurora kastanias Oct 2017
I was born in a city and time where and when
things were described by their name in the name
of realism and truth, uncoloured nouns of honesty
depicting society as it was fearing nothing
while no one took offence, as none was intended

in the atmosphere of autocriticism and self-
deprecating humour. In the countryside village
peasants called my father the Greek, as there were
no aliens other than us and the English man
who lived down the valley. Black skins

only existed on TV, and Africa was far more distant
than maps ever suggested. Our Ghanaian origins
were a mesmerising fable to the curious ears
of those willing to imagine exotic airs, indefinite
populations they had never seen. Italians

were used to migrate abroad in search of dreams,
though no one came to dream in Rome until, they did.
First strange faces appeared for myths to become
realities integrating slowly fast-forwarding thirty years
to see, Filipinos housekeepers, cheaper butlers,

Rumanians and Moldavians caregivers to our elders,
Chinese empires beginning with restaurants and shops,
Selling almost anything one could ever think of affordable
to all, now expanding to own bars creating jobs,
employers of impoverished locals and new arrivals.

Bangladeshis taking over once-was Italian grocery cash
and carries working hard, a 24/7 policy just for some.
Those who don’t are found selling umbrellas on the road
a minute before the storm, or taking polaroid pictures
of tourists at night when the gypsies come out

of nomad camps to sell, unscented roses to lovers
unnaturally blue for the day is reserved, to picking
pockets on public transports everybody knows,
signs are put up for those who don’t. Lebanese
hairdressers hiring young Italian girls, eat in Turkish

kebab fast-foods buying halal ingredients in Iraqi stores.
Only blacks in Rome own nothing but their shoes
and reputation. Those from North African countries often deal
on sidewalks for drug addicts playing instruments
sitting next to dogs on Tiber bridges as they beg

for one more dose. Though Egyptians mainly deal
with chefs, closed in restaurant kitchens learning
pizza-making skills, while Pakistanis make excellent
dishwashers. Turning back to blacks Nigerians,
Senegalese, Malians and many more improvise

themselves as clandestine street vendors
of jewels and fake bags, the latter secretly supplied
by Italian mafia-like wannabes. Often spotted running
away from police, packing goods in white sheets, held
on their backs as they flee, leaving fallen merchandise

behind them. Finally some remain unseen, straight
from heart of darkness and surroundings they stay
strictly on TV, passing from satiric sketches of the past
to NGO adverts crying out, for help against famine,
poverty and sickness, calling for action two euros a day

via sms to keep, consciousness clean, as we close
our eyes not to see, pretend we do not know, hiding
behind words we call, politically correct not to face, take
distance from reality and truth, disguise inconvenience
and uncomfort with ridiculously embellished, jargon.

