You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The

awakened by the
offsprings cry,
baby powdered
morning dew
showers the room,
coffee stained smiles
shine about
cheerio blanketed
kitchens,
so worrisome
for office tardiness,
the carseat won't lock
into place,
tire marks on
fresh paved driveways,
to daycare tears dry not
she's on time,
fatigued she plants
her seed to the office seat
to grow even less
awaiting to see the smile
of her child and say
her prayers before
falling asleep

                     -

awaked by the
offsprings cry,
gun powered
morning dew
showeres the village,
rotted teeth smile
amongst the
body-blanketed township,
so worrisome of finding
a slain mother
sister
brother
just like father,
the gun won't lock
into place,
they never will,
tattered couches
paved with the
***** of
slaughtered buildings,
mother's dead
tears dry not,
fatigued,
hands of
grungy drainpipes
plant beside,
holding stagnant
a somber sibling,
tremors ripple
crimson tides,
planted to
grow even less
awaiting to see
the smile of
his mother
his father
his sister
and say his prayers
with brother
before laying down

THE RAT AND THE PREGNANT WOMAN


A story poem

BY

Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)



Dedicated to;
My mother Neddy Nabisino Mayende Kuloba Makhakara
And her mother Maritini Nabengele Nasenya Mulemia Namugugu Ilungu wa Wenwa.
The story telling power of these two ladies is the primary source of my passion and love for humorous and peace bettling stories. I owe them all the recognitions.







OPENING SONG
How do I start telling this story that I got from my
Grandmothers when sited around the fire yard in the evening?
I don’t know how to start surely,
For to day I am very shy; all of your eyes
Are on me, looking at me like ocean of looking organs
But let me embolden my self with the belt
Of a story teller that my grand father gave me
And commanded me to preach peace
Through story telling in every place I go
So my spiritual service to humanity is telling stories
Is to soothe and heal wounds of humanity
By softly telling peaceful stories
Let me then cough to clear my voice and start;

Long time ago, but not very long time
Some where between the centuries of twelve hundred
And seventeen hundred after the death of the other Jewish
Story teller who died without a wife, who died on the cross
But others say he died on the stake, his name was Jesus,
There existed only two kingdoms in land which is known today
As Bukusu land found in the present east Africa or Indian Ocean coastal Africa,
The first occupants of this vast land is the sons and daughters of Babukusu
Or the ones who like selling ironsmith products
And hence the name the people of Bukusu; the people who sell,
The two kingdoms were the Kingdom of muntu and the kingdom of manani
The citizens in the kingdom of muntu were short men and short women
Handsome and beautiful, slender and not assertive in their physical disposition
But the citizens of the kingdom of manani were all cyclopic,
In their everything; the manner of walking, talking farting, micturating
Farming, breathing, snoring, smiling, singing, whispering
Their whisper was a noisy as the tropical thunderclap
They were tall men and tall women, very tall
Their young person was as short as the tallest
Person in the kingdom of muntu,
When one of the citizen of manani snores
All the citizens of Muntu along together with,
Their king Walumoli wa Muntu had no option
But remain awake throughout the night,
Because the cacophony of a snore from
The sleeping courts of Manani was not bearable,

On many occasions Walumoli wa Muntu
The conscientious king of the muntu kingdom
Had arranged to talk to Silinki wa Namunguba
The ostensible king of the Manani Kingdom
About the cacophonous sleep robbing
Snores of daughters and sons in neighbour kingdom of Manani
Only to cow and chicken away in a feat of prudence
Lest Silinki wa Namunguba will suspect him for being
A night runner or a thief of *** perhaps
Who roams his compound during the wee of the night
In hunt of any of Namunguba’s wife maybe
Perchance having gone out for a mid-night *******,
This is how legendary snores of the sons and daughters
Of Silinki wa Namunguba the king of Manani
Has remained unchecked for ever till today,

One time an ugly passer by happened to be seen
Traversing the kingdom of muntu
In the early afternoon some two
Hours after Walumoli the king
Had just cleared the last plate
Of the mid day meal from
His last wife Khatembete Kho Bwibo Khakhalikaha Nobwoya
He always eats her food last in the afternoon
Because it comes on the table steaming youthfulness
He loves his Khatembete wife, the wife of his old age
The wife he married by use and show of the royal regalia
The powers and dignity of the king of muntu
He married her when he his a king, the scepter in his hand,

