Tag Archives: poetry

Of music and dance and torture

They are there again, just like they were yesterday.

photo-of-break-dancing-san-francisco

As if that was all that mattered. Wonder when that’d be me! *sigh* (Oh, please just don’t die from your fall to the ground.) (Source: online, unknown)

 

See, my day has been just good

I manage to make a living and don’t complain

But these guys just want to make me cry

I have never done anything to hurt them

I patiently wait for a snake-child to cross

If ever our paths crossed

And I definitely never hurt fleas

But they do not let me be

They know what time I pass by every evening

On my way back from work

They see me lost in thought in some part of my mind

And with the other part looking all around me critically appraising my environment

Looking for new stimulation and absorbing the world around me

They see me all the while nodding my headphone-padded head to some beat

So they settle at that same spot, right on scene

Working up the steam on their acts and arts

Up to that moment when I walk by

They start with regular beats and moves

They know I never miss the wicked musical gears and sound system

They know I notice their eternally killing matching sleek black outfits

They know I am not be able to stop them

They then work their ways up

Throwing in increasingly complicated moves

With recklessness, as if he did not care about living till the next day..

With recklessness, as if he did not care about living till the next day..

Moves they don’t care that it will take aeons for me to learn

The choreographer stands near the mouth of the formation

Not part of the dance because he apparently has a higher purpose

Watching out closely for my every micro-expression

At how maddeningly his well-planned moves are being executed by the dancers

The rappers take the centre of the platform

With lines that could make a gentleman go bonkers

Reeling out rhymes that could make a poet dream

Of the age when poetry must have been born from rap

An age that he was not aware of

They build up steam steadily

And when they know I draw closer they increase the volume of the mixer

Or how else would it sound louder in my ears

They know it’s evening and the breeze will serve them well

Then they show moves that make them seem to be flying

They sway and slither and bounce and lock and pop and stomp

All with every movement of the easy breeze

They make me read meaning into every breath and hiss of the air

They obey the wind

The rappers’ lines carrying on the wind in a way that defied physics

I got distinction in physics

But for the beauty I saw all those years in school,

They seem like dirt compared to what these guys do with the wind

Moments I wish I were deaf

So I’d not hear the steady booms against my ear drums

Making me head shake subconsciously like one having a focal seizure

Never mind, the bass would still make my heart and viscera resonate

Or better still, I be blind

Then I would not see these wicked wizards and shape-shifters

Floating in the wind at times and other times sharply moving like electricity

Never mind, the thuds of their feet as they stomp would get to me somehow

Lecrae-Concert-3-use

See, there! That moment when he (in this case, Lecrae Moore) goes insane, as if possessed by something inhumanly. And the crowd goes lunatic…. (source: online, unknown

 

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That moment of mad paralyzing ecstasy… an experience to kill, or die, or live for…. (Source: online, unknown)

Then they watch for the climax

That moment

When a straight-faced calculating and sober-minded adult doctor suddenly bursts into tears

Because he cannot understand why they would taunt him

With such displays of artistic perfection

Don’t tease and call me “only human after all”

What am I to do

If you cut me I bleed

I am human

If you rap and move like that

I cry with longing and envy

Wishing I could be you,

Right there

In that moment

Wielding the greatest weapon you have over me now

Your mad love for the lines and moves

With that confidence and ease accompanying your ability to do them

That you know I can read very clearly all over you

In that moment

Right there

When a scientist who lives on and deals with facts and Pure and Undefiled Science

Is brought figuratively to his knees

Before a phenomenon he has no control over

As he literally quickens his heels

His eyes already leaking tears

 

It just is unfair!

Haunting God

With purpose he marched through the gate
God did not enter with a thief’s creeping gait
When he scattered our masters with the sword
When we slaves blissfully slept scattered abroad

He mercilessly spilled their blood
God came on them like a flood
He got himself cut somehow
He won and left anyhow

We stretched and yawned
As a bloody morning dawned
Like expected God’s blood spooked
Like a pheromone it got us hooked

We ran around incoherently
Searching for God fervently
God that caught our attention
God that left our habitation

We left our place unguarded
We leapt into the forest unguided
We were brash and savage
We were passionate beyond gauge

Why did God kill our old masters
When will we have answers
Why is God deliberately taunting
Why are we homelessly haunting

God paid us a bloody visit
God left us with a deficit
He then got us stuck on him
He then had us seeking him

Scouring river after rock
Whilst wild animals did gawk
We were hounds of blood
We were madly trailing God’s blood

We have no past now
We have forgotten home now
We don’t remember how it ensued
We don’t know why we continued

We don’t know how it ends
As we negotiate the bends
Haunting God
Hunting God

Then came the night
God was not yet in sight
As we howled like cannibals
As we dined on some animals

The day came again
God we were yet to gain
As we got guns cocked and gears locked
As those same stupid animals still gawked

We are no more mere flesh and blood
In this trail of God’s blood
Our perspectives have changed
Our old selves deranged

God invaded our living situation
Causing shift and annihilation
Now we are fixated on him
Now we are hounding him

What will happen if we don’t find him
What will happen if we find him
We mindlessly haunt God on
We tirelessly hunt God on

Haa!!! See there a fresh drop of blood…

Playing The Chess of Fate.