Some exceptions obviously exist, as many manage
to live outside the box, though alas and do not blame me
for speaking the truth, they remain to date exceptions
dear to my heart, as are all the characters of this portrait,
scattered pieces of humanity, pieces of me.
On political correctness
One day I was in the rural areas of Turkana County,
walking up and down perfidiously ,
in a style of  the devil when visiting
Job  the son of Amos in the land of Uz,
It was in fact in the Northern region of the County
near a town known as Small Spain,
it is bushy and full of wild animals,
i was  on assignment by a certain NGO,
to give food,*******,drugs and clothes
to the dwellers  of this desert region,
All over a sudden I pumbed into a riff-raff
of  peasants, wearing scrofulously lugubrious faces,
one of them , a young man was on the ground
reeling in pain from the snake-bite,
he had been biten by a deadly desert snake,
A yellow Mamba in fact, it left its fangs in his muscle,
it was pathetic and sorriest, as there was no clinic nearby,
the nearest hospital was one thousand miles away,
and  you know,there is no road,no vehicle nor bicycle,
no horses nor water boats, only Carmel,,donkey and goats,
were there plus few emaciated native cows,
Luckily enough a white man  who stayed nearby,
surfaced from nowhere, he also owns a small aero-plane,
He spoke Italian,Spanish,Swahili and Greek like a native,
so I don't knew which country of Europe he came from,
he picked the snake bite victim to his home,
he asked me to come along
we boarded his plane to Kitale,
where we have a government hospital,
We flew across the hills of Turkana land ,
thousand and thousands of miles,
it was i, the white man  and snake bitten man,
three strangers on one another in the aeroplane,
Bound strongly by human love beyond identity,
Our patient began getting worse and worse
In fact  he had began getting dull and motionless,
we landed in Kitale, the white man bought a taxi,
we rushed to the hospital, all us panting frenetically,
we got at the hospital found nurses having lunch,
they were slow and relaxed, as if death is their dish,
the African nurse who came was all but un-started,
she began asking  for the age and the  tribe,
The tribe of our snake bitten friend,
She also asked for where he works,
And where he often goes to clinic,
worst of  all, she asked where he goes to church
she again demanded for seven hundred shillings,
the white man gave her the money,I was broke as usual,
He gave her a bank note of  one thousand shillings
she declined , she instead  wanted loose money
she ordered us to look for her the  loose money
before  she could begin treating our friend,
before we got the loose money  our friend died
of heavy poisoning of the blood, snake bite
He roared like a bull in the slaughter house,
on his painfully preventable death,
the white man was very disappointed
the white man wept, he went back to his plane.
In a similar stretch with a case of  a referral hospital
in Eldoret, also another town in Kenya, it is big,
it is called Moi Teaching and Referral Hospital,
it has the largest cancer management unit,
in the whole of east and central Africa
from Congo to Seychelles is the only one,
it was build by tax payers money,
but local politics as influenced it otherwise,
workers and Nurses are substantially locals,
in fact from one clan, now they speak strangely,
patients from alien clan are never treated,
they must bribe to be treated,
if not you  go back sick and eat your tribe,
or if you are introduced by a local politician,
you be lucky to be treated your cervical cancer,
they charge medical fees exorbitantly,
but once you pay no doctor will come,
in fact patients who are admitted for in-patient,
rarely come out  alive, if they are one hundred,
eighty of them will die,twenty will go home,
only to come back after a while and then die,
out of this despair another white man from Germany,
has established a modern hospital , just nearby the referral,
it offers absolutely free cancer treatment services
as Africans keep on facilitating death of their own kin,
Blessed be the womb that gave birth to a European.
Though Ethiopian
Orthodox patriarch
Unfortunately, as
I’m not race blind
Please excuse
My being
A tad pitiful and kind
To the political Judas
From my Ethnic side,
You see such
An act has become
A political fad
Even if
That sounds bad.
.
Mind you, at times
Devoid of reason
Oblivious to God
The pious mind
To a halt could grind.
Intoxicated with bigotry
Excuse me the hill
As a mountain
And also vise versa
If I find.
You see with vampires,
Who opened the door
For my current position,
For 3 decades I had dined.

Please forgive
My blind eyes to the
Whole truth till today,
Also skipping
The commandment
”You shall not lie!”
To my likes
A word of support
Tolerate me to say!
Is it not how the adage
Runs?
“While the sun shines
Make hay!”

About the genocide
In Mai Kadra—on par with
Auschwitz—
Why should I worry?
Because it was
My likes, shedding blood
Who likes, suffering
A defeat,
That opted to hack
The innocent
And to efface track
Victims to bury
Were in a hurry.

Also the blood flood
In other parts of
The country—Metekle,
Wellega— didn’t
Draw my attention
You see
Terrorizing the region
Was my likes’ objective,
While I was pretentiously
On Christian mission.
So condoning that
I have to commit
Crime by omission
Also I had
To indulge in
Crime by commission
Drawing a big attention
To possible complication
That attended ENDF’s
Law-enforcement operation.
Than the root cause
A question I’ve to pose
On the attendant ill
Beget by own debacle
For it allows vicious cycle.

Firing rockets
And proving unruly
Judas that hail from my race
Were to wipe out
Fellow neighbors,
From earth’s face
“Man is created in
God’s image! ”
Was shrouded by
Our rage.

All troubles
That, we see
Everywhere in
Ethiopia today, are
TPLF junta’s deed
Junta the fiend
That sowed
A hatred seed.
But, now exposed,
The culprits
My support
Terribly need
I must pat them
On the back indeed.
True to
WHO’s Director General
Abusing my position
Let me cry foul
So that TPLF remnants
Get a stalemate.
You see
An oasis in a desert
They terribly need
How could I
Fail that to heed?

