Night before Christmas

It was the night before Christmas,

Not a thing was heard or seen at first

For the cold night was at its worst

But three woodcutters walked through the forest

Marching joyfully towards home

It was cold, terribly cold that no one could make sense of it

So the woodcutters held their lamps close to their hearts to keep warm

And to avoid the many snares the treacherous Night lay

Near the forest end, where the hills and rocky caves began

They saw a family of squirrels dining on red palm nuts

Yelling and laughing softly, they sent the rodents scampering for safety

And when they came to the Mountainside, she stood still, sad,

In fact, this sadness touched the woodcutters that they forgot

The squirrels and all that had brought them joy that evening

Even the Harmattan dusts had painted the mountain white

And so she stood in the forest, like a strange and lonely phantom

Eyeing the thousands of faun and flora that lived close to her

At first she was still, but when the villain, Harmattan came again

She grew worse, from sadness to great outrage and pain

Now as the woodcutters crossed the bridge leading to the hamlet

The wolf clan came out to gather their evening meal

They circled the forests, scavenging and causing a curfew

By the forest end, where the hills and rocky caves began

They saw the lonely triangular figure staring at them sadly

‘Don’t stare at me that way, ma’am’, the wolf leader whispered

‘I am neither your lover or your hater’, he said loudly

‘Aw! This lady here is very sad’, one of the wolves said

‘Look at her face, reminds me of the queer Willy-Willy!’

‘Haha! Crazy! I wonder why she is always like that. Well not my business!’

‘Hmm, the mountain has been like this since summer time.’ said the Linnets

‘It has been a rough year for her, no love to cheer her up’ Patridges answered

In their imagination, the sad Mountain needed more love

‘How strange!’ the canopy of trees around the riverside echoed

Not minding the monkeys and apes, hundreds of them

Hanging on their branches, watching the storm and wolves make fun

And when the monkeys yelled and drummed with all their might

The wolves and the Harmattan fled with her entourage of wind and dust


A Shepherds Song

I see the golden sun rise far away,

Waking the countryside, painting the day

The clouds glitter, no amount of gold can define this:

The smell of dew on dry clay and the life all around me

The Earth is awake and alive, and we must keep her so

It is time to march the flock through the hilly grazing land


First, was the peaceful journey through the vast grassland

Where daffodils, dandelions, mistletoes and guinea grew

And the wading through the little stream that flowed quietly

So that one could hear the fish swim against the waters tide,

Then came the fields of wild grass and their lovely scent

I sat beneath the tree shade and let the sheep treat themselves!


The tree roots are my favorite seat, the mushrooms are cushions

Sometimes my thoughts drown in the music the sheep and birds make

The light colored birds fly above me, up in the trees they gather

To watch the queer meeting of white wool spread across the green grass

Some bolder birds came down to join the massive feast

Picking stray insects that fled the grasses as the sheep grazed

*** {so I sang my song…}

Down by the riverside, I must wait for my flock to graze,

I must listen to the beautiful young lamb call out to their mothers,

And I must wait for the sun to set and the breezy evening to come

Now the thoughts of my warm bed, stacked with hay come to me

And the night skies, which when besieged by glittering stars

Tell a lot of stories that takes me, joyfully to dreamland



Tell me of the land where the sands meet the waters,

Where forests paint the beautiful landscape light green

Tell me of the blue skies that illuminate the ocean

As birds sing on the soft cloudless horizon!

Tell me the songs that warm the hearts of the villagers,

Teach me the folk, about the blue sea and the countryside

When I can go see the lemurs and the islands wild

Tell me about the weather, will it shine, blow or be mild?

Tell me about your beaches that grow white sands,

And what if we sat under the tall coconut tree shades

To watch the sea waters fight with the furious tides

And savor the taste of coconut juice from its husky seeds?

What if I told you I am in love with you, Madagascar

And hope to see the beach and the white waters of your sea?

What if I sail the ocean and drink beer with the native Malagasy

As they tell me stories of their beautiful heritage and history?



I hope to travel across the continent of Africa to collect and write down folklores/tales from natives. I am convinced that there are stories untold that may be lost. Political instability, famine and other factors may have caused this trend. It is my dream to revive the culture of storytelling and I might not be able to achieve this by myself.

These beautiful images was originally taken by Jean-Luc Allègre, a very famous photographer and provided by my friend Manevasoa.


Make love, not war

I pray for the day Christians and muslims, blacks, whites,

Pray together in the opens and the closet

I pray for Syria and Yemen, and all innocent souls,

That die for causes that is not of their making

I pray for the day we throw flowers and not bombs

Of a day that we learn to make love and not war

And should anyone insist on the gun,

Should be the first to run the fields


Fantasia 2: A muse

There’s a land that reminds me of my lover,

Of the abundant joy and bliss she brought to me

There’s a land full of green parks and hoppers

From the tents one can hear the waters fall joyfully

There’s a land that floats on the slow-sail river,

Traveling with fallen tree leaves, logs and duck families

There’s a land that harbor all sweet smelling flowers;

The red rose, the tulips, the marigold and the lilies

And there’s a land where the women dance with desire

As they wriggle their gold-laced waist and bring fantasies

There is a land where the brown crabs are the masters,

Where the beach airs grant perfect tranquility

There is a land that welcome both the storm and the thunder

Throwing open arms to both, while she danced with trees


Now there is a land where I created and dreamed of in my imaginations

But this land will only live in my mind



Today I celebrate a poetess. Deborah Nnagbo. I dedicate this muse to your +1 day. Happy birthday my friend.


The Light

There is a light that glows from the inside, wetting the soul with her warmth

And from afar the flares burn like sulphur but close to it, it is only very soft

Call it whatever you like, it travels in everyone and advocates for the Earth

It reminds us all of how dangerous our activities destroy the Earth’s light