Poetry with an African Sting

DRAFTPoetry withan African

Sting

A sneak peep into aspirited Africa

Mowarin Christian Ese

Published by FastPencil

DRAFTCopyright © 2013 Mowarin Christian

Published by FastPencil3131 Bascom Ave.Suite 150Campbell CA 95008 [email protected](408) 540-7571(408) 540-7572 (Fax)http://www.fastpencil.com

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Printed in the United States of America.

First Edition

DRAFTDedicated to my mum, Clara

❧

DRAFTContents

Chapter 1 Early Morning Blues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1Chapter 2 Can I have my God back? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3Chapter 3 Prayers offered in squeezed twilight . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5Chapter 4 Dance of the evening palm play . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7Chapter 5 Paradise Lost . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9Chapter 6 Africa, my beloved Africa, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11Chapter 7 Little boy in a sand coloured village . . . . . . . . . . . 13Chapter 8 My granny, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15Chapter 9 The spirits lead us . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17Chapter 10 Dance of the evening palm play II . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19Chapter 11 When will they come? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21Chapter 12 Mother Africa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23Chapter 13 Time after time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25Chapter 14 Mother Afrika II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27Chapter 15 When will they come II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29Chapter 16 Maidens of Ndokwa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31

DRAFT1

Early Morning Blues

The misty eye of the

Marooned morning slowlyOpens to pale violet stringsLaced with over appetured twists

1

DRAFTLazy lawns greets the mistHazy dogs with limbs stretchWelcome to the early morning bluesMother hen chucklesClenched tightly to half dazedFreshly feathered cheeky chiksThe touch of the morning bluesWraps the myth of a blessed dayThe cold, still sad walks gently awayWelcome to the early morning bluesBroken pot holes lay akimboWet Wall holes in limboVisibly shakened from a long nightTwo little dews resting on solar reflectionsOccassionally rippling to the nearby lulabyBroken earthenware still sleepsWelcome to the early morning blues

2 Poetry with an African Sting

DRAFT2

Can I have my Godback?

Her heart lifted

High up onto the cinematic heavens

3

DRAFTAdorned by clouds and native brillianceAll gallantly welded togetherShe feels light and need a lightPlease dont take away her GodHer soul stretched wide openThey reach the ends of the earthDeflected and detonated by angry aurasShe feels asymmetric and needs dramaShe bleeds from the spreadPlease dont take away her GodHer flesh rip piece by pieceEvaporated again and againBy her own dear natureSeasons and reasons of an unfulfilled literatureShe dies and rise and diesPlease don’t take away her GodHer boned staresFace to face with her ethnic renditionPainted by dainty colours of her existenceShe feels silly and silkShe feels the sea and sickPlease dont take away her God


DRAFT3

Prayers offered insqueezed twilight

Prayers offered in squeezed twilight

Regenerated and reflected

5

DRAFTHour time of the lazy bonesDark times of the wicked willows Mud walls in drenched soaked earthlaughs away its melancholic symphonyechoes and woes is all we hearTo the near and far distant futureSatanic verses and tunessaddled the already drenched earthrefused to be brushed off likemere brittles of the stroke of an artistLittle children in dazed dimensionshigh spirited, played away unawareof the black dahila whose fangs alreadysharpened from the rhythms and stones of timeHeavy and profound undulationsang the heavy hearts that are destinedto bear this squeezed and turbulent timesset in tune with the lost glories of what stood before.


DRAFT4

Dance of the eveningpalm play

Dance, dance still dance

For the evening palms have

7

DRAFTCome to playCoconut palms in funeral processionFueled and mist by violent water wavesSways friendly nods seamlesslyIn simple, yet complex danceDrenched folks scream loud screamsAs wavy soap wave wipes themAwakened and chasing them tooWailing madly as it wallops themDance, dance still danceFor the evening palms haveCome to playKoko children gesticulates widlyMusically and rhythmicallyWaists tied tightly to waist beadsRolling, still dancing to the beatArrant snob sisters inSweet small and soft silkSleek sleeves solicit waves to stay tunedCrabs too to stay socketed


DRAFT5

Paradise Lost

The midday sun

Bites hard on his skinHe bites the last beanballHis only meal the day affords

9

DRAFTThe search of a paradise lostCorrugated skinHarmattanned like scalesFoot badly sored from sojounStench perfumed by tanThe search for paradise lost The future, a narrow wavethe present, too distantThe past badly mashedThe light quenched again and againThe search of a paradise lostTrue fears of teardropThe only worryThe dry stony earth evereadyTo melt and melt awayThe search for a paradise lost continues


DRAFT6

Africa, my belovedAfrica,

Africa, my beloved Africa,

The one they came to call

11

DRAFTThe one they came to wakeThe dark one, the forbidden oneThe one they say is asleep in deepAfrica my sacrificial AfricaAsleep in the shine and shrinesOf uncanny mangroves and rootsOf rot hues and humidsAfrica my womb AfricaThe origins of soiled mankindThe origins of black kindThe birth abode of nature and nutureThe emanation, emancipation and amalgamationOf a phenomenal civilisationAfrica my friend africatell them the untold storytell them of the kings and kingdomsof the belief and relief of great dunesof the gentle greens and evergreensthe smiles and indigo poetry of the lemanjarothe sahara of our nativity story


DRAFT7

Little boy in a sandcoloured village

Do you know a little boy

in a sandy coloured village

13

DRAFTwith sand colured hairAnd eyes brown like the earthAnd ears flapped like the ratsthe boy with the rubber ballwho plays in the sands of timethe one whose shadows never leaves himthe figments of the dust his companionthe one that spurns the adrenalinthe boy who races in the slopes of a sleepy villagebare footed, bare headed and bare heartedwide eyed fairly aligned with the whites gonea true friend of the wind who slicesthrough him without a hugthe harmattan his early brotherthe dust his psyche pyrotechnicsthe chase and tyre his vision and freedomthe sands his ever ground