In courting trouble
TPLF was proactive
Reactive were those
On the other side
But this I like
To systematically hide.
Conniving with
Insincere NGO workers
I could enjoy a media ride
To be the security
Council’s untruthful guide
And so called great nations
On the toe to sniff possible
Shortfalls from Ethiopia’s side
And ready to swim against
The truth tide,
Though this is
Dragged to light and
Known far and wide!
So to speak
They could encourage me
An asylum to seek
Honest traitors as they
Adore hand to pick.

Who said a patriarch
Could not be naughty?
Going out of
My religious duty
I will give
A kiss of life
To world-ever
Terrorist party.
.
History has it that
There were pops
Who blessed
Military arsenals like
Artillery and tank
If so, why not
I give a statement
Behind Synod’s back.

May God
Forgive my sin
For the heart of
The credulous
With my
Sanctimonious face
I could win!

Please excuse me
I’m not race-blind
And
Sanctimonious patriarch
One could ever find!
TPLF is a party
By the Ethiopian parliament
Unanimously dubbed
Terrorist and naughty
But
As blood is thicker than water
Supporting it is my duty.

Soldiers who spent
Almost their entire life
In garrison and barrack
Did suffer by my likes’ attack
Behind their back
Though their blood
Cries before God
Please excuse me
I have to favor
Mourning-Killers
From my abode!
Ashwin Kumar Mar 2023
This incident happened more than five years ago
It was a Tuesday
And I'd gone to office as usual
Which involved a long commute
From Powai to Lower Parel
By the famous Mumbai locals
A typically exhausting commute
Made worse by the fact that it was the month of August
And therefore I had to deal with the rains as well
Something seemed to be off
As far as that particular day was concerned
Quite a few of my candidates
Were not responding to my calls
And what was worse
Was the fact that it was raining cats and dogs
In fact, my boss, who was on the way to office
Got stuck somewhere in between
And ultimately gave up the ghost
Deciding to work from home instead!!
He also instructed me and my colleague to leave office
As soon as we were done with all our critical work
Since we both had brought our lunch
We decided to leave after eating
However, our troubles for the day
Were just about to begin
It was raining heavier than ever
Just as we left office
Accompanied by an acquaintance
Trains were not running on the Western line
Thus, we were forced to walk all the way to Currey Road
Instead of Lower Parel, which was much nearer
Meanwhile, my colleague, who was residing in Girgaum
Decided to take a taxi home
While our acquaintance gave me company
Since his home was near Sion
Which falls on the Central line
And is on the way to Vikhroli
Where I was supposed to get down
However, just as we entered Currey Road station
The enormity of the situation
Struck us with the force of a bullet
There was a sea of people
And a rope was placed in the middle of the platform
In order to control the crowd
On the left side of the platform, there was a local
Which was apparently stuck there for quite some time
And on the right, the track was heavily waterlogged
All these were ominous signs
That something was seriously wrong
Well, we boarded the local
And were lucky to get seats
It was a silver lining
In the darkness that was about to follow
The train was in no hurry to depart
Whenever I heard the sound of its motors
My heart would leap with a mixture of joy and relief
Since it seemed to indicate that we would start soon
However, it didn't take me long to realise
That all my hopes had been dashed
The fact was that the motors had to be switched on and off
Every now and then
Just in order to keep the engine running
In the middle of all the chaos caused by the rains
Yes, the situation was so chaotic
That a few reporters had a field day
Meanwhile, I checked in on my colleague
And his feeble voice told its own story
He had to walk all the way
From Mumbai Central, where the taxi was forced to drop him
Till his home in Girgaum!!
Moreover, our acquaintance invited me to walk with him till Sion
So that we could have an adventure!!
However, I was in absolutely no mood for such stuff
As all I wanted, was to reach home in one piece
No matter how long it took
However, the hours slowly tricked by
And the local showed absolutely no signs of moving
Again though, there was a silver lining
In the middle of all this darkness
A Marathi NGO magnificently rose to the occasion
And started distributing packets of food to the stranded passengers
It was truly like a godsend
And helped me keep my wits about
As afternoon turned to evening
And evening to night
While the water on the right side track
Was rising higher and higher
And it soon dawned on me
That the unthinkable was about to happen
That is, I had no choice
But to spend the night at Currey Road station!!!
Yes, it was an unpleasant situation indeed
But I decided to face it anyway
