FLY
Fly little bird
Through this sky of whites
I want to watch
The green wings, flapping.
Fly high, even higher
Like the bar-headed goose
Your bod- blithe
As I kiss the Jasmine
Hugging from the sky.
BABIES
With them I sit-
The people of
Rainbow raiment.
They tune in
Jillion tunes
Sketching a heart
Just for me.
A trice without
Them is a blain in my globule
For they are
Honey bunches I can’t do without.
Long train of soldier ants
Aboard the swerving tree
Several spiky leaves float
When swarms of bees
And flies waltz in sunlight,
Beautiful birds tweet
This little carnival was about
The milk from a leaking coconut
Ever heard birds call out
To the fast-falling night
Across the glossy horizon
As the setting sun sink?
Ever waited for sunset
To bring in pots,
Take out warm mats
And wait for moonlight?
Slowly night falls here
So ends the noisy day
One night, two flasks,
A room full of mild wind,
A grey paw-licking cat,
And a naughty parrot
A story rising off the kettle
As it goes on with its whistle
Two tablespoons of sugar,
Lettuce, beans, and cucumber,
A very confused dinner
Bat parade,
Early night, coming cold
A gust of breezy wind
But man and pawns gather
To watch the sky full of stars
Memories fade, distanced more
Yet apart we wade, off
Tears are part of the roles
And distrust has become one too
Your words still cut through
I’m assured that love went wrong
I was rock but you made me gold
So I offer this little flower token
In appreciation to your absentia love
I always stand beautiful
Love made me wonderful
Failure defeats losers but inspires winners
Is it not odd
When life turns
Blurry, vague,
With memories of
Disappointments, breakups,
Death, and great failures?
If pain greets the weary,
Life like salt may lose its taste
Instincts then question life:
Its meaning and reason
Daring it to find another
In a world away from the living
Consider the world with its uncertainties
Where challenges belittle many
And men born of women
Live but a few great years
Yet life goes on
Sunrise and sunset,
Pretty lilies grow
And will wither
Morning and night
Live with joy and hope
Find these in everything;
The flowers, the hills,
The birds and trees,
Shrieking babies or crawling ants,
The system or cycle called life,
Keeping nothing so sacred
That life lose its meaning
When that finally flies away,
So live not just for one’s self
But for others’ happiness
All has its time and season
Time to leave, time to return
Time to wine, time to dine
Time to live and time to die
But it’s not for one to take life,
Dear life that man cannot create
If all can remember that
Nothing is worth dying for
That suicide is not an option
Then life can find its meaning
A Crow was sitting on a tree
Doing nothing all day.
A small Rabbit saw the Crow,
And asked him, ‘Can I also sit like you
And do nothing all day long?’
The Crow answered: ‘Sure, why not.’
So, the Rabbit sat on the ground
Below the Crow, and rested.
All of a sudden a Fox appeared,
Jumped on the rabbit and ate it.
Moral of the short poem is: To be sitting and doing nothing, you must be sitting very, very high up.
She hears the sun cry.
Only a sky full of pain.
Her mind becomes crowded,
and she remembers her country.
Sohana penned these words for her #Rohingya friends.
v/@unicefbd #TeamEurope #EUSolidarity #StrongerTogether
I came to town
Where nights are cold
And stray cats walk it,
Where playing street children
Kick oval leather around
But return hungry to mothers,
I see glittering stars
Shine from afar
Nothing lights night better
I see men in huge cars
Puff smoke into air
Through engines and mouths
I detest their folly sport,
Smell of over spiced food
Cause me sneezing bouts
I came to town again
Where little makes sense to me
Dear Politician,
I write to you with a sad heart
Somewhere in my being I grieve
My blue ink run fast on paper
Like red from men on the streets
I wonder why you look elsewhere
Sipping your tea with disgust
While this nation fall apart!