Going back to the ugly passer by
It was never known where he came from
Not from the east where the Indian Ocean is
Not from the west where the vastness of the land
Of black people of Baganda and Bacongo
Baigbo and Bayoruba or Bafulana of Nigeria
Or the sons of Madiokor Ngoni Diop in the Senegal,
Not from the south from shaka the Zulu and Mandella the wise one
Not from north in the land of Dinka and Nuer, Ethiopian Jewish and the Egyptians,
The passerby was ugly and from no where, in a dress and
A very ***** dress that fumed out a malodorously stenching reek
He was a man in attires of a woman; this was a taboo in the land of muntu
He was left handed and a heavy weight stammerer, with an appalling
Protuberation of   a hunched back, an enormous hunchback
Enmassing entired of his masculine shoulders,
When the wind blew his loose dress followed it
Leaving the man’s thighs and then bossom naked,
Leading bystanders to a strange discovery; he was not circumcised
He was old like any other father, he had beards
But not yet circumcised, his ***** ends in corkscrew of a sheath,
This was a taboo in the land of muntu, in the kingdom of muntu
Which Walumoli wa Muntu the son of Mukitang’a Mutukuika ruled
For the spirits, gods and ancestors as well as foremen of the kingdom
Behooved that all male offsprings of the kingdom of muntu
Whether born in marriage or out of the wedlock
Born the blood or born as a ******* must and must be
Circumcised in the early teen hood
They must be circumcised before they grow the hairs
On the face, on the chest, in the scapula and on the areas
Surrounding the testicles, the **** and the endings of the backbone,
The man again had six fingers on the legs and on the hands
He walks slowly like a porcupine, his dress was in tartars
He was violent to every one he met
Insulting old people and old women with words
Of bad manners not used in the kingdom of muntu,
He terrified and beat young children, including the royal children
And grand children of Walumoli the king of muntu
He again had to beat and chase nine young virgins
Who had come from the palace of Walumoli the king of Muntu
Away from the forest when they picking fire wood
As well as playing a game of hide and seek with other palace lads,
The ugly passer by then chased to get hold of the
Nalukosi the first born daughter of
Khatembete Kho Bwibo Khakhalikaha Nobwoya
The beloved last wife of the king of Muntu
All other virgins ran home, but Nalukosi remained behind
In the inextricable grip of the ugly passer by
She screamed with hysteria of a hypochondriac
She screamed and kicked with her wholesome mighty
The stubborn passer by never left her alone
She gnawed the ugly passer by with
Her girlish claws of her fingernails
But is like the passer by was mentally disordered
He was a ******* of some time
He derived some pleasure and instead
Enjoyed the girlish scratches of his captive,
Before the eight running virgins reached the palace
Together with their companions, the playmate lads
The shrilling scream of the captive Nalukosi
Was sharply heard at the palace, first by King Walumoli
Who called his wife Khatembete Kho Bwibo Khakhalikha Nobwoya
To come out of the hut, the kitchen and help to listen,
Immediately Mukisu wa Mujonji the palace keeper surfaced
His face displayed genuine askance of an adept military man
Whose martial arts have rusted for a week without usage
He confirmed to the king that the cry from the forest
Is of the one from this royal home of your majesty the king
And none other than the ****** princes Nalukosi Mukoyonjo
The pride of her father, the eye of the palace,
Without hesitation the king permitted the wallabying Mukisu ,
Permission to run in a military dint and find out whatever that
Was eating Nalukosi Mukoyonjo the familial heart of the king,
Mukisu wa Mujonji who was clearly known in the kingdom of muntu,
For his swift running like a desert kite, he already twice chased
And gotten single handedly two male gazelles,
Without aid of a dog nor aid of fellow hunters
And delivered them to the king as a present to the palace
Which he achieved because of the speed of his legs,
On this royal permission he unsheathed his matchette
And went away like any arrow from the bow
His shirt trailing behind him like mare’s tail
Or like the flag on the post on a windy day,
Not a lot of time passed.
Mukisu wa Mujonji is at the spot of struggle,
Between Nalukosi and the Ugly passerby
There was no question or talking,
The first thing was Mukisu to sink the Matchette
With all of his mighty into the tummy of the ugly stranger
The bowels of the ugly stranger opened puffwiiii!
He breathed and gasped twice then succumbed to death.
His grip still strong on the leg of Nalukosi Mukoyonjo
The ugly passer by reached the rigor Mortis
When Nalukosi was still strongly gripped in his
Beastly hand, Mukisu wa Mujonji with all the skills
Used a Sharp matchette again; chopped of the hand
Of the ugly dead passer by off, from its torso
At the point of the muscular elbow,
Now Nalukosi was extricated, but not fully
From the grip of the dead ugly stranger,
The chopped off hand is still knotted at her leg
Around her leg, the dead hand also grips.
Nalukosi jumped here and there to throw away
The leg and the dead hand, but it was not easy to throw
The hand still stubbornly gripped around her angle,
*** time passed, each and every one of the kingdom came
Including the king Walumoli wa Muntu himself
And his nine wives, Khatembete Khobwibo Khakhalikha Nobwoya
Came last, as she was energyless due to rudely shocking tidings
Which the escaping virgins and lads had given her
That the ugly passer by had turned into the ogre
And had swallowed her daughter Nalukosi
That he had swallowed her piecemeal without chewing,
People of muntu came and found the ugly passerby dead
The left had chopped off its torso
But still hanging loosely on the leg of Nalukosi
Nalukosi jumping, kicking, screaming
Screaming away the dead hand from the grip of leg
But nothing had forthcame her way,
Walumoli wa Muntu could not afford to see
The hand on the leg of her beloved daughter
What could he tell his wife, is your all know
Dear reader and audience to this song;
Even the mighty and the wise ones
Generously bend when under the pressure of love,
Out of this dint, even before Mukisu wa Mujonji
Could display his next military card
Walumoli wa Muntu grapped the dead hand
That stuck of the leg of her daughter
And pulled it with another force that
No man born of woman has
Never used since the creation of the earth
By the gods and spirits of Muntu,
The hand come off, he throw it
On the cadaver of the ugly stranger,
He clicked and clicked and hissed
With anger like a wild turkey
In the African thorny forest,
He ordered the dead one to be buried
Their without haste, nor ceremony
Mukisu wa Mujonji buried the body
Quickly in a brief moment with precision
As if he was taking notes
From the lines of the poem
OF Pablo Neruda on how
To bury a dog behind the house
This time burying an ugly stranger
Behind the forts of the kingdom,
After all these women, children and men
Of muntu plus their king Walumoli
Went back to their houses hilariously
Broken into a song and a wild *** dance;
Makoe eehe! Makoe !
Nifwe Talangi Makoe !
Talangi!
Khwaula embogo sitella
Nifwe Talangi!
They sang up to midnight before
They all retired to their beds
Respective beds with panting thoraces
From heavy singing and dancing.

