Crescent Moon

A crescent moon sits atop an empty night
A barren land glowers a dancing night
Unto they that have sight
The gift of guilt is bestowed
Unto they of sightless plight
The curse of bliss is restowed

I would lay me a mat upon the desert sands

If I could live to see a thousand suns
I’d lay me down this laboured countenance
And journey the tempest waves of the high seas

I would lay me a mat upon the desert sands
Where the night’s speckled crown
Is not blush with the noise of city lights.
I would pitch tent under the northern skies
And wet my beak with their colourful nights
Where the gods are said to show off their painting.
I would moon dance with the southern tribes,
Swim across the majestic Congo,
And build me a cabin atop Rwenzori’s quiet crest
Where I would watch my last sun go to sleep.

I’d live amongst the stars and the winds
A journeyman; with my home at my feet
And my heart in my head-
But I’m old with the youngness of youth.
A desolate monk;
Trapped in the service of a faceless master
Whose empty voice lives inside my head.
I wish I were a butterfly
But I am stooped with the oldness of youth-
Cloaked in these earthy robes,
Of denim and leather.

© Kordasis 2010

The Promised Land

Counting the days to Promised Land
I stand upon a lofty mound bedeviled.
My staff albeit whispered ordained
Hits hard the rock beneath my feet,
Alas, the waters do not part.

Silently over my hour of trial
A cloudless sky of genteel gait glides-
I wonder if it mocks me

Countless faces affixed my back
Beads of sweat begin to wet my beard
Their petulant despair is my task to quell,
But I am heavy with the dread of deceit
A lie that descended upon my bed
In the high of a silent night
And raked my ravenous dreams
With visions of a Promised land

Alas upon this rock I stand
Afaced by tempest water of raging voice
And I, staff in hand
Haplessly peek at the clear blue sky
With salty beads of sweat
Trickling down my graying beard.

If I lift this staff this last time
Will the raging waters part?

©Kordasis 2010

Precious Gem

A beautiful mind it was
That thought of your making
Blessed is the night
That the world
Cuddled you in her arms
The star stood bright in the sky
As an angel had been born into the world!

In the dark tunnel of our lives
Your presence brought light to us
When we were twisted in pain
Your smile was comforting
The world turned cruel to us
But your voice brought melody
The truthful stare of your eyes
Brought beauty to the world
And made our hearts shimmer with joy

You have the shinning path of the kind hearted
You are the resting place for the troubled souls
You are the mystic force that conjures happiness
The precious pearl that stands in our lives
The very reason for our breathing:
A life without you
Is like the world without a sun!

Olupot Pascal
© 2003

A Song for Liberty

Hand me a rock where I can lodge my podium

and raise my voice for those hearts that have gone silent.

For the hungry children on the callous streets of this city;

desperate and lost without a soul to bear their plight, but shifty handlers.

Let me speak for our Kindred up north; defaced with figures and statistics

by countless packs of hyenas gnashing their teeth at their suffering,

feeding off the carcass of their dead. Anxiously waiting for their living to join.

Let me speak for the peasant laborer trapped in a labyrinth;

birthed by fate on the wrong side of the table,

so he must toil by an angry sun for a meal only fit for rats.

Let me speak for the peasant farmer with a broken hoe,

bedeviled by shy rains and merciless merchants. Left to live

a life of frugal existence at the bottom of an endless food chain.

Let me speak for the proletariat with a black tie and white shirt,

walking numeral units of distance to a sterile workplace

where he is paid just enough to keep him dependant on the system .

I raise my voice, yes, for if those that must speak shall not,

Who then shall hear the wails of our heads beating against the walls?

From where shall the wind that will carry the rage of their muted cries blow?

If I must write, how then shall I write about love in a drowning world

where men are drenched in apathy and self-absorption.

How can I write about nature or its searing beauty amid the filth

of an impassive lot comfortable enough with the waste they live in

Where shall I find the clever metaphors and fancy parodies to write

to a mindless audience too shallow to appreciate them,

when all I want to ask is why?

Why they sit around with putrid ease like spectators in a Roman coliseum,

watching the pillage of their fellow human beings cheered on by their guiltless silence?

How am I to find the creativity of expression in this distortion

when after fifty centuries of human existence

fathers rape daughters and brothers kill brothers while we sit by and watch?

I speak for those who cannot speak, not because I am a better man,

but because every war has its weapon, and mine a noisy pen.

I speak these things, not because I haven’t any of my own to speak of

but because it would be a shame if woods went silent

when all the tress were being cut down.

© 2009

Epiphany

Praise be to Allah!
Praise be to Yahweh!
Praise be to Budhah!
Jah Rastafarai!