Trust is a rare commodity
We gave all to you when we let you in
But you are now stronger than the people,
The same people who crowned you king
I remember your warm smiles
And the moustache I so admired
Now we lost faith, we no longer believe
In you and all you stand to represent
You attend grande parties
Your minions extort from people
You dance your merry heart away
Oblivious of this nation’s pain
Mothers lend you their children
They march away with pride
News reveal they are MIA or KIA
Another dream aborted while they slept
The police is not our friend
When young men are wasted
If one’s struggles finally yields good
You become automatic target
The voice of young men cry out
The blood of men wasted on the field
The sorrowful tears of mothers
This won’t prick your conscience
Listen carefully, we protest for our rights
We want to live
And we deserve some respect at least
Good evening. Today I will share with you THREE COLOURS OF L♡VE poem.
In one’s lifetime one may experience only three kinds of love:
1. You love at a young age and let everything go down the drain because of stupid things
2. You fall in love and along the journey you get hurt, lied to and damaged
3. You fall in love without noticing, and you end up rising in it because of your joy and happiness
I hope you will enjoy reading the poem, if you experience any challenges as you are reading, I’m here to help out.
Enjoy the rest of your evening.
Thank You – Njabulo N.
You fall in love at a tender age,
Hoping to be loved much better tomorrow,
More than you were loved today and yesterday.
That blinds your eyes and mind,
Not noticing that you are growing apart,
Then you decide to call it quit over silly things.
Look at you now with so much regrets,
Written all over your skin and face,
Tears and heartbreak of a fragile human being.
You think that was not love.
It was love, a true one,
For what you know love to be.
It was not that deep like an ocean,
You were still young,
You were blinded by fairy tales and fantasies,
That happened in your head,
As you watched love performances.
Colour of love
You are not as hard as I had imagined you to be.
You fell in love,
You made yourself vulnerable and you got hurt,
I’m pretty sure you learnt your lesson,
You are now strong as a tortoise shell.
Fact that you passed all this,
Great pain, damage, lies and betrayal.
You have grown,
You know what you love about love,
You know what you don’t love about love.
Since you can’t read people’s mind,
You are now cautious, careful, closed and considerate,
Because you own a fragile loving heart.
This love taught you so many things,
Look at yourself,
You now know what you want and what you don’t.
The third colour of love,
Beware of the love that comes blindly,
Without any warming as it creeps on you silently.
This is the love that always get you,
You can paint the walls red,
But all that will be washed out.
Now you started to care about that person,
Without even trying to let it slide.
You don’t allow yourself to get lost in their eyes daily,
That is when you see beauty in their imperfections,
Not hiding even a single thing from them.
Look, you even want to get married to them,
Have a family together,
You thank the universe for them,
You just love them,
Without hiding your emotions
I’m memories away from you
Yet you live just in my heart
I look up the skies to see your face,
And each star glitter with your smile
I’m left with memories of us, so blessed
It’s been 15 years already and I continue to miss your love and care. For DSc Nduka Iroegbu, my father.
Many walk this path, many never return the same
Before sunset, the town gets filled-up with tired men
Those who found providence in wood
Returning hands weak and worn-out,
Overtaken by life’s numerous good
For faith waits to guide to paths
Where hope as lush forests flourish
Viewers will think
it’s only a print
when they view it,
if you don’t put your whole body
and mind into it.
The sun in your head,
a storm in your heart,
is a good start.
Now lie down for hours
among sunflowers.
Then, when the storm passes,
don’t cut off your ear,
paint this world
with your eyelashes.
