Of Life and its Notions part 2

Or would the asylum despair when reality devours our littlest;

Days to captivate us before dead?

For religion and isms know no word;

Uttered by tribal rhythms except in ancestral tribute.

For life is a termite mount, a season. 
And I hesitate not but to live, for life knows no beholder, a pity.

For life and its notions a mystery. Our days a victim.

For the asylum would seek, but neither here nor there,

Either near or drifted in desert lands of my grandfather’s crop field.

And when elephants gather, rain clouds would gather for our seeds;

To grow and replenish our famine. For life is a dream, a seed.

And our littlest time to live shall fade at the cross-fields;

Like death upon Mother Nature’s creatures.

For the asylum would speak in spoken words for time to heal our hearts,

Yet summoned before the Creator’s jury to bury dead our past.

But not just our past;

For our past defines what we would become,

Our last laugh lasts before the soul.

And I reiterate my articulation, my language,

For life is a language;

Of repetitive extremist imagery as though a refugee,

Not a slavery kind, a tragedy.

As though I were living in the Blue Mountains;

The higher mountains, the Ashanti hills, the untouched, the unexploited,

As though I were singing for the unknown, the unborn, the ancient.

The serpent, the secret, the sacred, of course I'd dare not,

I'd embrace the essence of life and its notions...

22102015-1300

Extract from 'Of Life and its Notions' part 2

Onalethuso Petruss Buyile Mambo Ntema

The Voice of a Shadow: Life, Reality & Mental Inspiration Poetry, 2016

Author of SOUL SEEDS: Reality & Mental Inspiration Poetry, 2014 Xlibris Publishing UK

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