How Did We Get Here ?

Dark clouds above , the news reel screams
Rat - tat - tat ; street music bursting flesh
The precipice looms , deep end in sight !
Is this the beginning - or is this the end ?

The rug is turned up , here and there
Docile skeletons rise to the occasion -
Dressed to kill  - all game is fair ? Spill the ketchup.
At the cross - roads of memories repressed we stand.



Beneath our feet the bile of years simmer anew
The cup of hate , that hate begot no longer can
Hold the brim - it was just a matter of time.
How did we get here ? The mirror inquires !

His Story - is froth with glorious tales
Of valor and conquest - unfarthom greed.
My Story - dimmed by conquistadores
Who dread my pedigree and righteous stance.



Where fear , distrust  and brutishness roost
Peace , love and rose bushes seldom take root
Humanity is the same regardless of hue.
Enough is enough; we all want to live !


By Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

MYSTERIA

Words spoken in the cold…

Nocturnal fire burning bright

Breathed dawn into the fold;

Celestial looms weaving patterns-

Moons…..seasons and such

Tomorrow was here yesterday,

When the master plotted his grid.

 

His ambient moon still hanging tight,

Makes light of mundane banality;

In quiet refrain earth, wind and fire….

Contest each other’s will-

While the river beneath marches to the sea.

I see a rainbow crouching behind shade trees...

Beauty despoiled by time and place-

Folks inventing angels when the truth is clear….

Such is the imagination of the uninitiated-

What good is knowledge without discernment?

By Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Into The Pithy Pitch Black Night

Receding hours
In transient flow
Ancient mystery
Of the kindling wand
Calls forth the dusk
To its noble course.

And the sun, having borne
The drudge of daily strife
Like an old lady tilling rows
Droops in orange beyond the veil.

Soon the cordial moon and stars
The reins would grab - casting their glow..
Illuminating the fretful paths we tread
Heckled by the loaded dice we throw.

Into the pithy pitch black darkness
Thus we step, groping for meaning
And abiding grace, deep into the night
For goodness sake , when it always seems to be
Like heaven is much closer to the earth.

By Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Biddings Of The Heart

Impulses rattling the cage

incessant, staccato as

summer rain.

Rivers of motivation coursing

through  vines, yielding

to the wishes of the roving eye .

As the flippant tongue intones

songs of the lyre liven the air -

raining mists of passion, amorous 

like fishes, foraging the deep , 

to tend the seaweed garden below .

Oh felicity, pour me a drink !

Spare me the mirror , morning sun.

another face ? - Same heart :

chameleon of desires of every hue !

Starved of vision ,the heart  is free

of vile and vain aspirations....

at ease with airs of sublimation

worthy of the fruits  of sanctity.

But importunate alas, the creepers charms,

onto falleness, the heart inclines.

'Tis of flesh the heart is made -

supple and raw - a bosom crude,

Full of wiles like Cain of old .

That which was meant to love 

and care , now conflates  

its purpose beneath the stars.

A jealous eye is hard to tame.

Covetous hands defy retraint.

What cruel fate on Jezreel's hill

did poor Naboth know, from the

conniving king and queen of Jews !

The heart betrays all but one;

He who was flesh,and yet divine

thus knew no sin, for goodness sake.

Not so for the first Adam and scions

of whom,fickle of heart - beguiled by sin

our mortal bane to him belong.

Yet by grace our hearts are freed from

the mighty wrath of time, thanks to

the last Adam's ennobling gift.

May the biddings of contrition 

henceforth inspire within, all that is

wholesome, just and pure .

By Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Right Before Our Eyes

" The Callous Politics Of The Day "

It's all a joke the pundits said - 

A passing fancy bidding time

But like the hoofs of thundering herds

The loathsome trump is raking dimes.

It is happening before our eyes

The callous politics of the day.

Tropes of neo-fascism on the rise

Each moment's pulse a shade of gray.

Run specter, run : heaves the jilted right

Rekindle our mirth with native acclaim

And our shriveled pride to glorious heights

Be stoked , with brazen myths that spark a flame.

It is happening before our very eyes

The callous politics of the right

Not the passing fancy the pundits lied

Our better angels must rise up and fight.

From the dreams of many, the one was forged-

A beacon of hope for derelicts and saints...

Back  when from ideas and noble thought came forth

A union , a nation of freedom with guided restraints.

So let not the raves of tyrants shape our views

Of what true democracy portends for all .