For Erik Hardin
Glittering morning sun,
Woke to nature’s beauty,
Warm scent of caked clay
Leftover from night storm,
To me life is series of moments;
Made up of sounds and sights
Cackling peacocks, blue skies,
Green fields, huge waterfalls,
A female goat calling to her kid,
Group of laughing basket weaving girls,
Three red headed lizards fighting,
Sounds in the clouds and trees
Of surfing hawks, pigeons on roof,
Of squirrel mischief, lazy reptiles,
And little birds building fine nests,
All contribute to this beauty
A sleepy and sunny African morning
A perfect day to live and explore
Sun set slowly above the wood
Shadows appear, shepherd dreams;
Soft breeze upon evening tide,
Smell of sheep dung,
Slices of malted bread,
Songs from the wine inn,
Situated by the river bend,
Sober men drink their heart fill,
Silent hills, retreating birds,
Sally may sing her radio favourite,
Something to celebrate our countryside,
Scent of marigold and rose,
Sleepy sheep bleat gratefully,
Safe from roaming the land,
Some wish for morning already,
Sops and grapes grow wild,
Sheep love to nibble on those
Smiles bring back what are the shepherd’s;
Sweet darlings are his memories for the day
The Lucerne tree in flower
White petals floating down
Carpeting the pathway, and
The front veranda with a sea
Of white, white everywhere
Coming upon this alba sea
As a child; with music in my head
Amazed at the ocean of pearl
Sitting down in the middle of whiteness
Whiteness all around me, whiteness
Whiteness in the air, whiteness
Whiteness everywhere, whiteness
Childlike joy and happiness
Yes all alone to enjoy it
This vast sea of pure white
As a child it seemed so vast
Nothing bothered me there
Just sitting there with the tune
Going through my youthful mind
And the whiteness all around
Even now as I grow older
Memories come flooding back
Of a more innocent time
Taking pleasure in the simple things
That life provides to me
For they are the best.
Night falls behind the village fence
Last traces of day, shadows fade
Tree lines turn grey and black
While the sky host a million stars
Quiet evening, sound of water
Heard down the waterfalls, by the streamside
And from thickets bullfrogs wade
Enjoying the fresh and sweet breeze
Tree branches play with the wind
Soft singing is heard from huts away
While hill dwellers talk with clouds
The valley people make hilarious jeer
Wood burn in the open fireplace
Sweet smelling dinner cook slowly
Sleepy kids watch, filled with hope
Tonight stars shine upon the hamlet
Laughter follow tales told to children
They gather their small mats for sleep
When night fall in African countryside
Dreams, many dreams aren’t far away
That magnificent city
Built beautifully
Its walls painted in great colours
Furnished with happy diamonds
Its streets with the unceasing glitters.
My hometown
The city of the two great hills
The city where I feel the cool breeze of nativity
Beholding the swaying tulips and smiling sun
The love of nature, giving me the mild spirit of liberty.
Yeah! I love you dearest hometown
For all I wished, is to be with you right now
I remember there is no place like home
Even though, I daily dwell in Rome
She writes well. Just discovered another African talent.
An empathetic mindset and love are what we need for a better world.
It’s utterly monstrous weather out there. Each time the breeze touches my skin, I shudder and sneeze. I’m cuddled on the bed, clutching a phone in one hand in a dark room, too lazy to read or even find a light. No candlelight anyway. My windows and doors are shut tight, yet the cold still came through. I grab the blanket to cast it over the tips of my exposed foot. And to determine where the burst of wind came from. It’s a cold world, no doubt and a dark one for that matter. It’s a lonely world for those who can’t afford blankets.
The homeless have nothing literally. I’m left with thoughts for those who feel this cold but can’t afford a blanket or a roof. Life can be so cruel. I’m sure that someone needs help. Somewhere around the street corner, you will see them. I trust that some good people will consider giving out old blankets or get new ones for those who can’t afford it.
From my bed, I wish for the stars on a freezing night. I don’t know; maybe they could somehow warm the night for the homeless. I feel sickly: bitter tongued, laziness, fever, and headache, all signs and symptoms of a tropical illness. So no poetry for me tonight, just my thoughts and bed.
I ask myself this: If I under a roof can feel this sinister cold, how will the homeless manage? I hope that homeless children and women are safe in this weather. It’s unusual for me to sleep without thinking and praying for the less privileged.
If you have a bed and a roof, you should be super grateful. Let your empathy make people grateful to live. Remember the homeless in your prayers and almsgiving.