You fill our skies with these cries
Whimsical nonsense
Pitiful manifestations of your ignorance
You wine and breathe hell fire
And promise virgins, gold, sedative plants
And more fairy-tale garbage

Who is this person you call God?
From where does he come?
Is he the passing cloud in the clear blue sky;
Or the angry flash of lightening
That strikes fury at sinners?
Is he a looming Giant in the stars?
Or simply a creation of imagination
Where does he live?
Above the North Pole, or the South?
Is his seat the sun or the moon?
Exactly where does his realm exist?

Minions
Millions
Foolish sages
Mindless puppets
Shame
Shame

Shame that your minds raise no questions
Shame that your ears are close to the truth
Shame that you believe what you cannot see
And veil your ignorance
With codified superstitions-
-Believe without seeing-
Since when was it good to be blind?

God?
There is No God!
No miracles,
No magic eye
That sees all
Or mythic voice
That thunders in the rain
There is just you and me
Brains we don’t know how to use
Puzzles answered with puzzles

© 2009

Escapade

Ever so slightly, sweet
Ever so gently, lure
In crimson red
Passion’s tender hue
I bathe,
Basking,
Dipping ,
Ever so slightly, sweet
Ever so gently, dear…

The breeze sighs a dove’s coo
The leaves, rustling-
A gentle tambourine, humming
Through waving blades of grass
As birds meet bees
Here, betwixt the sprawling fields

I lift my head to scout the horizon
And scan the stretching green beneath our lair-
All peace
All silent
Only the bats urge on:
The grass may wave again…

Ever so slightly, dear
I lift her apple shaped trunk
Capped firmly in yearning palms-
The lings nestle in their nest above.

© 2008

Naturus dos scriptus

Words begin to paint
Letters bustling to place
Wheat’s stalk in grain-
His blue berry spirit walk

Hearts faint in paint
Letters bleeding faint
The paper her canvass-
Verse spewed atext

Lost in their silence
Wrists sprout with verse
Canto in tango
Doggerel in dogma

Nerves ooze with words
Hearts pumping ink
Black dye’s eye
Felt one with self

How is it their palms verse,
When sorrow’s flour
The dough of my hearse
No cake shall bake?

Wheat’s grain in stalk
Canvass brought to light
Words creeping
Panting
Slanting-

Quill’s last drop
Felt breaks from self
I watch in quiet
A curtain’s closing rise;

© 2008

My Song of Lamentation

Lord O! dear Lord!
Here I lie wearied and tired,
An aura of sorrow encircles me,
Shackles and chains tied round me-
Chains of worldly pleasure
Chains of worldly treasure
Such scum, more worthless that a winter rain,
As futile as seeds that fall on rocky ground

Behold O! dear Lord,
Tears dashing down my eyes
Like meandering streams down the mountain,
My heart throbbing against my chest
Gasping like a soldier who’s escaped
From the battlefield

Listen O! dear Lord
Open your ears O! mighty Lord
To the cries of your once faithful servant
To the dirges and lamentations
Of your former servant

Listen O! mighty King- King of the Universe
And the earth
Listen O! mercy Lord,
To the pleas of the wandering soul
Enthralled by the bandage of wickedness

Hither, I open my contrite heart wide-
The door of my heart is ajar
There is no need for you to knock
Because I deeply need you to enter

Enter O! dear mighty prince-
Prince of the light doth shine
In the world full of iniquities
Come in O! dear lamb of peace
Lo! O! dear wonder of wonders
A high table well laid for you
Come in so as we dine together,
So that the chambers of my heart
Are cleansed free of transgressions,
Come in so that the glory of
Your salvation is restored in my ear!!

Denis Bogere
© 2003

Brother You Went

You went away with warm gourds of honey
And calabashes of frothing beer-
And knots of sweet nuts and fruits
And pockets bulging with freshly roasted coffee beans

Brother, you went
With the blessings of the elders
You went with all the goodwill of your people
Wishing you well
Where you sought adventure

Brother you are back
With the sickening bottle
Of bad liquor-
That evil smelling poison

Brother, you are dangerous
You’re back with a big dagger
What are you going to use it for, eh?
You know we are vegetarians
Are you going to hunt your own people?
Why the riffle?

Brother don’t be rude,
Bend your gaze before the elders
Don’t shout, don’t interrupt…
Don’t fight me brother, I am trying to help

Brother, do want the tribe
To curse you
You?

By Ngabire Emmanuel

© 2002

We Shall Rise

The land stretches for miles
Like a roving sky without limit
The hills bow in respect
To the gallant scions of this noble land
As they make for farms to till

For years we have lived in quiet
Burdened with the shame of our humiliation
We of the valiant hue
Sons of sol
And daughters of the moon
Crowned with the crest of Rwenzori
Draped with the splendor of the Sipi

We shall rise
We who once ruled these plains
And tamed the beasts of the green
We shall rise
For the sons of men fathers have woke

© 2007

The Fellowship

In this fellowship of brotherhood
We sit
We sit together
Sons of many soils
Celebrative of pains and toils
Gathered round the great big pot
sharing
taking
Taking of the spirit of our fathers
Embracing the voice of Mother

Centuries of tradition burette through tubes
- the brew of unity
binder of men and women
bringer of peace and laughter
tamer of feuds and wars

In that moment
We are teleported from this world
Placed in commune with our history
The one which was not written for us
“Mama Tabu”, the Chair calls,,, “AKIPI”
The fellowship is sat….