There is connection and disconexion between
The living and the dead, the living fear the dead
And dead loves the living,
The dead want the company of the living
For the living to accompany in the land of the dead,
When the ugly stranger was killed
And buried uncircumcised with the hunch
Not plucked out of his back
The gods and the livings dead
In the realm of the ancestors
Of the kingdom of Muntu were not happy,
They never wanted uncircumcised old man
With a hunch back to join them
And worse enough with the six fingers,
The gods and ancestors really god annoyed
That Walumoli wa Muntu has done them bad
He is only caring for the living, the pre-mortals
Especially his last wife and the daughter
But he has neglected the ancestors,
Why trash to ancestors a stark humanity,
They communed among themselves
And resolved to sent Namaroro
The god of dreams, dreams as messages
From the ancestors and dreams from the gods
Namaroro visited Namunyu Lubunda the palace
Prophet in the Kingdom of Muntu to pass
The message vesseling unhappiness of the ancestors
And gods in a blend of gloomy read to execute
A vendetta;
This is when in the wee of the night that Namunyu Lubunda
Dreamed and had a vision of a old man from
The east is warning of the coming long spell of starvation
That will befall the kingdom of Muntu for ten years
                                      That Namaroro told Namunyu Lubunda
As for ten seasons of foodlessness
Behold a begging kingdom
Behold a starving throne,
The scepter of Muntu is a disgrace
To the holder
Then Namunyu Lubunda set forth by dawn
To the Palace to meet Walumoli wa Muntu
In his, palace before any other royal chores come up,
Both good and bad luck combined
Only to have Namunyu Lubunda to get the king at the palace
He got him fresh and relaxed chewing the cup of fortune
In his full ego, all his wives had submitted to the morning dishes
To his dining hall in the palace, he moved his hands from
One plate of food to the other.
Namunyu Lubunda entered with a submissive salutation
To the royal, He bowed and declared the glory of the king
In typical standards of the ethnic composition of the house of Muntu
Walumoli wa Muntu Mukitang’a Mutukuika
Majave Kutusi Mbirira Omwene esimbo ya
Kumukasa,
Walumoli responded with a feat of dignity to Namunyu Lubunda
The palace prophet, as he roared to him; come in
Come in son of Lubunda son of our people,
He did mention the name of Namunyu Lubunda father
As he fears his words may escape with the power
Of his kingdom the scepter of Muntu
To other insignificant families in the kingdom,
Let me announce what brings me here; intoned Namunyu
Go ahead and announce my holiness
s the prophet of this kingdom; responded Walumoli,
Misfortune is awaiting the kingdom
It will eat this kingdom away
Like a ravenous hyena on the ewe’s tail
The ancestors and the spirits of this land
This kingdom of yours the son of Muntu
Are immensely offended with your recent behaviour
In which you commandeered all villages
In your kingdom; from east and west
The **** the innocent passer by
With your owner hands that handle the scepter
You killed and lay to rest the foreigner
A pure omurende to the kingdom of muntu
You buried him uncircumcised without contrite
In the cemeteries of our foremen who asleep and circumcised
Why did you lower the dignity of our forefathers
Who never share a roof with uncircumcised person
To share the ancestral realm; our emagombe
With hunchback foreigner not circumcised?
This kingdom is condemned to all spell of curse of death
Ceaseless hunger famines and starvation
Women dwindle in their reproductive capacity
Rarely will you come across a pregnant woman
Food will be difficulty to put on the table
Even the sweat of your brow will go to naught,
You will not be buried with insignia
Like a pauper you killed will you be buried
The house of your wife Khatembete Kho Bwibo
Khakhalikha no bwoya is a house of no consequences
For even your daughter Nalukosi stands cursed
She will not mature to be wedded into a marriage
She will hover the earth under heavy agonies of hunger,
My assignment is done and over
With or without your permission let me go.









THE FIRST SONG
Our song continues dear brethren
Come join me in arms we sing
Joyous singing of these songs of peace
Telling the world peaceful stories
As we enjoy sitting together around my grandmothers fire yard
Warming our selves to her lovely fire inherent in her good stories,
These songs will sing the glory and success of the king of Manani
It is an irregular Ode to Silinki wa Namunguba the son of Mwangani,
The son of Tunduli, the son of Wajala Njovu, the son of Welikhe, the son
Of manyorori, the son of Chumbe, the son of Kajo, the Son of Mabati, the son of welotia,
The son of sikele sia mulia, the son of Toywa,the son of siruju, the son of Mango, the son of Mulwoni sinyanya Bakhasi, the son of Mbakara , the son of Makhakara wa Nambuya, the son of Mukoye mulala kukhalikha w0nga, the son of Zumba the son of God.
Silinki

Hey Human! I am your Sibling.

Queen bee wings are Ripped,
bee niblings are Smoked
For Your Honey Sweet.
Hey human! Listen your Sibling’s Buzz.

Tiger lost bones for Medicine,
Fox lost fur for Fashion,
Sharks lost fins for Soup.
Hey human! Do Not Butcher Siblings.

Simba’s life is not your Trophy,
Jumbo’s tusks are not Decors,
Helmets of Hornbills are not jewels.
Hey human! Do Not Reap Siblings.

Emperors of ice continent lost land,
Economics is making Amazon less,
Logging makes Orangutans homeless.
Hey human! Do Not Invade Siblings.

Warm oceans bleach corals,
Water depleted in cities,
We ingest plastic regularly.
Hey human! Do Not Desert the Earth.

Overfishing is holocaust of aquatic life,
Livestock levitates toxic emissions.
Hey human! Do Not Prey on Siblings.

Lichens stunned by pollution,
Symbionts are disintegrating,
Biodiversity is declining.
Hey human! Be Together with Siblings.

Hey Human! We are Offsprings of Mother Nature.
Monera, Animalia, Fungi, Plantae, Protista
all have common roots.
We are branches of the one Phylogenetic Tree
rooting Common Ancestry unto LUCA.

Hey Human! We are Siblings.
Hey Human! Recall your Siblings.
Hey Human! Revive your Siblings.

1.
Noong unang panahon, pulos patag ang lupa
Maliban sa bundok na dalawa
Bundok Kalawitan sa Kanluran
At Bundok Amuyaw sa Silangan!
(Once upn a time, all of the earth were plains
Except for two mountains
Mt. Kalawitan on the West
And Mt. Amuyaw on the East!)

2.
Ang kalikasan ay sagana
Ang mga tao ay payapa
(Nature was then bountiful
People were then peaceful)

3.
Ngunit dumating ang isang delubyo
Nagkandamatay ang lahat ng mga tao
(But a deluge arrived
All people died)

4.
Maliban sa magkapatid na dalawa
Sa bundok napadpad ang bawat isa
(Except for two siblings
Each of them landed on the mountains)

5.
Sa Amuyaw na kabundukan
Ang lalaki na si Wigan
(On Amuyaw mount
There was the man named Wigan)

6.
Sa Kalawitan na kabundukan
Ang babae na si Bugan
(On Kalawitan mount
There was the woman named Bugan)

7.
Nang humupa ang baha
Nagtagpo silang dalawa
(When the flood subsided
The two of them united)

8.
Subalit isang araw, nakadama si Bugan
Na may buhay sa kanyang sinapupunan
(Yet one day, Bugan felt something
In her womb, someone was living)

9.
Siya’y nagimbal sa natuklasan
Nagtangkang magpakamatay si Inang Bugan
(Upon her discovery, she was horrified
Mother Bugan tried to commit suicide)

10.
Sa dali-dali’y biglang nagpakita
Si Makanungan na bathala
(Soon, there suddenly appeared someone
He is a god named Makanungan)