If dreams are colourless
Then love is a magical dream
That teaches and encourages,
It trusts from the heart
Builds bridges over water
To bring worlds together
True love shared
Fear no colour or creed
I lay my head
On your shoulders
Let’s take this love to moments
Where all eyes see its beauty
Sing for me dear nightingale
Gather your host of voices
Rant through the early night
Tweet away joyfully from heart
Let my ears quiver from your song
Let frogs and crickets listen to it
To respond with their baritone
Sing for the sweet nectar
For red roses and hibiscus
And the traveling sunlight
Tell the stars your stories
And the wind the days you saw
Let me hear your voice sing for me,
To ring through quiet nights a lullaby
Some men are born to good luck
All they do or try to do comes right
All their geese are swans
All their cards are trumps
Toss them which way you will
They will always like poor puss alight upon their legs
And only move so much the faster
My take on this…
It’s generally believed that knowledge is power. Yet many find it difficult to differentiate between wisdom and knowledge. For me knowledge is having the stuff while wisdom boils down to application of the stuff. To differentiate both from education is even a thing of further logic.
In my opinion education should come first, followed by knowledge and wisdom. That’s the order most of us acquire them in.
What’s the difference?
My aim on todays blog is to identify the differences between education, knowledge and wisdom through the minds of writers and poets. Have fun.
Suzanne Uchytil offered that “Education isn’t a type of intelligence – it’s something that is usually forced on us. Whenever someone is called educated, it usually means they’re knowledgeable (they know facts). Education can be good, though, if we choose to gain knowledge from it. (For instance, I’ve never had a college class that I didn’t find at least interesting and learn at least a little bit from, because I approached all my classes as opportunities to gain knowledge.) Then wisdom means applying that knowledge in real life and understanding consequences.” This sounds exactly like my thoughts.
Gareth John Jones opined that knowledge is understanding and remembering your education (formal or not). Wisdom is knowing how to use your knowledge. I surely agree with this definition.
David Franklin has this to say “Education is when people try to stuff knowledge into you. Knowledge is what you know for yourself. Wisdom, though, that’s something else. I know very knowledgeable people who are fools, and fairly simple people who are very wise. It’s about using one’s judgment about situations, knowing which piece of knowledge to apply when. Knowledge may be power, but wisdom is control of power.”
For Fiona Margaret Jones, education is only what can be given to you. Knowledge is what you take from it and wisdom is what you make of it.
Jimi Gardner says that education is received for outside. Knowledge is created by testing education. Wisdom is created by diligently observing the outcomes of testing knowledge.
David Gilbert observed that one can’t buy wisdom, education means plaque on the wall gates opened and knowledgeable is your cumulative wisdom.
Annette Bergman has this to say: “Selling real estate for over 30 years I can say I have met educated people who were not very knowledgeable. For instance I showed a house to an Engineer and he asked me what the line out to the garage was. It is an electrical so you have lights in the garage. Another engineer went directly to the sellers and negotiated a small possession problem. He agreed to 60 days after closing for possession.I praised him for his brilliant compromise. I will bet money when he had two mortgage payments to make plus his two months of rent, he had to have figured it out. It takes all kinds and the creative people only need a skilled traded to make a great living. Another college education person said to me. Those of us who went to college know that The United States wasn’t founded religion. She probably still thinks that and will vote accordingly.”
J Christopher Harman showed his disappointment on others opinion. He said, “How sad that so many of you have such poor views of education. Education should be the key to both. What a shame we live in a world (at least for most countries) where education is such a dire experience.”
I hope this discussion was helpful. What is your opinion on it?