DRAFT8

My granny,

My Granny, My Granny

She told me and she showed meWhere the spirits livewhere they whisper in the wind and dance

15

DRAFTin hush comby tones and bonesso we wont ever hear and tearthe dance of voodoo wooo woooo wooooooThe place. A placeA little place in the baobab tree backits tree finger clenched like my grannieswithout innovation without invocationenriched with scar soaked souls and organic mossthere they swing and cry tothe dance of voodoo wooo woooo woooooothe tree with a cocoon and raccoonwith weavy web of unearthly eyesand weedy wounds of coily whipsstretched like the grey grip of mangrove mud skippersthe gentle gush of soured sapthere they feed on the screams of mankind anddance to the voodoo wooo woooo woooooo


DRAFT9

The spirits lead us

The black night met us

On the way to our dreamsSlowly enveloping usAnd tempting us to open

17

DRAFTLike the claps of the great divideThe shadows lookingvery lonely and metabolicClinging tightly to our sideAs if hand painted with grey smears Black sweat enriches our tanSoon the footpath becomes our visionWith a mission to nowhereThe smitten shrubs now our gengonA lasting procedural effect on our primitivesCoarsed enough to take our livesWhat does it matter anywayAway we lie certain, smittenOur breathe our reliefOnly this time though


DRAFT10

Dance of the eveningpalm play II

String less sonorous sonata fills the air

As the waves strikes on the surfboards

19

DRAFTWeather beaten fingers ofHallelujah brethrens move and rock to their beatDance, dance still danceFor the evening palms haveCome to play Almost drenched birds dare the wavesCrying madly at this nature’s gustFrom the under belly motions of the seaFlapping wings to the spirited undulationTo the rhythm and beat of the wavesDance of the evening frenzyDance, dance still danceFor the evening palms haveCome to play Laugh and cries of the sisters echoes widelyAs the music reaches its peakThe palm sway in frenzy as the frond drummersQuicken their quick succession slapsDance, dance still danceFor the evening palms haveCome to play


DRAFT11

When will theycome?

We glide down the little

Sloppy Slippery street

21

DRAFTBut yet no runOur shadows taperedOn comby catacombs wallsHouses sobered from day and nightRoofs vexed from bitter rainsTime stench stared madlyMadly in love with the rhapsodyWhen will they come? Upturned stones and mossplay thorny poker on our toesThe place, it sleepsBut lay deadAll its poetry vanishedBad but still staresGloomy faces at duskeavesdrop from banana leaveswide eyed socketwhat formally bulgeWhen will they come?


DRAFT12

Mother Africa

Dear mother Africa

How are you doing?Hope the times are aBlessing and love to us

23

DRAFTTo feel and to see The reasons and pigeons That conveys our cries to youThat bonds our thrills andtake our dreams on aFlight of fruitfulness The passion of your lightThat shines on our livesThat your unending loveAnd beauty that bestows usIn the times of our solace The rise of your imaginations And the heights of your machinationsThe future of your numbersAnd the embers of your soulsThat which is kindled on usThat which ignites our kind


DRAFT13

Time after time

I ran and time ran

In pursuit of my daily dreamA vision I have nursedAnd cursed to carry like a pack

25

DRAFTA back pack that never drops A new morning a new mourningA new dream, a new beamTo make a mark on this mark less voidTo run a rat race i cant finishWhose game to bruise and abuseTime and time again time after timeMy own sweat i spat to fillSweated to push the stringsThe tiny ones that connects them togetherThe sspirits in their fabricOf a new generation and admirationOf pseudopolism and isms The struggle must push usPush is beyond our boundariesBeyond our heart and tributariesBeyond the fabrics of pie own imaginationBeyond the limits of our selfless policeBeyond the darkness that have engulfed ourentire evil macchinations


DRAFT14

Mother Afrika II

Dear mother africaHow are you doing?Hope the times are a

27

DRAFTBlessing and love to usTo feel and to see The bravery of your eaglesThe strength of our falconThe womb of your brownnessThe brute of our heroesMay it be with us now and then The figments of ourThe fingers of your consciousnessThe beloved that you shallGrant us the powers to seeand feel the togethernessThat is of us, that is us


DRAFT15

When will they comeII

Around a muddy stretch

We carry the heavy weight of

29

DRAFTThe night as our large blanketOur eyes deformed with deep halosSilhouetted fences punctured by ageLizards salamander allies liesBroken hearted with songs tooCall it untouched phenomenonA breeze of Bezier boldnessIn true reminiscent of oldWhen will they come? The mystic drums gone quietThe wind too sit still and paleA wait in time and palletteWhen will they come?The ones who once beat the ‘sangolo’The ones who struck with a fever blowDum dum dum dumdummmm dum dummmmmLike acid tobacco chewed with a grinFast dissolving into mint and bitsWe are waiting, waiting to dieOr live in a shape shifting world


DRAFT16

Maidens of Ndokwa

Here they come the

Maidens of NdokwaSmiles like onionPeel nearly slashed

31

DRAFTDimples newly punchedSteps gracefully slantNeck fully graffittiedOur queens, My queensWe live in a sweet world Here they come, theladies of the eastern lightHair oily shone with the palmWaists neatly packedBeads carefully manicuredWings purely featheredBody beautifully adornedFingers a palette of huesOur queens, My queensWe live in a sweet world


Poetry with an African Sting

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