11.
Kanyang pinigilan si Bugan
Dahil ganap niya itong nauunawaan
(He tried to stop Bugan
Because he could fully understand)

12.
Sila ay pinayagan ng diyos na magsama
Sapagkat sa mundo’y wala nang taong iba
(They were allowed to become a couple
Because in the world, there were no more people)

13.
Ang magkapatid na mag-asawa
Marami ang naging bunga
(The couple siblings
Got many offsprings)

14.
Apat na babae
(Four females)
At lima ay lalaki
(And five males)

15.
Sa kahuli-hulihan
Sila-sila rin ang nag-asawahan
(And soon after
They married one another)

16.
Subalit may natatangi sa kanila
Ang lalaking si Igon na walang asawa
(But there’s someone unique among them
He’s the man, Igon, who got no tandem)

17.
Isang araw, dumating ang ayaw ng lahat
Ito ang panahon ng tagsalat
(One day, there arrived something everyone didn’t like
The season of famine did strike)

18.
Kaya upang suyuin ang mga diyos
Ritwal ng pag-aalay kanilang idinaos
(So in order that the gods could be pleased
They rendered a ritual burnt offering of beasts)

19.
Nang sa alay kinapos na sila
Kanilang inihandog maliit na daga
(And when of sacrificial beasts they were out
They only offered just a small rat)

20.
Sa kabila ng lahat, walang paring tugon
Kaya isang krimen ang naging opsyon
(After all, there answered no voice
So it was crime that became the choice)

21.
Walang pakundangang kinitilan ng buhay
Kapatid na si Igon ang ipinang-alay
(They dared to **** their brother
It was Igon whom they did offer)

22.
At biglang nagpakita
Si Makanungan na bathala
(And suddenly, there appeared someone
It was the god, Makanungan)

23.
Lahat sila ay isinumpa
Iyon ang simula ng digmaan sa lupa!
He cursed everyone
That was the beginning of war in the land!)

-03/10/2012
(Dumarao)
*for Lit. Day 2012

In their blind bid
To become westernized,
They lost touch with reality
Created shadows of themselves
Despised their own intrinsic values
Embraced a twisted dress sense
Of fallen pants and revealed underpants
Idolized everything they're not
The good, the bad, the ugly
They birthed dual personalities
Picked up foreign accents
On ****** home-based passports
The American Dream, they call it,
As they wear winter jackets
In scorching African sun
All in the name of fashion
Trading our simple hues
For complex shades unknown
Bleaching skin and hair
Trading natural black for artificial white
Unaware the very gods they adore
Are tanning theirs to look darker
Insecurity drives them mad
Inferiority complex overtakes them
As they ban mother tongues in offsprings
Placing exotic tongues on pedestals
At the expense of our cultural future.

This is not an attempt at poetry
This is wake up call to Africa
Be bold, be proud, be black!
You are BEAUTIFUL!!
You are AFRICAN!!!*


© Raphael Uzor

What’s life?what’s this life?
What’s behind this lie?such a great lie,
At birth is when it begins,they say a beautiful child but when it grows up what a monster face it develops,during breastfeeding still being fooled while all they want is for you to be silent for peace in their ****** souls then fooling you to go for the sweets,just to make you walk so as to remove a burden of carrying  your forsaken body and when you walk they give you work fooling you with three meals a day. And when you grow your teeth they take you to school asking you not to joke and work hard while all they want is what you get at the end of the torture. When you fail the spank is the only truth that engulfs your childhood. When you grow up  they still fool you to go and get a spouse. That’s where the greatest lie manipulates and and lays its eggs to hatch and become more mutant. A life full of arguments a life full of mistrust a life full of doubt coming each day home just to add salt to the wounds two great enemies under a single roof and their offsprings as fuel and spectators to this war full of battles never won where no one knows what will happen next while no one takes precautions where anything can happen but none is afraid where the masculine show their ego and their counterparts which weaker power but a spiteful mouth that acts as firewood to the never ending battles. And still lie to the offsprings each feeling right and offsprings get lies from both sides
Get a work and still the boss lies to you and all he wants is a profitable business so as to stuff his *** that ingested all junk
And when you die they still lie of how good you are while you mishandled women while you looked down on innocent men needing your love they lie of how pure you are while all the ears know what a *** you were.
Look at me speaking as if I was born in the 80’s while am only 18 speaking as a priest while am not different in any way speaking of life while I have a dead heart in me speaking like a married man yet still looking for my first love but still I have nothing to ask for forgiveness for my pen ain’t faulty


RUSSELL

If you live green
You will be green and as green as
Green is green and you know
That green is pious green!

If you live green
No predator will hack the tree
And its promising children
Who bear and carry our joys

If you live green
No Partridge will kick the bucket
At his bow for his daily sport
And its offsprings will play

If you live green
No colonization at lawns and crops
And the harvest will prosper full
Satisfying our sheer needs

If you live green
Life will be evergreen as it was
And  It will be as same as God
Wants us to sustain it for its lustre

You, the sculptor,
shaped our lives, molded
us, your offsprings, into the model
of your desired likeness.
You created masterpieces
with the elder and younger;
they so like the perfect David,
but you are no Michelangelo,
and i, the nucleus of this family,
am not a piece of clay.
i defy your wheel, knife,
the kiln that fires your bloodline.
i take to the kiln my own David,
misshappen like a Picasso,
surreal to you.

***** pills and that naughty no no known as drugs
hell if you do anything your addict ever see the sobber ******
down at the local mall?

Kids screaming wife *******   you catch the eyes of  the so called
happy *******  who looks like one more scream laced cry
is gonna make him flip and   create some  drama for the evening news .

Yeah happiness sure smells like misery to me.
Id rather  drink and **** till I fall out dead than
live the dream that looks more like a nightmare.

Taking pills not to strangle some misreble ***** to death.
Meanwhile she's greezing your brakes trying to to talk ya in to going to see the grand cannyon.

Ever been there?
Yeah a big *** ditch with a bunch of  annoying picture taking ******
yeah i'll snap a pic of ya okay step back ,back okay like a few more steps  well ya fell of the ledge  ya silly *******.
Guess it's cool to keep the camera.  

Ive been to scores seems the sights were more dam grand and
the drinks a hell of alot better.