So much gone, so much wrong
So much sorrow in this song
Teary in my isolation
Weary in my desperation
Panting in my desolation
Ranting in complete frustration
So much yearning to belong
So much is gone, so much is wrong
This day
It rolled me like a cheap cigar
Stale inside a crowded bar
Choked me in the acrid smoke
Teased me like a dirty joke
Paralyzed my soggy brain
Dropped me with complete disdain
Soggy butt to clog the gutter
Numbed my tongue and made me stutter
Promised me I won’t get far
And left a stain of sticky tar
This year
A deck of cards with missing queens
A dirty game by dirty means
Lured me with a glimpse of riches
Lying, cheating poker bitches
Dealt two kings and read my face
Laughed and trumped me with an ace
Torched the table and the chairs
Kicked me down a flight of stairs
Left me in my dirty jeans
With tarry stains that nothing cleans
This life
A stranger with an evil eye
Careless curtain, jealous lie
Hopeless hopes by impulse cheapened
Belly flops into the deep end
Sickness, wounds, all self-inflicted
Weak and lazy, drunk, addicted
Laughing at the dirty joke
Floating like a puff of smoke
Hope against the hopeless lie
Pink balloon adrift up high
Raised a torch up to the sky
With a giggle and a sigh
Faint voices speak,
Loud in my mind
I look in your eyes
It tells sweet stories
If I look away
It is to smile, in my heart
We live beautiful moments,
Laughter, peace, kindness,
Harmony, playful fights
And you, a perfect inspiration;
Pouting red lips
That reminds of cherries,
Hair dancing in the breeze
That spoke of dark nights,
Very light brown eyes
That talks of golden wheat,
Happy moments together;
Watching stars glitter
Singing away to hearts desire
Or the quiet gaze into sunset
Yes we dream together
Our beginning and end
Breathe again,
Like you have just gained yet another chance to live,
Life is not promised but experienced and lived.
I have grown to be a different person,
Different from normal people who do everything like everyone.
My life is not the same anymore,
I wonder why everyone is worried about it,
I no longer pay much attention,
To what the world brings or take,
I no longer pay much attention to the world ending,
I have seen it end for me countless times,
Going to my sleep with no hope left,
Then beginning again the next day.
I breathe again,
To see the darkness leave my life,
I feel like a small forest surviving off of a moon alone,
But I know that my light is extraordinary,
One that can light up the whole universe.
As I breathe again,
I have seen the world coming to an end,
My mind experiencing too many clashes,
Ideas, thoughts arguments, debates,
As my head goes in circles,
I can’t think straight no more.
As I breathe again,
I have lost trust, hope, love and respect,
I don’t believe in that anymore,
I broke the ocean in half to be somewhere,
Only to get there and I was alone,
Felt betrayed as my world crushed into so many pieces.
I lost a smile,
I find it hard to chin up,
As I bury my flower of innocence,
Because my world has shut down, crashed out yet again.
As I breathe again,
I even doubt that I still exist.
I even doubt that I have feelings.
I’m not the same being anymore,
I’m not the one you used to know before.
As I breathe again,
I learnt not to construct forever foundations,
On temporary people.
As I breathe again,
I doubt I will ever see tomorrow,
I don’t see any need of breathing again.
It is pleasant to sit in the green wood,
and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold,
and the Moon in her chariot of pearl.
Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn,
and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valleys
and the heather that blows on the hill.
Yet love may be better than life,
I ask can the heart of nature be compared to the heart of man?
Sometimes it’s hard to stop a rolling stone, but whenever it may roll, it always seems to find its way back home. Brett Boyett
Home Forever
Dear motherland, I’m proud to call you my home. I’m reminded of sunset, it tells that it ends where it began. From tree branches on the hilly countryside, I see shadows of land retreat with the setting sun. When the sun travels away the shadows of trees and shrubs fall upon the ground, timid firmament blocked by passing grey clouds and day becomes a shadow of itself. Such beautiful landscape and sight I’ll give all to behold every day.
Dancing figures of butterflies and fireflies contradict day and light. Light, dark. Sunlight, moonshine. Beautiful wings spread over this damp earth my fathers walked and tilled.
Everything is magical when I think of you Africa. I truly love you.
Beautiful Land
My beautiful home sits up those ancient majestic hills and spread across fertile green valleys. A land carved by Providence itself, combining both the simplicity of the forest land and sophistication of human civilization. When cold hands of night descend, the beauty is unmasked and seen through mist and moonshine. If you must see, you will wait for the moon. When the moon appears, she is dressed in white. It let’s her light upon the great land and the vast wilderness. Forces of light and darkness may battle. I ponder on what courage that walk the dark night but queer fireflies that fly in droves and glitter randomly. Their light add to the night’s beauty, which words cannot describe exactly. Then I ponder further, fearing for the future of this beautiful land and her people.
