By Tikum Mbah Azonga
I will spread it out
I mean, spread it out
With my index finger
It doesn`t matter if it`s too thinly
As long as we square the half mile
We won`t accept any grren notes
Nor the baker`s long loaves
Nor loose euros blowing in the wind
We will tone down any strident calls for blood from DC
We will question and vet
Any petitions to Amnesty and Transparency from Brussels
They`re all talking drums that sound hollow
Because their music is drenched and drowned in sour cheese droplets
And odd bits and pieces of chicken and chips
And left-overs of last night`s burgers.
We want our own voices to rise up and tower and dwarf
We want our young to grow and step forward
We want our on to show us the way
We want our type to rule and govern
But we reject any go-between
We don`t want godfathers
Just let us be
We turn down all mediators and arbiters
Why should we trust them?
They have betrayed their own people
They carry guns wantonly and shoot randomly like Adolf`s underlings
They coldbloodedly strap up humans and inject them to death
They wire them up like some new building and electrocute them
Their stages and arenas are worse than Hitler`s gas chambers
So who are they to stand and give us lessons?
They`re nothing but opportunists who say one thing and mean another
They can be all over the place
They can be everwhere
Yet nowhere
They`re brief
Fleeting
Passing
Short-lived
Momentary
Ephemeral
A nine day wonder
So why trust them?
Copyright 2011
samedi 23 juillet 2011
mercredi 20 juillet 2011
THE SILENCE FROM ROME
By Tikum Mbah Azonga
The priest is tired
His silk cassock has gone grey
His hands tremble
His mantle no longer fits
His crook looks too heavy for him
Isn`t it time he went?
Shouldn`t he also get a rest?
Or must it only be the pastor?
Leadership is leadership
Unless Rome thinks otherwise.
Copyright 2011
The priest is tired
His silk cassock has gone grey
His hands tremble
His mantle no longer fits
His crook looks too heavy for him
Isn`t it time he went?
Shouldn`t he also get a rest?
Or must it only be the pastor?
Leadership is leadership
Unless Rome thinks otherwise.
Copyright 2011
mardi 19 juillet 2011
WHAT COLOURS MEAN TO ME
(For Marelen)
By Tikum Mbah Azonga
The girl in white and purple
That’s who I am today and tomorrow
That’s who I was yesterday
I am my own mistress
I build my own bridges
I trace my own path
I fight my own battles
Life has taught me that the world is inside of us
Not somewhere else
That’s why I’m the girl in white and purple
But the colours are the Almighty’s, not mine
He alone pulls the strings
And I go at his bidding.
My white and purple
Are not bows without their arrows
They are not the valley lily birds fed yesterday
No, they are a new breed of flower sash from the seamstress
But certainly not a re-enactment of Benson and Hedges.
When we read the Wife of Bath
We do so with due regard for her rattles
That’s why my students come here daily without fuss
And my staff work harder than Oscar Wells.
Here at ABCIT where standards are high and far from rubble
We invite all and sundry to come and discover our deep gold mine
If there is anything tied here, it’s certainly strings
That’s why with my verse stringer, I’m prepared to go in hiding.
Copyright 2011
GOD`S CHANGING WEATHER
(For Bernadette)
By Tikum Mbah Azonga
Wao! What a good weather!
Don’t you simply love it?
See how meek and lowly
Yet how sweet and charming it is
Yes, it may change
We all know the weather is fickle
But who isn’t?
That’s life.
For all the exotic readings, I thank the Father
The cumulus, the nimbus, the stratus, they all do it
So does the torrential rain when it rumbles slowly
As a Gemini, I know when the weather is amiss
Like a true child of Babungo, I can measure its full range
So it doesn’t matter whether it’s a down pour or a trickle
Thank God for the splendid weather and the snow it isn’t
After all, without the changes, our Faculty has no real life.
Copyright 2011
By Tikum Mbah Azonga
Wao! What a good weather!
Don’t you simply love it?
See how meek and lowly
Yet how sweet and charming it is
Yes, it may change
We all know the weather is fickle
But who isn’t?
That’s life.
For all the exotic readings, I thank the Father
The cumulus, the nimbus, the stratus, they all do it
So does the torrential rain when it rumbles slowly
As a Gemini, I know when the weather is amiss
Like a true child of Babungo, I can measure its full range
So it doesn’t matter whether it’s a down pour or a trickle
Thank God for the splendid weather and the snow it isn’t
After all, without the changes, our Faculty has no real life.
Copyright 2011
dimanche 17 juillet 2011
ELECTIONS AS A LEVEL PLAYING FIELD
By Tikum Mbah Azonga
A contribution to the ongoing debate on FACEBOOK about the forthcoming presidential election in Cameroon and incumbent President Paul Biya`s supposed role in it.
Victory in politics comes from action. It does not come from rhetoric alone. It is not enough to simply WISH that Biya goes and you expect to get up from your bed the following morning and find him gone. Elections are round the corner. What have you done concretely in preparation? Apart from Biya, there are at least ten other candidates. Are you throwing in your weight behind any of them and giving that one total support? Or better still, are you running as your own candidate, instead of expressing wishes at the sidelines while the real battle goes on with you only as a commentator. The SDF for instance is `doing something about it`, by being there and challenging and opposing and arguing. They are engaged, they are committed. They may not make it now, but if they persist, they may make it some day. It might not be them as such but their children. . It doesn’t matter. People come and go but the nation remains. Biya is at least present and fighting his own battle. The best arena on which to challenge him and effect change is through the ballot box. Shouting and insults and emotions will not change anything.
Copyright 2011
A contribution to the ongoing debate on FACEBOOK about the forthcoming presidential election in Cameroon and incumbent President Paul Biya`s supposed role in it.
Victory in politics comes from action. It does not come from rhetoric alone. It is not enough to simply WISH that Biya goes and you expect to get up from your bed the following morning and find him gone. Elections are round the corner. What have you done concretely in preparation? Apart from Biya, there are at least ten other candidates. Are you throwing in your weight behind any of them and giving that one total support? Or better still, are you running as your own candidate, instead of expressing wishes at the sidelines while the real battle goes on with you only as a commentator. The SDF for instance is `doing something about it`, by being there and challenging and opposing and arguing. They are engaged, they are committed. They may not make it now, but if they persist, they may make it some day. It might not be them as such but their children. . It doesn’t matter. People come and go but the nation remains. Biya is at least present and fighting his own battle. The best arena on which to challenge him and effect change is through the ballot box. Shouting and insults and emotions will not change anything.
Copyright 2011
TOO BIG FOR CHARING CROSS
By Tikum Mbah Azonga
I’m not a man to roam
I carry heavy bagpipes
Like the Kilimanjaro poet
Watch my eyebrows
Don’t you see them twitch?
So, what more of the wanton birds at Charing Cross?
Copyright 2011
I’m not a man to roam
I carry heavy bagpipes
Like the Kilimanjaro poet
Watch my eyebrows
Don’t you see them twitch?
So, what more of the wanton birds at Charing Cross?
Copyright 2011
INCHES TOO SHALLOW
(For the victim`s of Schindler`s list)
By Tikum Mbah Azonga
Some inches were unspeakable
Frankly
Imagine a yarn without fins or spreadsheets
Where on earth would you then begin?
Where?
Copyright 2011
By Tikum Mbah Azonga
Some inches were unspeakable
Frankly
Imagine a yarn without fins or spreadsheets
Where on earth would you then begin?
Where?
Copyright 2011
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