© 2007

When The Drums Sing

High up in the sky-
Above the cotton-white clouds
of the gallant African sky,
A new sound drums through the firmament.
The thunders bellow a new chant
as the sun climbs swiftly over the golden brown plains

From the four points of the lofty North Star
A new wind whistles through the air,
Seething through the age old leaves
Of the ancient mythical baobab.
Its breast explodes with resounding roar
Shaking the Earth with its mighty thud

As the gentle hums of Mother call
The springs that birthed the oceans and seas
Bursts forth with life anew
Robbed of their pride once they were
But now the drums of their fathers call

In the deepest crest of the African earth
An ancient drum yells
As it was in the beginning, so shall it be in the end
The children will rise
And quench the fury of the silent ancestors
© 2006

Father To Son

Son,
What has become of you?
Who is this I see before my eyes?
Why the ice-cold glint in your eyes?
Is this what I raised you to be?

Come now Son,
Mend thy tongue a bit-
Do not be too bold before your elders,
Keep your head a little lowered
Do not look your elders in the eye
It is not right, Son, it is not right

So you chose to shun me now
Must you call me a useless old rug too?
Be I not the first man you admired?
It is not a man that insults his father so.
You say the food I offer disgusts you,
Were you not raised on it?

Go ahead Son
Go then to your wigged breasts
You seem to find comfort between their legs
If it be so, I cannot stop you
Even a monkey cannot teach its young to climb
Mark this Son
Her comfort will poison you



©2003

Melody

Resonating joy
of my weary aching soul
Sing to me sweet nightingale
Sing to me a beautiful song
Sing away my winter’s moon
And wait a while
As I wish away this equatorial winter

The stream dances up the cliff
I can almost hear its sweetness
As it caresses the bedrock
Cool me sweet stream
Lend me your scintillating calmness
Lend me you
Lend me your streamness

Melody
Resonating joy
Of my aching weary soul
Dance
Dance like a desert maid of old
Dance away this grey noon
And carry me away
Far far away
To your soothing lofty lair

Nyakaisiki

Nyakaisiki
You of surreptitious booty
Whose skin
Smoothened by the ghee
Is the delight of the hills
That roll to where the eyes can no longer see
You of teeth as neat as maize kobs
Of hair so lush
As the unending green
At the foot of the mwitanzige
Dance
Gyrate in the light of this fire
Round which the lads are gathered
From the Kafu to Nyangahya
Mesmerize them with the brush of your kanga

Yes
Drive them wild
Drive them mad
So that they can sing your name to the clouds
Yes
Yes
Shake them with your voice
Pinch their ears with songs long forgot
Hold them in trance
With your dreamy gaze
Bury them in the bosom of your image
Fill them with your intoxication
The intoxication of your illusion
Sweep them your waving hips
Giving them the drink of your aura

Seasoned daughter of coffee and matooke
Keep those boys in your bosom
Don’t let them leave us
Don’t let the city swallow them
Sing to them
Sing to them the songs we sung by the well
Return their minds to the laps of their grannies
You must not let them forget
That they were first of this land
Before they were anything else

The Reawakening

The land stretches for miles
Like a roving sky without limit
The hills bow in respect
To the gallant scion of this noble land
As they make for farms to till

For years we have lived in quiet
Burdened with the shame of our humiliation
We of the valiant hue
Sons of Sol
Daughters of Kwezi
Crowned with the crest of Rwenzori
Draped with the splendor of the Sipi

We shall rise
We who once ruled these plains
And tamed the beasts of the green
We shall rise
For the sons of men have woke

Reflections

From the west
Came a tongue
That followed the bible
And the gun

One slavery went
Another set in
I became a squatter
On land that was mine by right

It was inevitable
Society was changed
And with it, I had to too
So now we are lost
Divided and conquered
Someone light a candle
I cannot see where I am going…

©2003

In The Eve of A Journey’s End

Lo our days of yore
Past like a wind ablew
As if they never were
O what days we saw
Yon in our days of yore

We danced to music apast
We danced to music anew
Simmering with youthful exuberance
Filled with the passion of age
O how we danced
Yon in our days of yore

Now in my rocking chair
The wind caresses my face
Whistling gentle tunes in my ear
Calling back those days of yore
As the sun sets before me

Images of yore flash in my mind…
Lads dancing in the sun,
Elated to have damsels in hand
As the skies grew red around us
And the moon shone bright on us.
Life was full then,
But never so in the end

We flourished in the beauty of youth,
Hypnotized by the rhythms of the drums
O how I relish in reminisce
Of those days of yore