Ever wake up to the dam TV blaring some early morning
horse ****?
Some dam annoying tiny voiced ******* talkin to the kids.
Look they got the net they get knocked up and make a show about it
something tells me you can cut the ******* act.

16 and pregnant wow  what genius  more like when
horney *******  attack  hey heres a brainstorm
birth control  not that some over emotional half wit
doesnt need a kid   hell   cant wait to see thoose offsprings
hey mom wanna go on a double date to the prom?

Happiness it cost to dam much and love will give ya
heart burn.

every now and then
I receive emails from former students
with pictures of their newborns

each time
I am deeply touched
that they feel
I would like to know
about their lives’ great events

I reply with loving mails
congratulating them
wishing them much joy
    and patience
with their adorable offsprings

it is just nice to know
that the people
whose lives you shared for a few years
are doing well

to us, seekers of beauty,
blue kaleidoscope
ment nothing,
we've never found it
for we knew not
anything about
singular
alone-ness

sunset visages
sang songs
in return  
early spring dancing
a million secret
blessings burnt

effervescent organisms
coiling as subtle
sea of reciprocity,
effervescent offerings,
offsprings
ramblings

scattered and undisturbed

quenching quietness,
thirst satiated at
meadows mists.

I am rhyme, you are rhythm,
I pen ivory, you dance ebony
and together, we share
our own classical-hip-hop world.

People still gape
When they see us together
The stark difference of our skin
Yet in nature, we mesh perfectly together.

I am ivory, creamy white chocolate
You are ebony, dark hardened chocolate
Melted together, our offsprings
Become butterscotch and milk chocolate

What beauty the world beholds in children.

Unexplained movement
That leaves all with lot of questions.
Giving out opinions,
She always feed me corrections.

Trying to copy her moves, manly...
But end up looking like a fool.
Mainly that's her story, I guess it's because she's New...
But after gazing at the Dawn,
She wants me, the fool, to be there
With her eyeing the Moon..

Unnecessary excuses,
Resulted in me not getting layed.
Not that I'm aggressive ,
But I mean, c'mon , it's getting late.
I won't be in here forever,
I'll have to be in class tomorrow at eight.

Offsprings ready to be cheered,
oh Gosh , I've lost it...
Trapped in a jar, trying to open up a lid.
Not even a hug,
All I'm swallowing is a spit.
Almost had a ***** Fit, Cuz...

He got a kiss,
Not on a cheek, but on the lips
It's good to be my friend.
Small, but very smart mind.
I won't finish writing this poem,
ThiS is the end.... ..... For now.

When the sun rises,
the moon has no say but to leave the morning sky without a glance
Albeit sullenly, albeit unwillingly, he leaves the dark to turn into day again.

When the cold breeze turns
stronger, fiercer,
and the temperature starts falling,
autumn slips away imperceptibly,
in the dawn of winter.
Leaving behind dead leaves,
dead trees and death death death,
the sky will weep snowflakes.

When her tiger cubs mastered the art of hunting,
the tigress has to forsake her offsprings.
She abandons them in the dead of the night,
as they make their second ****.
There will be nothing but
indifference in those cold,
steely eyes.

Like the seasons, like nature itself, was it that natural for you to leave me? Were you the moon, autumn or tiger?

"I want take another direction, but no road" I said to a friend
"why do you want to do such" she inquired.

If only she knew the demons within
If only she knew how it all began
The troubles, the wars beneath,
everyday I come alive sore
The pain in my heart, the curse given to it
The soul is not within anymore - a living corpse -
Something different I want to be
Not to bear offsprings, they won't agree
Not to be with the opposite 'cos nothing loves
Not to shed a tear 'cos I've gone dry
Not to eat 'cos there's no flesh to feed

To feel my pain, its his only gain
The demon within..
Do as you wish but hurt none within reach
Anyone who knows me, see for your self
My heart and soul hangs at his window pane.

Who is this?!
Who is this creature,
peeping through my joy,
interrupting my happiness?
Who is this creature,crawling my surrounding?
Crooking the smooth path i once trod?

Who is this that feeds upon the flesh of my children,
And drinks from the blood of my offsprings?!
Who is this ravaging the treasures long laid?
Darkening my image,
Treading upon my dignity?!
Trampling on my joy of motherhood?
How did my innocent children wrong you?

Upon whose invitation do you resident my camp?!
Who invited you to swim in the blood of children?!
And have as your meal the fruits of my hardlabour?

Curse upon you this day,
For you're but unwanted guests!
Enemies of humanity
Humanly clothed.
Enough to your damage.
Gather your luggage and be gone from us.

Let me and my children sing the songs of peace!.
Be far removed from us!
Go far away from this land and do not return.

A monstrously graceful and gracious disgrace
A malicious tyrant with a burning vengeance,
The Satanic betrayal of a people so down and out,
The atrocious ****** of a defenceless citizenry,
The barbarous Lucifer of our era.

When we thought our nation had gone to the dogs,
You religiously rescued it and plunged it further beyond,
When we thought our motherland was dead and buried,
You exhumed her, mutilated the remains and fed them to crocodiles,
******* child of the product of our soil.

Our guides are painfully turning in their graves,
Monomotapa, Nehanda and Kaguvi,
Lobengula, Mzilikazi and Joshua Nkomo,
A collection that epitomizes peace and order for their descendants,
Patriots that sacrificed their lives for their offsprings’ wellbeing.


But Grace, time is always of essence,
What goes around, certainly comes around,
Has it ever occurred to you that God is for us all,
And he is not asleep,
When he hands over the button to us, what are you gonna do?