Prologue:
Introducing the Creator-God, all-wise holy-prankster
Of men’s fates, he is a chess grandmaster.
Even if some refuse to acknowledge his name,
They are still no smarter than pawns in his game.
/ Going back in time to an age before humans started playing chess, we see three pawns… /

1:
Having a lack-full beginning as a servant
Was a pot-bellied wealthy Arabian merchant;
To follow the Enchanting Star, he folded up his house to be sold,
And bundled the weight of it all in gold.
/ Oh! And he kept a Shi’ite assassin with him to guard him… /

2:
A noble savage raised in an African monastery
Saw the Enchanting Star as a greatest mystery.
He then set out with all his life’s essence
Symbolised by his jar of frankincense.
/ Like Prince Akeem Joffer (Eddie Murphy) leaving Zamunda at last for a life of discovery at America… /

3:
Hammered and shredded, this woman is a soul at loss.
The only thing she lives for is to caress a heavy wooden cross.
Seeing the Enchanting Star she set out on the spur,
Squeezing out of her cross a tincture of myrrh.
/ I, an Alchemist, charitably helped convert the cross (symbol of her sorrows) into the myrrh bitter perfume… /

Epilogue (Matthew 2:1-11) The three wise men present baby Jesus their gifts:

Arab: Jesus, take my gold in exchange for your richness,
And take my Shi’ite to protect you from Herod.
African: I have been “forming holier-than-thou” in self-righteousness,
But my frankincense smells like “fart” before you who is himself God.

Sufferer: My perfume has been donated to the house of Mary,
To be kept for the day you meet your worse-than-mine fate.
God: You lads willingly did my bidding, go make merry;
Whichever way it turns out, I always checkmate!

Author’s note: I planned the above stunt with the Creator-God. If you don’t believe I am a player, go to http://www.chess.com/members/view/krystophyr
Thank you.

Haiku -When The Drunk Saw

Wine barrels

Was a wine-lover
Lounging in the evening breeze,
Then saw a wonder.

Red sky turns lively;
Angels whipping demon-butts
Could be seen clearly.

Off to the cellar,
I rolled out my wine barrels
And worked my lighter!

Tribe-Wars: Spirits vs Mortals -letter from the River of Deathly Surrender

English: Mid tide, looking up river from Sea W...

The Enchanted Writer, who by his discretion once paused the narration of these letters from war he discovered, now continues:
We all had a white piece of cloth attached to our right arms as signs of our belonging to the clan. It was a symbol of our purity and consecration –a form of righteousness-marker. It was also a symbol of pride and dignity for us. I found it hard laying down my food supplies, given that I am a man of divine appetite (and your mother can tell you how profound my appreciation of good cuisine is). Letting go of my charismatic amulet was not that easy too, given my leadership position as a councilmember in the tribe (and you know how indispensable an enchanting tongue is for the politician). Also, I still liked my suavity which earned me the admiration of ladies, despite the fact I am a married man (and you may be familiar with that shameful desire to still feel in the game). I might as well say these now and come clean. Besides, I am not expecting to return. If I do, all well. But, my life is poured out to this war. Son, letting go of this white cloth for a blood-soaked one was unthinkable. We were asked to tie this blood-soaked cloth around our right war-trained muscled arms. Need I say some of us did rather stick with our recognized values and self-righteousness rather than throwing out the last shreds of honour they had.

My deeply rattled fellows who made it through later told me of so many other things they faced at the boarding. The painful things they had to let go. Imagine the pain with which a colleague told me he let go of his carefree attitude which was attached as a tuft of feathers to his head. He was the type to live an aloof life from behind a glass –untouched by all; attached to none. It was easy for this colleague to join the warriors because he had no hooks to life. He was almost immune from pain. Imagine how the sorting went for him. Like I said, the sorting was individualized to each’s weaknesses.
Now, I understand why it is called the River of Deathly Surrender. We did not die; but the things we had to give up made dying seem for a moment a lighter deal!
We waved goodbyes to our comrades as the ship left the port.
Son, I could swear with horror that I saw some of the violent spirits swoon on the warriors who turned away, seeing as the “kind” spirits had left the region with the ship.
Now, we are off in the ship,
Completely as the mercy of these strange beings,
We have to learn to trust.
I was allowed to send this letter to you.
Pray for us, Son. Please, pray for us.

To prevent wearing out the readers, the Enchanted Writer pauses his narration once again.