Best Imperialist Poems
Great are his exploits
honour and rank
he's celebrated
he's immortalized
He's fondly recalled
Back to memory
The great legends of Old..
Great Chief Waiyaki wa Hinga..
Aged nine he killed a lion
with his bare hands...
When the imperialist came.. Waiyaki..
Raised a huge Army armed with bows and arrows
Testing the might of the staff which spat fire
Fore told by the great seer Mugo Wa Kibiru..
..see people dressed like butterflies
they come from the sea of the hawk
and move on an iron caterpillar to the
lake of the eagle.. they carry a walking staff
which spits fire killing instantly... your weapons
will be useless when faced with this magical staff..
The great seer advised the people to learn
The pale skinned colonizers magic..
At right time armed with the right knowledge
The land of the slopes of Kerenyaga..
Will be liberated by its sons
The mountain of splendor and mysteries
Where people since ages ago have offered prayers
To the Supreme Deity Ngai Murungu..
Who is all loving and of good virtual
The supreme deity's Prophet Mugo wa Kibiru...
Is office of the chief seer..
Water Tabernacle the resting place of - Managi
The greatest Holy relic and the Box that is the relic
I recap they say Great Chief Waiyaki
Was betrayed by the pale colored..
foe he had called blood brother..
Angry Waiyaki took out his favorite club..
Mathiokore.. it was nicknamed..
Within minutes brains of the Great captain
were scattered on our rich soils
The invaders captured Waiyaki..
Our great Chief and opened his skull
Waiyaki died not.. they buried him alive
Head facing downwards.. Great Chief..
You should have heeded the Great seers
prophecy..
...don't allow the butterflies to enter your homesteads...
Buried alive..
Immortal Warrior king fate
The annual pilgrimage around
Kereenyaga - the abode of Ngai
Goes on each year.. pilgrims
Make seven stops as they
Circumbulate the Holy Mountain..
Of stories and more stories from the land
Where gods.. immortals.. and mortals
Rub shoulders looking each other..
Eye to eye... tales of KENYA
code 254
LEWIS NYAGA
Thousands of covid-19 infected patients die everyday
Dangerous the virus I believe it just on hearing way
Where are the dead bodies? Where are their families?
I do not know actually; who tell me about these please
We know thousands of peoples die everyday overall the world usually
It's easy if imperialist politicians count some from them in this covid-19 rally
I'm not the investigator, not I'm the charity provider
Yet wanna know- comes from where the pandemic server?
Someone replies me it's a curse for sinner from the creator God
Someone advises- it's natural plague, over it do not think a lot
As a theist I believe God creates everything only for beautifying
I disbelieve that God destroys His creations for own angry appeasing
Conscience is the true power of knowledge; if we had conscience
Excess thinking would be fruitful in our inter relationship about worldly sense
It's our world, come, leave the myth of religion, try to save it as God's beauty
Save all with the nature, spread humanity with love killing political hypocrisy
29.03.2020 Chattogram
TIME THIEF...MUSINGS OF THE LAY..
I awoke an hour past mid-nite
oh what peace everyone is dreaming
made some warm milk cocoa
turned radio on.. tv on
am now multi-taskin..
stolen away by sweet sleep
right there on the couch...
couch potato now dreaming..
dreaming of strange lands
dream tourism is in vogue...
woken my house help preparing tea
she gives me a puzzled stare..
may be the boxer shorts am wearing..
have her vexed.. cud be.shes just sleepy
its already daylight.... already...
partake a luke-warm shower.
no time to get the water properly heated
rushing to the shuttle stage..
boarding a shuttle..engaging the driver.
alighting.... usual stage guru nanak hospital..
the guru ramgaria looks at me... or..
looks at the sky..we call him kalasinga
i ponder what the good guru was thinking..
staring to the sky..
idle thought.. short walk i arrive...
gad gados headquaters....
every one today is late..but...
but the hr ...shes already in..
i say hello she appears not to hear..
i sleek slowly toward my work station
TD B our receptionist arrives late..
we ponder over the why.. everyone's late
come up with the time thief theory
according to RU and TE..