Since the station was a safe place after all
And as we all know
One is always safer in a crowd
Of course, sleeping wasn't going to be an easy task
I tried various positions
Each more uncomfortable than the other
Before finally dropping off to sleep
More out of sheer exhaustion than anything else
When I eventually woke up
Things were slowly limping back to normal
Trains had started moving in the opposite direction
Eventually we departed as well
Though at a snail's pace
And had a few unscheduled stops on the way
When we reached Sion, there came the next twist in the tale
We were stuck for one and a half hours
And I began to fear
That history would repeat itself
However, God was merciful enough
To ensure that it didn't happen
In fact, after we crossed Kurla
We resumed our usual pace
And reached Vikhroli in almost no time
I was home by around 11 am
And was greeted by my family
Who were thoroughly relieved
And also full of praise
Since I had maintained my cool
In such a difficult and unforeseen situation
Ultimately, it had turned out to be an adventure worth reliving
Even if not the kind of adventure
That the acquaintance had embarked upon
And wanted me to be part of
Poem about an adventure involving the Mumbai rains and Mumbai locals; which happened on Tuesday 29th August 2017.
Aaron LaLux Nov 2016
We are RIGHT ON THE BRINK! The new book is #2 worldwide right now, competing with RM Drake and Jonny Cash. It's tough competition, but together I know we can get the book to #1, honestly, it's just a matter of a few more sales. The very next purchase could put us to the top. Please, if you haven't gotten a copy now is the time, no delays :-) I know I'm pushing this book a lot but that's because I put a lot of Time & Energy into it and I'm excited to share it with the world. I am not profiting off the sales either, EVERY dollar goes directly to EarthJustice, a Non-Profit NGO that helps protect our planet. We are all a part of this planetary Evolution, so let's work together. If you are in, share this post, then purchase a copy of the new book, and most importantly, write a review in your native language. We have 48 hours to hit #1 and make a statement, so let's do it. Also, if you repost/buy/review, please let me know you did so that I can thank you personally and can support whatever project you're working on as well. Thank you SO much, I honestly have so much Love for you! Anyways, enough typing. Strength & Guidance ∆ here's the link: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01N3QR3E4
KathleenAMaloney Sep 2016
The Year Was 2017... Globalization and Relocation thru Financial Incentives had been occurring at an Increasingly Rapid Rate...for 4 years
Human Sorting thru the Spheres Program had accelerated, and Talent Acquisition and Identification was Rampant in the Building of Ministry States, and Six Nation Civil/ Financial  Armies....
Ownership of Brick and Mortar Businesses in Each Free Country by Aggressive Interests Had become Maximized
Psychological War had been expanded

Martial Law Is Declared:
      in the event Civil War Breaks out...
     1) physical fitness at military Grade necessary
     2) able to read color based code and signage without computer
          - Rank and Order; For the purpose of Martial Law Leadership Positions/ Ruling Standard: Royal Dictatorship
         - Order of Social Value in the event of Planet Drought and Overheating, Mass starvation
         - Human Potential Project Government assisted for rapid acceleration of Skill to combat business collapse, acceleration pop Intuition and Physic listening ability
         - Disaster Training  and Skills organized
          - Passing of Fake Wills and................... for redistribution of Wealth
          - Fake......., wikipedia installs, and Search engine Lies to alter World Voting Perceptions for Tech  endorsed candidates in UN positions
        - Fake NGO's ,  Subject Matter Expertise Areas based in Branding and advertising as Influencers,  
          Conflict of Interest Rampant throughout; Corruption Widespread,
Secret Hostile Foreign Influence mixed with Oneness Agenda of Globalists
         Interference with mail (taken over by Foreign interests
          - arranged ****** partnerships/marriages for maximum efficiency of family structure in loss of familiar Central Government, increase of wellness and rabid growth of NEW potentials

Prepare: physically fit, for operation
                 eat organic foods
                Elliminate all debt, minimize expenses
                ORDER, reduce clutter, attachments
                ID primary relationships
        

              At Risk: Forests, Farmlands, National Parks, Utilities, Water
              At risk: Cultural Artifacts(Psychological War Target)
              At Risk: Kids of Philanthropists, Leadership
              At Risk: Family Businesses
              At Risk: Planet, All Life
Pariah dogs pain me.

