TRAVAILS OF A LEAF



A leaf fell from the Iroko tree

Heading ever closer to the waiting jaws of the rodent

Slavering fangs

A fearful portent

Causing the fruit of Ceres, to cry out for mercy



Wretched involute of green

Teased by the cruel laws of Newton

Sailing ever closer into the triangle

Triangle? O yea, a triangle

Of Calcium, HCl, and Ptyalin



At last judgment was made in Zion

A reprieve was granted for the Herbaceous

Angel Ramnicol dispatched the wind Clophe

To bear greenness from the abyss of pink.



ON THE BANKS OF THE TIGRIS



They have erected a monument

On the banks of the Tigris

Your gray obelisk O folly

Pierces the desert sky

Your ziggurat have they erected

In your honor O foolishness



In your quest for the black milk

Flowing beneath Al Sabah's golden sands

You let the ravager into your own home

O son of Babylon



They have erected a monument

On the banks of the Tigris

Does a dwarf seize meat,

grasped firmly in a giant's fist?

Does folly push the rat,

to wage war on the cat?



You forgot the man who fed you bread

In the conflict with Persia

Or did you enjoy his loaves so much

You desired them all



They have erected a monument

On the banks of the Tigris

Does a man seek the wine of Fame

only to drink the bile of shame?

Does a Lion seek his power

in the furnace of a fire



I praise you for your miracles

For turning the bride to a widow

You have transformed a promising vineyard

To a wasteland fruiting sorrows



They have erected a monument

On the banks of the Tigris

Did you seek the throne of all Arabs?

Only to cripple the throne of your saber?

Did you not look beyond the shadow

to sight the substance above?



Today fierce winds bend the desert palm

Blown from the north and south

You reply with showers of napalm

Proving you have learnt nothing



They have erected a monument

On the banks of the Tigris

Did you eye the fat of invasion,

only to find the bones of reparation?

Did a thief bungle his plan of robbery?

Only to find himself a victim of robbery?



Today you queue for food

at the blue and white gates you scorned

Now that the blistering western wind

has pried loose your deathlike grip



They have erected a monument

on the banks of the Tigris

Your monument indeed O folly

is spread red on desert sands



Why should your countenance smoke?

When you hear my song

You let the ravager into your own home

O son of Babylon


* Dedicated to those lives needlessly sacrificed in the gulf war.


CHALLENGING WASTELANDS



Once again

I seek my vision

on the wide plains

of pulpy trees



In the inky path

traced by my traversing

across the empty desert plain

I come closer

Ever closer

To elusive Ifa



I read out your hidden tracks

In my own colored tracks

Etched out

On the pristine surface

Of the wilderness

of papyrus



Ifa:

Oracular Ifa

You are the destination

The precious elixir

Sought after by many pilgrims

Riding weeping javelins

Leaving the marks

of their teary passing

On the face of the blank veldt



At last

We find you Ifa

in the arrival of restless verse

In the map of her Mariner's journey

Across the placid lake

Your beautifying vision

Lies therein revealed

To dazzle the joyous eyes

of your faithful pilgrims



*Dedicated to those who create beauty, wielding the quill and pot of colored fluid.



VERSES FROM A SINGING TREE



I caught a verse

from a singing tree

So said the silvery crescent

to the breezy king



It sang of events

In the sad country

Of how they throttled their conscience

Killed the nine dissenting



Nine great children,

on the tenth of the eleventh

Died the day wickedness

donned the garb of truth



On that day my silver crescent turned red

As the red earth turned blue

Poisoned by the perverse madness

Vile injustice brews



What is this madness?

That befouls our fair land

Murdered our little Poet,

for saying, waste not my land



For crying, waste not the earth

For crying, rob not my land

For saying give us a fair share

of nature's gift from the past



So they had to shut his mouth

They had to stop his quest

They had to block the path

of these restless men



But how do you stop, the demanding man,

When his cause, is only just and fair?

You discredit with a charge of murder

You bury both man and cause in death



Thus was born they idea crude

In the minds of barbarous men

To frame little Ken, with gallant crew

Ruining them all through courts perverse

So came onto stage the courts for Kangaroos

A drama of lies and senselessness

Hurled crew of nine at hangman's noose

To satiate the blood lust, of perverse men



We watched the corrupter work, with Horror, with Chill,

Chill at the perversion of justice's realm

A new age of the witch hunt, is born to kill

All who dare oppose the Tyrant's quest.



TO A SON OF AZANIA



Faithful black acolyte

Of the temple of Hippocrates

You were schooled

in the wisdom of healing

To husband earthen vines



Yet

You became

Much more than that

Uche!

Falcon!

that perched on the crimson bough

You became

much more than that



You became doctor

Of our souls

You bound our wounds

With the liniment of hope

Stanching the flow

of our despair


You offered us remedies

The pill

of non-violent confrontation

The injection

of black consciousness

The serum

of our past history



You gave us

new garments of dignity

And put into our eyes

The ointment of hope



You diagnosed with boldness

New leprosy on Robben

You prescribed the cure

A miraculous cure

The sacred balm

Of justice



I speak of you

Biko!

Spirit of the ripe palm nut

In your sad passing

You gave us oil

Sweet red oil

Of our coming victory



They said

You were just a Kaffir

You were

Just a lying Tortoise

A miserable Lizard

With his portion

in the dust



Yet

You became

Much more than that

Uche!

Falcon!

that perched on the crimson bough

You became

Much more than that.



*Dedicated to our beloved hero, Steve Biko; Hero of Azania. Who poured out his crimson breath, to water our orchard of Liberty.
*Uche: (Yala word for Falcon)



MEDITATION



Wind

Blow me to the land

Where the air is never jostled



Thought

Elevate me to the place

Where all gray cells sleep

Take me to the world

Where rain falls without water



Take me where

All senses coalesce in the vortex



Where

I see with my ears

I hear with my nose

I smell with my eyes

The veil of Maya is rent

And Uhu at last

Flies free.


*Maya: (Hindu goddess of illusion)
*Uhu: (Yala word for spirit.)

Hey, Joo, where are you from? Did you write this yourself, or are you quoting another poet? Kind of interesting.

Yes Guest.

I was the mere vessel used by others in the "Golden temple of Wisom" to initially receive this words in our world.

Yet no artist, should ever claim title to their work. In this light, they are not my poetry even though I wrote them.

I remain a humble recipient of impressions that flew into my mind, borne on the celestial winds that blow from "Goloka Varndavana".

It's good that you find them interesting. They may be horrible, terrible and nasty as brainless tb, USANY and Linda seem to think. The reader has a right to make a judgement!

But I remain the faithful scribe and sadly I must afflict them with my so-called horrible poetry, just as they afflict me with their disgusting anti immigrant chauvinism!

Do share some of your poetry with me, or that of any other artist/s you find worthy. I will appreciate that very much and maybe the above-mentioned three fools will gain some benefit, that will take their silly no-minds of hurting people for a change.