Lets claim our charter and shun the news

That preys on fears , it's time to stand not fall .

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Memories

Time honored capsule
moments of yore -
shades of experiences
refined or raw .

Deep abyss of the ocean blue
shallow ripples of morning dew;
milk of the honey comb -
sweet summer breeze ,bid you are-
not like hard frozen cod
that stinks when thawed.

Oh that our hearts may find in you
a blanket warm , and all of life's
felicities within you tucked.
And when melancholic strains sustain
a whiff of jasmine be though nigh
to purge the soul of festering sighs.

Yet  once  upon a doleful moon
it may just suit the fretful hand
that you , like debris be swept afar -
or discarded like weary driftwood
upon the heaping sands of time .

But for posterity,please stick around
like an heirloom bible or iron pot -
a looking glass , a picture frame or
a fetish egg within the kindred fold .

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Metamorphosis

Shadows limping into dusk
folks counting wares and such
loss and gain to life is  such
anxiously we wait for dusk .

Once a fool upon a day
wisdom is key to every quest;
if  keen or daunting be the quest
steadfast is he who seize the day.

There's a flower on every path
a hidden compass along the way
scoundrels yet may lose their way
but virtuous soles do find their path.


See how far the sage has come
a little gusher once was he
and the tireless Nile yet is he
who like you - afar may come .

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

UBUNTU

I've known civilizations old and new
non upon the amity of foes was built -
nor thriving nations sealed by graft.
Gaze east , gaze west - Africa beloved
now to thine own self , strike a pose !
Your fecund womb of earthen grace,
plenteous of meed and priceless gems ,
inflates as yet the chests of alien beasts
from the realms of whom to us accursed
greed , and the wiles of drunken crabs .
yet if onto heritage, recast our faith
wringing Ubuntu from crusted hearts
ancestral hosts our cries would heed -
Africa alas !  will thrive anew.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

WIKIPEDIA
Ubuntu (/ʊˈbuːntʊ/ uu-boon-tuu; Zulu pronunciation: [ùɓúntʼú])^[1][2] is a Nguni Bantu term roughly translating to "human kindness."^{[dubious – discuss]} It is an idea from the Southern African region which means literally "human-ness", and is often translated as "humanity towards others", but is often used in a more philosophical sense to mean "the belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity"

Youth

Time and stage of the unfolding
Spliced between cradle and crypt
Erratic , capricious - raw:
Youth is but a raging bull
A hurricane unyoked !

Brutish though benign its course
passion anoints each act or did .
And  exuberance as such
that knows no bounds,
tallies restraint to the faint of heart.


Roll the dice and feed your vices
you lads and lasses of the tide.
Set loose your ships , ply wild and free
amidst life's gales and rocky crops;
and if such insouciance grants you lease
let tattered sails and broken rudders
your youthful  trophies be .


Not so for the keen and prudent lot
who plow their time in tidy rows
sowing dreams where thorn bushes
once thrived, in their primal hours being.
And if such diligence , a lease would grant
let glory by the bushels their youthful
barns soon  reap.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Poetry

Not haughty thoughts
that confounds the muse
nor ego trips
for the inspired plume:



It's the weeping willow
shedding the blues.....
milk of the honey comb
for a tortured soul.

I'ts a hard shelled nut
with tasty meed
that must be cracked
to get the meat.

That's what poetry
means to me.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

A Bag Of Tricks

For his fans he puts on a show
in return, they cheer each blow

A wrestler's mind is a bag of tricks
a cache of moves - stolen or inspired
by wiles of beasts that stalk and strike
and recoil, like smoke from a smothered fire .



His hands are like an angry vice -
that clutches a foe like the jaws of death
and swirls  him once, twice or thrice....
until his soul rebukes the heart that dared.

Not known for brains but brawn -
the wrestler shuns the library door
you'd catch him often in a brawl
astride his foe upon the floor.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Beneath Rain Clouds

There used to be  roads
where  mudflats have claimed
this is what my father said :
that flowers of paradise
roamed beyond the crooked bend.
And those roads that used to be
were the very gift of Babylon.
now look around, all is gone -
shattered by fireballs  from a jealous sky.

Reflection bears roses of the it's kind
thus youthful desires I surmise
don't ride upon a camel's back -
they roam the skies on eagles' breasts .
Let the beard fall off the faces that cursed the wind
and burdened my kite with the penguin's fate.