I feel for those mute sufferers
But can’t fill their life.

Many a times I have dreamed of
A doggery in my backyard
For those giver only friends.

Do for them something tangible

Send appeals to kind souls for charity
Creating a kind of NGO for these bravehearts
Giving them something from the more
They deserve.

I haven’t done anything of these.

Under twinkling stars
I feed them scraps
And mourn

When one is less.
KathleenAMaloney Sep 2016
Dr. Poetica
Reaching Out WW
Dispensing Prescription
Tarnished Thot  called NEW

Bi NGO!! Sung to the Sound of OLD
Stillborn  Goose Step  
MORE MORE MORE!!!
Blue MOON For a Militant
TREE of Life  
Dying of the Disease called MAN
More Trees in that Garden
Sergei and Yelena !

And Then.....
Humanity defeats the Alien Race
And How!!!!

Sheer Madness
Navigating the Stars

1, 3, 7, 12
10, 100, 400, 700
Hop Scotch Ranking
From Clown  Royale
To down Down Down
Ddddddownward Dog!

Never closer to a True End
Than Now
Never Closer to a True Friend
Than Now

Stealing
Is Against
The Law







Turn Within
Ashwin Kumar Jul 2022
Who gave you the idea
That love is all about romance?
Love can be towards anybody
In this massive planet
Whether it be your parents
Or grandparents
Or siblings
Or cousins and relatives
Or even friends
And apart from these people
Love can exist in other forms too
Helping an elderly gentleman or lady
Cross a busy road full of speeding vehicles?
That's love
Running a langar to feed the poor and needy?
That's love
Running an NGO to treat cancer patients
As well as rehabilitate them after treatment
And engage them in useful work?
That's love
Cancelling your job interview
To take a victim of a road accident to the hospital?
That's love
Dropping your colleague off at his/her home after work?
That's love
Standing up to a bully who is picking on a few kids?
That's love
Feeding chapattis and biscuits to a few cats on the street?
That's love
Again, who gave you the idea
That love is all about romance?
Self-explanatory!!
Not for profit tax free
Non Government Organizations.

Not Elected
Just selected
Deep state piled
upon deep state.
Sleight of hand
in dark of night
we take your land
without a fight.
You live in a box
in a tiny square
no need for locks
we always care.
Burial plots
are Timeshare.
I am really getting tired
about all the NGO calls
for donations & support
after natural catastrophes
etc.

why
are the local/regional/national authorities
who administer taxpayer money
unable to handle the situation?!?!
Ungangicingi kude ngimningi njengendlala yomuntu omnyama.
ngisabalele, ngibanzi ngijulile. Ungazibuzi ngami ngiyintandane
enomama no baba. Ungangabazi
yiqiniso uma uthi angisiyena umuntu.
Ungaxakwa ukubola kwami
ngikufunde kulabo esabapha
amandla okusipatha ngo nyaka ka 94
ngebhandi safunda imikhuba ngemikhuba kubo. Buka manje
sesi nje sesi nje.
Uthi ziyoqodiswa ubani lezigwegwe.
Ngithi akekho ngaphandle kwezi nsizwa, aboMnumzane bemizi (hhayi amasoka) kanye nama
Khehla wesemaZansi, sibambhisene noMveliqanga nezithunywa zakhe
zokukhanya. Khumbhula amagama
kaphuzi khemisi "Niyababona sebehlangane ngathi lababantu"
Isikhathi sokutshakadula siphelile
liyafa izwe, alingafi sibhekile silibele
amapiano nobufebe, nobuvila, nokubalisa.
Amen.
Salmabanu Hatim Dec 2022
Giving a little is better,
Than giving in abundance
And flaunting about  it.
I don't give out charity to NGO's or Foundations,
I don't have that much money,
For me my need of giving is greater than the one receiving it.
I never haggle  about prices with hawkers, street vendors or at market places,
For they are day to day earners,
And if they earn a bit more from us they can buy necessities for their children.
I always make a point to visit my friends, family and  neighbours who are sick,
Donate some of my savings
To those in need to cover medical bills.
I also visit the elderly and widows and help them in any way I can.
You must look out for your workers as you would your own.
And I try my utmost to do that.
Being God conscious and doing good deeds is the purpose of my life.
3/12/2022
Craig Dsilva Sep 2019
On a weekend when you want to have fun,
It’s worth seeing “The Man with the Golden Gun”
You need to let the little things that would ordinarily bore you to suddenly thrill,
But those little things must never mean the “Licence to ****”