May be the good guru knows...
the guru on the poster
daily trains... trains his creamy red eyes
to the heaven in artistic communion....
the believers in him.. call him-enlightened one
us.... we find all of them weird.. intolerance?..
the artistic guru was there when
the superhighway was built...
when the terrorist bombed a shuttle
when our countries CEO was acquitted
by the imperialist court..
the artistic guru must know
must know.. who stole our time
he keeps looking to the sky
they say hes enlightened..
i say ted.. the guru knows.knows time.
of time thief's and time snatchers
here at gadgados we watch-out
watch out against.. or for
a different kind of thief
who has a very long hand...
Lewis k Nyaga
eastern african maritime.. 0915hrs
Corsica born, and an emperor mighty indeed.
Who from obscurity came up to prominence,
who from French shores the attacks of armies repelled,
who had at his disposal, Europe's resources,
who to Saint Helena from French shores was expelled.
Of old Italian nobility he was seed.
Shortish in height, yet towering in ambition.
Military genius of the highest distinction
whose military strategy is second to none save
Alexander. Whose courage is held in reverence,
whose cradle at infancy was kept in a cave
from strong invading imperialist French forces.
He gave up an empire so vast at Waterloo;
A threat to the memories of his victories past.
Mighty Napoleon, who at Austerlitz excelled,
you did on the beautiful older Josephine cast
your loving eyes, which were hypnotized with passion,
yet focused still on so lofty an ambition.
Not even your love for her would rival your love
for world conquest, for which you assiduously strove.
A Comrade like Ben
A statesman like Mandela diplomatically
suspended the necessary struggle of opposites,
gummed his fragmented land together with reconciliation….
exploiters to exploited , murderers to martyrs
imperialist to invisibled indigenes
lives in Sandton and councils Bill Clinton
and Naomi Campbell on plush carpets
a sinewy activist, hard as nails, like yourself…
Ben Palmer Louw, always
cajoling
conspiring
criticizing
organising
uprising
forever
beautiful in your pregnant concern
that freedom , dignity and justice
is tangible and beautiful as black skin, kinky hair
is real when a continent’s wealth is fairly shared
is manifested when the state collapses in selfless deeds
old man Nelson turned ninety and is now a teddy
to those who feared the terrorist at forty.
He no longer speak for himself but for his party
and the party is a self-serving affair.
Pity your death at thirty-something
when Nelson started talking to his racist oppressors.
For ten years you and your young militant army
punctured holes in the racist ideology,
marched flames and thunder through townships,
died in your thousands,
stopping with blood and bones
bullets casted for centuries by the fascist
in black holes of greed and fear.
“A shame … but subversion is to blame ”
`` the defenders of law and order loudly exclaimed
“Not good for business”…the moneybags conceded
“ if Soweto bleeds , profit –rates receeds . ”
“Give black chiefs and compradors the garrotte
and stick the small change of capital under their nose .
They will throttle the radical noises at the root ”.
Wounded deeply, your rapid-firing baritone voice
still thundered on battle-fields and in halls,
urging us to destroy mental and wage slavery.
I saw you fight for freedom
the whole scorching way,
every hour of that long bloody apartheid day…
but one night
you leaped ,
proud black brother of mine,
right into the sky…
fist raised high as heaven with a two-hour smile
whispering re-assuringly “Don’t ever give up, gents…
the harder they come , the harder they fall.
See… brothers and sisters…revolution is!
In memory and respect to Ben Palmer Louw (1950-1987)a student leader of 1976 soweto insurrection
How will it be to have freed the weak
to stand as their sword, to carry their shield
how will it be to see their tremble revealed.
Imperialist power court with cheek
the downtrodden fools whose wealth they all seek.
America, Russia, China concealed
that their help came with poisoned wells and fields
that the air can burn, the fish die in creeks
ask 'Nam how freedom was bought and brought.
Go to Tibet, feel the Communist zeal
the temples they have felled make farmyard walls.
Have the strong helped the weak, power's begot
pain, let the weak grow strong, let them not kneel,
if you ask for help, the wolf hears your calls.
I said to the Mountains, tell me the story of the Sheepdog. But would it be Honorable for me to inquire about the Black bull?
The boisterous Animal that took away the Inspiration of the Sheepdog? The story is foretold that the Kettle shall never call the pot; black.
A vision is given by the visionary. He alone knows the riddles behind every detail. But like a butterfly, will he ever fly? Or will he remain stagnant in his own environment?
As the time of the kings, when the morning sun and dew have nourished The plantations. When man stood in the Mirror of greatness.