More than just drops of water
The life giver, the energy re filler
The rain, I stopped running away
And gazed, on drops that fall on leaves
A closer look, and thoughts lit up
It's a refreshment, a zillion angels
Descending, giving life to the dry souls
Defending drought from wiping out joy

The soil absorbed the gift
Awakened her offsprings
The trees, herbs and flowers
Replenished their needs
Now, the payback to their care takers
To let them be thankful to God
For what they haven't destroyed
For they have become humans

The nature will unleash, the beauty
The food, the medicines, to relax
And to inhale life, the oxygen
Then after, the silly droplets
That fooled around on huge petals
Soon, to drop on her fulfilled heart

Long time ago, they left the  boundaries
Like an eagle from afar, they sight our mysteries
In the system, they saw mismanagement within
They robbed their way in
They killed their fellow uniform man eventually
And the cycle continues circularly
Civilians pursued
Powers misused
Purpose is defeated

We have formally forgotten those days
When virtues of peace were promoted with violence
When the press were oppressed
When justice was jeopardized
When our constitution was constrained to contempt without conscience
When the scales were afraid of scary blood, but love printed papers
When the beaks of singing parrots were broken
When religious teachers were treated rigorously
Purpose is defeated

Purpose came again
Our uniform men are well informed
But they are not well equipped
A great battalion with good  training
Against that without training
A great battalion with pieces of metal
Against that with powerful machines
Ready but not resourceful
Purpose is defeated

No longer dying for the nation
Lets bring down those rebels
A call of duty to the north
They respond with gallant boots and courage
They respond with pieces of metal on their hands
They respond to a place where many have fallen
Even at that, they fought gallantly
They were made to improvise arms
Purpose is defeated

They return with blood stained boots, hands and courage
Their faces and pieces of metal looking down
They have fought a good fight
But sorrow lurks around our families
Women now widows
Offsprings now orphans  
Uncle died as one of them
Father retired as one of them
Pension still on attention, no ease?
Purpose is defeated

Purpose is here again
Retreat!  Retreat!!  Retreat!!!
Fela Kuti sang 'Zombie! '
Check point checking for phone users
****** civilians!  Dont make a call here!
Sheep flogged, goats flee
They get recruited just for revenge
Purpose is defeated

Purpose is here again today
Where natural death is rare
People are killed
People are killing
People are on their way to ****
Cows are chewing crops
Crops are chewing cows
This is not normal!
Purpose is defeated.

©Kporho Vwede Daniel
(a.k.a. General Ali official)

A frame dating back
The nostalgic feeling of a former home
How we all stood and watched
How we all wondered how it happened

Why does it hurt again?

The three offsprings looking down
In the cushioned box whence she laid
Tears, free flowing
Mouths agape, a child cries
Its the end of the road Ma,
Pray under the bossom of the Lord
You Rest.

A rippled sky, waylaid
projected by reflected light
on the floor beneath my feet
On top of the pitch it seems–
like starry nights with echoed rings

A dauntless guardian, still
in protecting those under him,
avoiding the meteored blues
Its fruitful arms extend–
to reach children, prideful and anxious

The downpour of thoughts, torrential
ravaging the inner workings of a rippled mind
muddy with unsolicited fetor
Misfortune had her way–
with the brine on this man's body

Offsprings of a frothy child, joyful
jumping on the heads of
worn down golemns
Nurturing weaponized yet–
repressed emotions that fell prey to false empathy

From the canvass sea to the mirrored sky
travelling through concrete mattresses and blankets pure
and men,
They seem to neglect this jubilee
because of the sadness its aftermath brings

Some people spend years trying to find what they really want.
Nobody really knows if they are content with being content.
Married by twenty-five and three kids by thirty-three.
A nice suburban house with double doors and everything you've ever dreamed of in the hard wood floors of your newly renovated kitchen.
Your house is littered with toys that you don't even remember buying.
Constant arguments over why you spent two hundred dollars on a purse but you swear to God it's designer and completely worth it.
Your children are sneaking out at night and you snoop through your daughters diary because you say you think she's on drugs but really you are just nosy.
You have boring, repetitive missionary *** every other Tuesday and you are sure that *** didn't used to feel this dull.
Your children leave and you are left with a near empty house again.
You spend your time with golf and knitting class to try and fill the gaping hole left in your heart…
*******! There is a senior yoga class at the YMCA.
Your every breath is laced with worry of your offsprings in the real world.
You think back to when you were in high school and how you dreamed about being a ballet dancer.
Where has your life gone?
You can barely stand without the help of a cane because your knees are too old and creaky.
You can't even remember your old street name and your children stick you in a home because they can't manage with crazy old mom around.
They visit you once a month and eventually
you forget you even have children.
Your last couple of breaths are panicked and regretful.
You have your memories knocked back into you with the fear of a reaper.
You realized you never actually lived and you want to go back.
You dwell on every mistake and missed opportunity
You regret not following your dreams.
You want to go back.
You want to go back.
You want to go back.
You want to go back.
You want to go ba--

Book: African Hidden Info's
Written By: Thando DebrokenPoet

To My Fellow Nigros
Lost Children Of Melanin
Fumbling Offsprings Of Mwari
You've Struggled
And Tumbled
In Chena Murume's(White Men's), grasping Hearts.

The Enslaved
And Consciously Disabled-
Till spiritually You Drowned
Deep Into Our Oppressors Feet.
Day-to-day You Lowered
And Waxed To Every sovereign state's Begger.

This Book Is to My Fellow Afru-ika
Sisters & Brothers.
And Fellow Nigro
Whose Ancestors Suffered As Steve Biko
Did And All Other
Liberation Heros.
To Name Few:Prophet/king Shake Zulu Of The Zulu Clan-
Prophetess Mtsopa, King Langalibalele , Takawira Of Zimbabwe,
Hector Peterson, Credo Muthwa
Mohamed Farrah Aidid Of Somalia.
And Many Unrealised, Unrecognised
Misunderstood Hero's, like the Xhosa Prophetess-
Nongqawuse
The True African Freedom Fighters.

Skinned Dark, Rough In Complexion
Creator's Mastered Creation
Though Notified
To Be Mvelinqangi's Rejected
Child.
Said Black pigment, displays
Alah's Curse Upon You Dark skinned.

Through Thy're Undying spirit,
mandate passed to Prophet Radebe.
I'll Unpack Africa's Hidden Truths
Self-owed By homme blanc(White Men).

My Intro, For My 10 Days
Of Poetree.

If the voices of the voiceless remain unattended to,
In our tomorrow, will there be a dream to run to?
They cry in silence as their dreams are being tattered.
They speak in their heart because their words don't matter.

They didn't ask to be born
But they are here left to tick away like a time bomb.
Those who help them, take away their pride.
Those who ignore them, jest with their strides.


They are made adults before adulthood.
They are made worthless like bitter truth.
They groom their offsprings without a groom.
They are only needed to choose an umbrella or a broom.

My people, what we have seen don't scare like the unseen.
The hate we give today, are just fruitful seeds.
We have their pairs as children and wards.
Yet, we left them for the rain, the sun and the world.