I wonder…
I wonder oh Africa, how much gold you worth and yet fall to the wicked hands of poverty. I wonder how you love and in return you are hated. I wonder why there’s so much but yet little to go around. I wonder if I’ll ever grow out of this love I’ve for you. I wonder if I can retain this loving mindset for man and nature forever. But how long should your children wait to become great again?
Love can be crazy
Yet I am amused
I try to figure the words
You pelt me with,
When we spoke of love
It was zenith of all, everything
Days and nights
It fell in and out
Maybe this was right,
I look farther away
Towards sunrise
A pint of love on my breast
And strong hope waiting…
To behold another beginning
So I let this patient heart beat
While it wait for you
Time will surely fade
But I will wait for your return
I watch pretty stars glitter
From this fine little window,
When night a perfect picture
Hung across the wide horizon
Fireflies dance around light bulbs
Mighty shadows cast upon my paper
Distracting a work full of life and art
Yet I stare out to behold stars glitter
Wasn’t my love enough for you?
In my mind I had concluded that you loved only me,
I thought you were cut from a different cloth,
Like you were not the same like everyone I’ve met.
But clearly, I was lying to myself,
You loved everybody like a campaigning candidate.
I could tell from my basic instincts that the universe loved you also.
You were a loaded gun and I was just a boy,
Because of lust and envy,
They took you for granted, like you were a cheap toy.
Only if I had the courage of pulling the trigger,
I’d had shot you on your head just to blow out your weak brain.
With my mind and heart filled with only love,
I hadn’t imagined my head searching for love lost,
As the absence of love was playing on your mind.
You preferred games over love,
I had promised myself to love you eternally,
I had a feeling that you were exceptional,
Like you were totally different from the rest.
I discovered that I was bluffing,
Only lying to myself, feeding my mind with toxic waste.
You proved me that my love was not enough for you,
I never imagined that you were promiscuous.
You had me believing that I mattered the most,
Of course you were buying my heart.
Our love withered so fast, before the flowers I had on my hands.
It only lasted for just a moment and nothing was left for me,
It was clear that the light was about to reach the night.
My tender love lasted for just a moment,
A moment that cost me,
Had me doubting a lot around me,
I had lost trust on everything, everyone.
Nothing was left on me,
Nothing was left for me.
1
When you call, your sound rent through the wind
Whispers, songs of the wild, emissary of mother Nature
You send birds, they ‘caw-caw‘, they fly the blue clouds
Making the skies their tuft, and you: their leisure
2
Green trees, red flowers, purple feathers, all in perfect unison
You call to your own, you Baobab, Bee and Flamboyant, you Cheetah,
We listen, we write, we dream of the call, we listen and write again
The days run out, they run fast into the current of the river
3
From wild palms, monkeys dance and display their weird talents
In your joyful reverie you laugh at their circus and happy lust
Each day they play, each day they lived and so each day went
You engage all, blue clouds, buzzing bees and seeds that will burst
4
Down below, beautiful, fine and awesome things exist
Crickets and hoppers play about, worms crawl on the clay
In the quiet mornings the sun must rise to take off the mist
All day and night, there is your song, one we can not say
5
In summer, the hot sun shimmer and shine all day
The blue skies are unperturbed, alligators lay lazy
And mid day, snakes beat the traffic, they make hay
All and all, at the end, you make your lively circus busy
When shadows are seen around
It shows gathering or dispersing,
Dancing or wrestling, singing or talking.
Shadows clone for good or evil
As a hefty hoe till the soft soil
Her shadow strikes things dead
Under the moon’s watchful eyes on this land,
Shadows of branches on the ground
Were green trees during the noon
Timid skies tower over all, they shine on fair nuns
But they become darkest of witches in the night
Fruits on trees seem round like metal pots,
Suspended from tree branches
Its shadows draw teen pregnancies
Yet life is magnified under the shadow;
A reality or farce, made of a shadow’s sorrow