When we think of world peace, we think of a dove,
The place must originate from “From Russia with Love”
Countries must not separate each other by building a wall,
Since nature maintains its balance with the “Skyfall”  

On snow-capped mountains, soldiers slip and fall,
Their minds are illusioned with the image of a “Thunderball”
However they always find a way to resurface,
Since they are “On Her Majesty's Secret Service”

While dating if you find no takers,
Then it is time to sail on the “Moonraker”
Suddenly in your life when you find she,
You will refer to her as “The Spy Who Loved Me”

Trekking means a travelling experience with a thrill
When you reach the top of the mountains it is like a “A View to a ****”
When on a holiday we are told to be loyal,
However one always ends up at “Casino Royale”

Even if people think you are not wise,
It’s fine, since at the end of the day “You Only Live Twice”
When in trouble do not lie,
It is better to “Live and Let Die”

In your career when you are in your twilight,
Join an NGO and erase “The Living Daylights”
When you need to move on, but memories tend to linger,
It is better to switch and go for the “Goldfinger”

If you are under scrutiny and meet the tax collector,
Pay your dues before he becomes a “Spectre”
When the time comes to claim a share of the pie,
You are always ahead as “Tomorrow Never Dies”

Sickness is time we regret and say Oh,
However our minds resound with “Dr. No”
If you are feeling down and lonely,
Watch the movie which is “For Your Eyes Only”

When you lose a loved one and are clueless,
Then time will heal like a “Quantum of Solace”
Being busy at work as time fades by,
You will realise there is “No Time to Die”

Achieving all life ambitions may be tough,
And soon you realise “The World Is Not Enough”
In life, we are taught to aim for the sky,
For that we require the “Golden Eye”

When we face losses we think no way,
But we all forget we have to “Die Another Day”
On reaching close to the target we feel it’s now or never,
Trying again is essential since “Diamonds Are Forever”
The movies of James Bond live in our memories even till today. There are a number of life lessons to be learnt from James Bond.The poem is based on the the fictional legend James Bond Movie series.
Ifa leziwula lilwelwa
abokuhambha
Jomga eqhebegha
sidayisiwe ngo pondo
no sheleni. Refugee warriors
on our doorsteps.
We are grateful for this true freedom.
Our future has never been this peaceful and certain. Verwoed
must be turning in his grave.
Our good governance has
proven him wrong.
Viva Mzansi, Africa's pride.
I purported I was born where they know how to hate;
Where they live as if their mission is to hurt.
I decided to work on my vision and refuse to be petrified.
I decided to live on the internet, as a refusal to be perturbed.
World NGO (My Bestie*) I pronounce you an unforgettable hustler.
World hustlers empower one another, stop hurting one another.
Let’s take it high Lavish in your toilet as a way of respect.
Let’s bring it low Lavish is a celebration when properly done with respect.

Let’s look at the future, touch your eyes, and whisper we are the world binoculars!
Look at the front, there is literature, we have a lot to write about.
This world is circular, the top is the bottom.
Let’s work on our vision as if we have seen vastness in our binoculars.
Look at the front, the kids of covetous people have nothing to write about.
This world is for hustlers, I like it when it spins from the bottom.

Written By: The Senior Date: undefined
-The Survivor

— The End —