Ain't we worse than the worst virus?
Ain't we creating what will devour us?
Now tell me, if the voices of the voiceless remain unattended to,
In our tomorrow, will there be a dream to run to?

my best poems came:

in months, days of desperation,
hours, moments of elation, it was the
always imbalance that just was, that
was/when the karma-was in-balance

my best poems always, always,
came accompanied by tears, many,
before, during, certainly after, even
twice, when a later returning stumble,
brought the sentries to open old gates

never, at any time, was a man with many
friends, reasons plenty, reasons mine,
it was an imbalance that just was, that
of the karma-when-in-balance, except,
the creative offsprings became children,
painful to raise, coming to visit occasionally

hear no quiet trumpet moaning, nor a violin
shed the human cries that only a man-made
instrument can be forgiven for being better at
than their own creators.  Much by choice, or
criminal laziness, all tinged by a fear so subtle,
don’t think anyone knew it existed, yet, always
humming “see the man running against the wind”

there you have it. no summing up necessitated,
because how the numbers add up, the total is
just the total, and know, you can finish this one,
the total is just a rose by any other name, it’s a
number that by definition was the of, the when,
“when an imbalanced karma-was-in-balance.”

This day reeks of blood and death.
The sky is black and dressed in  clouds.
The gloomy air just burns your lungs.
The red light is killing your eyes.
A sound of drums start sounding around.
You start falling.
Struggeling to ignore it you are.
Meaningless!
With claws your eyes are by force opened
And you see it,
The mighty parade of hell began.
The young lord greets the new offsprings,
Tortured souls...

I survived K-12 schooling
I read and researched a lot
I went to political meetings
I investigated social ***.
I met with some politicians
And then sterilized my hands.
Anyone who has ever met them
Will instantly understand.

Then an idiot ran for office
And I told myself he wouldn’t win
And that was when I wanted
The Big Do-Over to begin.
Because that idiot was picked
To be the Mutton In Chief
When it was widely known
He was a serial adulterer, liar,
Cheater, embezzler and thief.

He immediately set about
Instilling high dollar nepotism
By using his offsprings as proxies
And promulgating social schism.
He thinks he is the role model
Everyone else should follow
When someone else talks like that,
He finds them hard to swallow.

All he really wants is worship
Because he thinks he’s a god.
He doesn’t recognize he is crazy,
He can’t see his behavior as odd.
He’s the modern-day Caligula,
But he won't accept that of course,
Even though he has appointed
Crooks that are the back of a horse.

So, let’s have a do-over now!
Let's put someone trained in place
Of an overdress orangutan
With an big fat orange face.
Let’s put someone in there
That is and intelligent  human.
Oh, I have an idea, everyone.
Let’s elect to the job a woman!

if by revision, there be a cartesian "archetype"
we'll require a blank slate, a canvas,
res cogitans isn't exactly a blank slate,
a canvas -
     then again it can be -
   but at the same time this thinking thing
primer is already brimming full with
an ingredient -
         namely? thinking.
                    so how can it be a starting point,
a blank slate, a canvas?
       for some reason i can't imagine thinking
at being directly correlated in translation
into being (esse) - it's more easier
imagining gods, than this sort of translation:
i.e. - how many mindless tasks have we
performed, how many accidents &
subsequently how many automations?
my guess is? too many, or enough to conjure
up the notion of common sense:
that communistic attention seeking ideal
of darwinism: yes, selfish as we are:
the cosmos is a claustrophobic space,
if being a poet, you stand next to a plumber
and how we're in all of this together;
i hardly think you can argue with that
sort of perspectivism.
           that's why i invoked an "antidote"
to the already apparent jackson *******
of res cogitans -
       it's so randomised - so already fresh,
in your fresh, already a cursor's sight away
the next pawn move on the chessboard
of life...
              res cogitans in classical terms
was already a presupposition conundrum -
it wasn't a case of supposing we thought,
or think,
     and by that statement the conundrum
is all the more apparent: we don't...
morality is a construct of acting upon
a thought that really doesn't need translating
into an act, rather: a possibility;
nonetheless it's translated, and thinking
disappears into a sane facade surrounded
by institutional mechanisations
that coordinate it into a: cradle unto the grave
scenario of the abled person:
strapped into a wheelchair of ambitions
primarily the one to: be able to walk again;
which is the don quixote aspect of the "quest".
there is no sense in working from
a cartesian standpoint -
   the res cogitans model was so outdated
that it was almost invisible,
   it was easier to see a beginning -
a god, a "bang", a monkey,
than it was to see a thinking thing...
     a thinking thing translates, precipitating
into a being - with that being said:
what is not objectionable about thought's
loss of an ought to still continue in making
being?
        never mind the crucifixion as a "sacrifice",
the fact that man question himself and
never manages an adequate plateau answer
is already a sacrifice worth enough
of other "worthy" sacrifices:
           and so too, as the universe "exploded"
so too man imploded;
the universe modelled upon an "explosion"
toward the infinite, is also a universe
modelled upon an implosion of man
toward the eternal...
         man has no archetypal cartesian
"currency", there is no cartesian wager -
hence the starting point of thinking is lost
to the sisyphus tract of ego-tripping, "winning",
and all other minor debasements -
    intrigue by insult -
               man was not born to think -
he remained in his unconscious developmental
state for much much later than expected...
i might as well say: i considered myself blind
until i first engaged in memory lego...
     i can't expect to have seen much else
other than the recount of my first
stage of internalised sight - i.e. memory.
again, i cannot consider res cogitans of
classical cartesianism as directly responsible for
esse -
i right thought to be an erasing project,
memory we can escape,
by forgetting, thinking and the imagining of
far better: that's harder to escape from,
memory was never a form of escapism
unlike imagining and thinking have been...
    which is why i asked to begin
with res vanus: for the mind of man
to become a womb, with the ego a foetus -
because it's hard to begin with
a jackson ******* of a res cogitans to
prescribe or even ascribe a "sort" of being...
            what needs to become is what already
is: a blank slate, a canvas,
           imaginative being in the form of punk -
or the thinking being in the form of einstein -
   but both begin with res vanus
rather than res cogitans -
       thinking has its own chronology and
narrative - like any claim to a hierarchy -
    but it cannot begin by stating that
thought was and is the first fact...
    cogitans non est facto primo -
   thinking is not the prime fact -
            it's like a numbers game -
there are the prime numbers, and there are
the composites -
     thinking is composed of imagination,
memory, ethics etc. -
        yet, as is all the more apparent -
    we all sometimes do stupid things sometimes...
and we do them: because we're not thinking;
which means that the prime fact that
we're thinkings things,
                                 is false,
we have to vacate ourselves for a thought
to enter our domain of emptiness -
               ***** the thought, ego the *****;
**** me, i always end up writing the most
bogus crap, after listening to a psychologist,
who has had the advantage of having raised
children, and become less severe a guardian
with some grandchildren, for it's a common fact
that grandparents make better parents
to their offsprings' children
    than a direct relation of mother to child...
even if they were alcoholic communists
            who still managed to buy you a collection
of philosophy books.

