Ode To My Mother Continent

 

If you were a country, 

perhaps, my mother continent Africa

You'd be the place I call home

A place so serene and quiet, I'd travel far and wide

beyond the known ridges and realize your beauty

I'd travel —

Leave my city and journey to your capital

to savor your fragrance, 

marvel at your towering skies

And revel in the beauty of your landscapes

Like Romeo and Juliet, I'd track distant lands

Leave my city, and travel to your majestic rivers

The essence of nature, life, and love would blossom forth

As I sail across your seas, and oceans, watching whales

And aquatic life, in wonder, I'd roam

Through the Budongo, Congo, or mau forests, I'd stray

Watching tigers, and wildlife, in their natural sway

In the Sahara's golden dunes, I'd rest my weary eyes

On the jungle kings, in awe, I'd realize

Realize the essence of nature 

the beauty of love

If you were ! My love

I'd hold you tight to the bosom of my heart

find peace in loving you 

like my mother —

(my beautiful ugly mother)

       Africa

I'd love your thighs, caress them

And dive into the world romanticism 

if only you were —

my mother continent

Survivor Of Generational Trauma

 

I hated seasons, holidays, Christmas and Easter because they never spoken of warmth and breath of freedom.
I despised modern pastors, slave masters, and teachers
Bullying was never a part of me, and i loved school because it freed me from drama and trauma that confined me in an enclosed ethanol-scented nest where my flesh used to find no rest when the sun goes to sleep

I loved Margaret, a sophisticated, bright and beautiful young lady I could only compare to Dora the explorer.
Never have I ever really enjoyed playing games or shuffling cards during break times with boys, running around and about with young ladies at puberty, never liked running around and about with them or seeing their sharp-pointed breasts.

I hated parents, fathers and grandfathers and their thoughts.
I hated my father because he never told me the real war is fought in the silence between our voices, in the lies we tell ourselves to survive. He never told me, survival isn't the same as living, survival is waking up after the storm swept underneath the ground to go and toil again for bread and freedom.

I studied alcohol and why grandmothers sung ballads before the fall of Midnight's terror.
I never really understood the reason for local siphons at local tukuls that only siphoned chaos and hatred into developing zygotes and alienate our planets filled with peace and tranquility.

I never went to herbalist or doctors, i hated the smell of drugs. And the decorations of shrines. And biology made me sick. I hated Napoleonic wars and Louises, and Bible seemed like a beautiful collection of fictions written by Shakespeares.

The stings of bees and its honey were too different things but the intoxication of its sweetness and delicacy is another.
They called it pleasure but I call it disaster.

I never liked politicians and hunters. The both wear smiles with loaded riffles
A hunter would never leave a deer because she has a calf,
and a poacher would never leave an elephant because she has a tender calf, or a rhinoceros because she just gave birth. Grief is collateral, compassion a liability whether hooves or hopes, they hunt just the same but different preys.


There was a man i used to like and all he used do was keep a fleet of sheep. I loved lambs and lime lights.
I never really loved sheep but they were my delight. Goats' hatred and jealousy made me sick and flight

I found happiness in small ragged rooms and peace in my tormenting memorabilia. Soliloquizing, in the midst of the rain was my favorite season song. And mourning in summer times was a thing in my mother's house. Elder sons, and twins fighting for birth rights and soups.

I enjoyed watching horror movies but I never liked the sounds of gunshots and marching of battalions because i had once seen them not in my dream. I had once, more and time again heard mothers wail and scream on the bodies of their dead sons and husbands.

Still, through all the noises and silence, i am still here, we're still here. Learning that it’s okay to grieve what was lost. Survival was a different scene and i guess after that we all begin to live and find happiness in places once disregarded and to give pace to hope despite the disturbing memories and trauma.

Beyond the sunsets

 Beyond the Sunsets

In the basking dusk of the

dying sun—births a beauty,

rare beyond what eyes can see,

nor can noses inhale its aroma—

the fragrance of its existence.

Love, us—birds in the setting sun,

Flying through the night, singing,

preaching love’s beauty,

hidden since the dawn,

shining over the ground—

as silver, perhaps diamond,

More precious than the night sky,

than the stars that twinkle above,

or the luminous moon.

Unconditional love—

neither can gloom dim its bloom,

nor can the scorching sun

steal its brightness.

The morning star traces its radiance,

whispering sweetness in tender words

blowing softly and more gently 

the candle of affectationate 

everlasting togetherness 

Remind me

 Remind Me 

I sat there lonely in the wild

thinking, reminiscing over the past

where we sat at the fireplace as a child 

 telling stories —

embracing our folklore 

legends of the great warriors

all we could tell

we could know 

here beneath this wilted oak

where we sat and watched 

the beautiful sun marvelling the skies

with eagles daring the winds

oh! how beautiful it was

the songs we sung 

the memories we made

Remind me of the chorus 

the verses we sung praising greatness 

___Ephemeral happiness 

Remind me of the trumpet 

that hooted at our shores 

the foe to our happiness 

the great havoc that shook our world

blood that never flew in our veins

got a way to our livers

tore our hearts — indulge us

into mayhem 

chaos that broke us 

tore our strong limbs into fragments 

that can never be meant 

tell me of the gold fields

where heavens used to summon 

// call the showers of happiness 

Remind me of the huts at the banks 

the majestic Nile to the great Lakes

the marvellous beauty of the black child

Remind me of the coast —

the cause that we stood frail and weak

in our minds to say no

say no to chaos the winds carried 

to our beautiful shores

What's Peace?

 

What's peace to a broken spirit who lies in between graves and 

sip memories from his tormented heart —

a gourd full of memories of loved ones in the grave site

a sip at a time and a tear at a time  

    — images of the dead in front lines. 

what's peace if it's never felt by the torn and taunt skin that roamed the jungle. The thorns that prick their bones in the cold nights of winter, what's peace to those callused feet , those blurred visions and shattered dreams 

what's peace to them who never dream? 

What's peace to them who always scream?

  — haunting nightmares and migraines 

from the gun sounds, the music war zones far from joy

what's freedom if the chains of oppression still echo across the land ? And those whose eyes know not the pleasure of slumber walk with their heads down to the earth, No freedom for them who fought for it.