If I were blind, may be I'd be free
just me and my song, we'd chase
the wind to where the spirit bird roams
but these eyes of mine have betrayed me.
they see things that are no longer there.
This vastness between hope and dreams
my fledgling soles may confound ,
but  a summoned will knows no bounds
an exiting moment still awaits.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Why Is Burundi Dripping Red ?

Embed from Getty Images

Questions hemmed on bewildered lips
inquire in tones hushed up by dread
why is Burundi dripping red ?
and why do hatchets like raging
 windmills swing high and low-
raping, gauging - maiming the earth
while laughing vultures , hail the morbid dawn ?

look at your corn fields
up in flames - and if a blessing
this may count, porcupines
by their dozens flee the scourge !
what  easy pickings could there be
even to feuding kinsmen in the fray
alas, no stew for their kindred fold
While clansmen hacked each other cold !

Did the hornbill from Rwanda
not sing a dirge, when he stopped
in Bujumbura to quench his thirst?
He sang of the Kigali slaughter house
where kinsmen and tribes men
killed for naught - limb for limb
the devil's mischief - trouble in
paradise, the devil's delight.
Did you read the news today?
What did the headlines say to you?
Does anyone really care about
A checkered parcel on a map?

Why is musungu washing his hands
as if to say he has no hand in this?
who wrote the code of divided and rule?
who drove a wedge between two noble tribes
who in nuptials each others hand had clutched
while feasting as one , on the slaughtered beast
long before King Leopold's men acursed the land?

And we of the sable nations ,what dupes we are -
that in this future space, we bow as yet
to the whims of the naked gun, whose bloody hue
in every guise, has wooed and courted us to grave!
When will our mothers' mournful drips run dry
and let the sunlight  in their eyes shine bright?
Alas ! The mirror has spoken an awful truth -
that the enemy indeed may lie within.
Woe then to the puppets that run the show -
shameless iscariots -
whose greed abates their rectitude.

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Subtle Vices

“Shades of signification”

Paint a picture of me…

With the brush strokes

Of your imagination;

Honor Picasso-

Warhol – Monet…..

And other genies of

Your hallowed brood:

Collate….distort-

Morph my contours

To suit the wiles

Of the gilded fold.

Take liberties….brand me

Codify…….signify,

While I hold my pose.

But don’t ask me who I am

Or where the hell I was born…

Let the shades of your motivation

Fill in the ---------- BLANKS.

 Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Love's Pickets

Oh for such titillation

And sensual bliss-

Love’s elixir enlivening the

Hearts of amorous beings.

With arms entwined and curves

Aligned in serpentine pose…

Magic unfolds with rhythmic flair.

‘Tis of this, that the poets rave

That where love’s pickets

Bind two hearts and flames alight

As from a homely hearth-

Songs of the lyre thrills the air.

But when love is spent….

Rancid and stale, it burns

With the sting of aged brine;

So take heed you feuding birds

And bid not one another gloom.

By

Hope Kalé  Ewusi ©

When Wood Fire Burns

When a wood fire burns
beneath the open sky,
be it at noon or dusky sun
it sparks a warmth that melts our sighs
and kindles the wanderlust  of butterflies.

Gone with the smoke are ghostly cares
that once chased slumber from the den;
and if only for a moment this aspect flares
or tarries a hitch , like a nesting wren
its always like carnival, when a wood fire burns.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

HOLD ON TO THE PROMISE

When in the walk of life

You have lost your way

And every road seems

To lead you the wrong way

Jesus is your compass

He won’t let you stray;

Look up to the savior

He will guide you home.

When your friends forsake you

And you’re all alone-

Thinking no one loves you

And that no one cares….

Jesus loves you dearly

So the bible says,

He’s a friend who never fails

He’s always near.

Now that you are certain

What the bible says,

You should never listen

To what people say;

They will steal your blessings

If you let them in…

Hold on to the promise

God has given you.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

This poem can be sung to the melody of the Christian hymn “Count your blessings”

WHO FEELS IT, KNOWS IT

Men have left their hearts

Upon her altar;

Upon her mantle, left their hats-

All smitten by her star.

And women like wise

Have dreamt of him

And probed his guises…

His deck of cards, his every whim.

I've  heard of a word called love

Of which bards and crooners sing

 Melodies like cherubic ditties from above

Yet seldom in seeking hearts her bells do ring.

Of what use then is this quest

That buckles men to their knees

And Cupid importuned by ladies’ requests

Why do rainbows, our hearts yet seek?

By

Hope Kale Ewusi©