Here breaths Paris the city of love
A citadel that protects the love of many a lovers heart,
An ancient tower standing tall like the heavens above
A city that bonds together lovers heart never to part.

A beautiful city that dresses the bed of couples honeymoon
A honeycomb that attracts the heart of many a lovers taste,
An oak that shows forth her beauty like the beam of bloom
A city of grandeur that nurtures lovers heart to her best.

A city that retains her honour as the heart of lovers den
A land of love spiced with romance, soaring her fame to the heavens and skies,
A nation that forms the desires of many a heart every now and then
An un-wavering city that pampers the face of lovers heart with smiles.

A city that is as beautiful as herself the city of light
A tower whose arms forms the comfort city of many a lovers heart,
A legendary city that holds the breathe of lovers heart so tight
An empress whose beauty waters the isles of lovers path.

A citadel of light that is as bright as the morning sun
A city that leaves the legacy of love to her offsprings un-born,
A magnificent tower that causes every travellers imagination to run
A volcano that erupts the love skills of many a heart to storm.

It's Paris the legendary city of love
A city that forms the base of love amongst all cities,
A beautiful empress whose heart is as pure as a dove
A pageant city that teaches all hearts the basics of love ethics.

never been one whO̲ contains much
faith in the human race, but
now it's just about bo[ɑ]ttom-low
which reminds of a squa[ɑ]tting pose (bottom low)
sometimes, it's like I̲'m on a ride that goes
down the dark misanthro[ɑ]pic road
I̲'m not the driver, though
[but I guess I sort of chose the "vehicle" & keep staying in it]
and to descrI̲be humankI̲nd, I'd go
with the following cO̲[ɑ]mment: "inside a post
apo[ɑ]calypse truck that rolls mindlessly, like it's no
tomorrow, down the dysto[ɑ]pic road"
sometimes, I'd li̲ke to be one in rose
tinted glasses, like some pretty lA̲ss dis—
—played in some fashion-oriented mA̲g piece
but the mind of mine is wired otherwise
but forget it, for rI̲ght now, I would like
to continue the dystopy theme fro[ʌ]m the prior lines
autocracy, AI̲, with both
on the rise, it's like into the dark we go
do you know why it's ca[ɔ]lled
"high classes"? 'cause an archetypal soul
belonging to a high class is all 'bout
self-indulgence, dough (power, high on power)
[since, according to Ted Kaczynski, the power process is the process of satisfying needs]
[having power in its different forms makes living humans delighted (high)]
[just like mood-elevating narcotics called "uppers"]
[what I imply with those lines is high social class[-es] is/are called "high" due to]
[its/their members being under the influence of their power acting as uppers for them]
and for the mass to throw down
the system, there's a lack of civil drive & know[ɑ]ledge, so
it seems like no way of sto[ɑ]pping those
two, except for legislation that prescribes
development, usage, & spread limitations to[—]ward AI
[should be worldwide]
and (with regard to autocracy) an armed overthrow
by antiauthoritarian-minded folks
who, at some point, would pro[ɑ]b'ly grow
corrupted like wrong ones dethroned (dead end)
tragical, but at the same time, it's kind of co[ɑ]mical
[the way humankind is throughout its history]
humankind is like an utter dolt
who keeps stepping on a frO̲nt end of a ****** ***
like a ****** getting her tyrant-minded clients croaked (****** ***)
but AI, which is obvi' gon' be utilized to exercise control
[in fact, that's already the case]
["RoskomNAZIor" with its **** "Oculus"]
or even have the might to exercise control
and autocracy itself are no[ɑ]t the sole
pro[ɑ]blems known; humanitarian plights provoked
by warfares (look at Africa); with enviro holes
being dug since Brit's industrial
[the "dig oneself in(to) a hole" expression]
revolution & the people number growth
someday, there'll be a time the globe
won't be the sentient species' lovesome home
but environment
is among stuff chI̲ng-corrupt jerks
that rU̲n or get
investment I̲ncome fro[ʌ]m firms
speciali̲zing in
fossil fuels gI̲ve not co[ɑ]ncern
toward, hence the climate change denI̲A̲l them
filthy rI̲ch schmucks support
[as if they don't have or aren't gonna have offsprings]
but there's always an abrupt turn
to take to end this f#cked world (sort of end)
I mean, do no[ɑ]t for—
—get about dA̲[ɛ]mn nuke bo[ɑ]mbs stored
both in the "eastern world" with authoritarian govs (madness)
[China; North Korea; Pakistan; India; Russia, with Belarus as its nuke base]
and in the "western world" with somewhat liberal ones (lesser evil)
[USA, with some NATO states as its nuke bases; France; UK; Israel]
what I imply's the sapiens kind
is doomed; even if the final chapter's not nigh
it's still just a matter of time
[doomed to be a dystopian civilization with: constant control & oppression]
[by the powers that be; violent crimes, incl. warfares]
[starvation (in some regions); worsening environment]

It's nothing,  but it's not enough,


oh that sounds tough!,

shut the f*ck up!


Hood terms


thus like evolution I'm the progressing germ,


to give out inspiring offsprings to those who have learned.


Happy new years in spring! 

 Then 7 more times again !


How?
.
.
because the ancients believe this
.
seen this
.
.
on the paintings of walls
.
Winter is Summer
.
As Summer is in Winter
.
death to all  
.
transform
.
reborn
.
the birth of my true dreams
.
our memories, obtained
.
seen by their strains.