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THE HUMAN AND EYES OF A CALABASH

 THE HUMAN AND EYES OF A CALABASH

I am a human, with eyes of a calabash,

And these eyes have survived times of the past

In rains and shadows of the dust.

This calabash from seeds planted

In ploughing fields of our forefathers and ancestors.

This calabash has eyes of a human like

Kings and queens in seasons of their time.

I’m the calabash in percussions and seduction of sounds

And echoes of the night in the jungle.

I’m the eyes of this calabash and these eyes

Have seen pain and tears of the afflicted.

These eyes have witnessed petitions and perceptions

Of victims often rejected and abused by the system.

These eyes have seen dozens in coffins,

Graveyards and brave hearts in circumstances of life behind broken

Families and violence against humans by humans

Has become headlines and tabloids, paranoid.

Paragraphs and sentences have senseless hearted souls

Seduced by hopeless tongues when the night finally comes.

And I’m human.

But I’m not an eagle, for eagles fly

Higher than wings could fly above skies of the blue skies.

 And this calabash is you my brethren.

The human, and time is our own desire.

 

18092020-1052

Onalethuso Petruss Buyile Ntema

THE VOICE OF A SHADOW POETRY ANTHOLOGY

WATCH VIDEO HERE:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9M9NKG3Yt8&t=25s

or

https://www.facebook.com/100000908192805/videos/4580460565327505/?extid=IU1HL7YXYcTBEkQo 

WHEN I DIE

WHEN I DIE, let my soul find peace

At ease before time could crush as it pleases.

Let my bones dust as wind and soils.

I'd die a frustrated man if I die heart broken.

For I am the spoken word between your speech buds.

I am the phonological phonetics connecting the pieces from days of the past.

 

I am the semantics, the literature, demanded, the picture.

I'd die a joyous man if I die with art,

Books and words surrounded.

For I desire reading my own pieces at death as I'd done at birth.

So, celebrate my death, as was my birth.

And I'll continue to walk with the dead; my ancestors, my descendants.

 

When I die, let my eyes bleed tears of pain and sorrows of this world,

For life would cease to exist between me and my soul in the end.

I will cry for a little if time would allow me, still, I’ll understand

If smiles would cease to amaze me.

For poems and scriptures of this very man I am will find their cage in pages,

They shall hide for the longest passage of time until the day of their shine.

 

These words shall find their way to your ears and senses,

This poem is a poetic juice that oozes mood and rhythms

Of the jungle kings in their weapons.

This poem is not a poem but a fairy tale behind curtains.

And dozens would speak but I’d not hear them,

I’ll not hear their sounds and voices but fears of death and pain in person.

16092020-0052

Onalethuso Petruss Buyile Ntema

The Voice of a Shadow poetry anthology

+26772660907 | mambo.bw@gmail.com

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WATCH "WHEN I DIE" poem on YouTube

MAMBO NTEMA When I Die Poetry Reading