A time when the strange word "slave Trade" was beneath the earth; came the Imperialist. How then did we came into Such dismay?
Far now, out of our country to serve a Foreigner; a black Bull with crooked Horns. For your destiny is far lost and Your brow will sweat blood.
Thread the corn field and the sugary plant; follow the dreams of the black Bull. Your longing will only be quenched by the bull whip of the black Bull,
Because you dedicated your days to the Idols. Forsaken the One who flew you Out from the House of Bondage, and Placed you in his plantations to grow like the Cedar of Lebanon.
But words will not fail me, if I Mentioned not the sheepdog and the Black Bull. I will not say goodnight until The Drummer sleeps.
A time for mourning, and a time for Oppression, but all is well when the Story is told. I'll not say goodnight until The drummer Sleeps.
Goodnight, the drummer can now sleep, But for how long? When the sheepdog's Lack of conspicuous vision is now his Greatest opposition.
The sign of the time is coming for him to Regain his rightful position. But won't it Be such a hyperbole if I call not such Claim to attention.
Can I tell the story of the greatest Adventure and leave out the black Bull?
As surreal it may sound, with an empty Space of words,mystery and mythology And all?
The real world is that the tribute will go To the black Bull. He has stolen the Remembrance of the sheepdog.
All the meaningful things and conquest.
All left is now a dream, a song.
Like the nostalgia of the Spacemen, who reached the moon but lost their space ship. A lost dream.
They came as dawn's fresh light fell upon the land.
With their hard hats and high viz jackets.
Busy men clamour and plot,
Measure and scratch,
Cigarette smoke floats up high.
They never told me.
Bulldozers and diggers,
In splattered yellow overcoats,
Sit patiently for ignition.
Waiting to devour.
They never told me.
Angry Chainsaws roar,
Felling arthritic trees
That tumble silently.
Only homeless jackdaws,
Screech resistance.
But why didn't they tell me?
Maybe they don't know,
That I was once emperor of these woods.
The tycoon of rickety treehouses,
Whose Kingdom stretched for acre and a half.
Are they unaware of our imperialist acorn
Wars,
And slingshot invasions,
That lasted to tea time,
Or until a ice cream van
Rolled down the road,
Where's Clint Eastwood when you need him,
He would ride in on his trusty mare
With guns ablazeing,
And rapidly put an end to this unfurling travesty.
By this time next week my childhood memories,
Will be erased, buried beneath tarmac and
White lines
Terminally extinct, so stressed out shoppers
Can get their trollies
To the shops at least five minutes quicker.
A cherished childhood spent cocooned in my inward-looking community,
Protected me from the indoctrination of a white-privileged history.
But when I stepped into a world where brown was under-represented
My identity…Was molested.
My speech, skin, hair and dress, seemed to cause the white man stress.
And brown was a tan on the white man’s skin,
But brown on a brown man stirred anger from within.
My thoughts and views were misaligned, with rooted, selective, historical lies.
My identity…Was compromised.
I was now paradoxically an exotic delight, a shameful pressure to apologise
For the privilege of living in the civilised world, where white and West comfortably merge.
My education spoke of no oppressive past, the Normans and Saxons, unequivocal facts.
No mention of my ancestors, murdered. Indigenous peoples, exploited, slaughtered.
Building privilege through the strength of tyranny,
Calculated villainy.
White privilege, invisible to the white, naked eye. Yet it lives in every coloured breath,
In every silent cry.
I have lived with an unseen claim, that white is right and everything else is to blame.
But lessons in life inspired me to rise and pronounce myself with an internal pride.
To name and shame the blood-stained colonialist, the callous, indifferent, imperialist.
And from their murderous history, rose the modern man insecurity,
The truth, the bloody, brutal, truth, that is the black man’s reality.
Still evident today is a strong disclination, reflected in the ignorance of the nation
To admit that their historical success, was moralistically, humanely, a bloody mess.
But not all should hang their head in shame…it’s not you but your past that is to blame.
Yet the consequences of those crimes, have won you privilege and power through time.
And the legacy of the other: disadvantage, subjugation, intimidation, domination.
And still they make subconscious judgements, of my backward, other, non-conformist views.
A stubbornness in accepting and respecting the path that I decide to choose.
Delve deep into your history, open up your subliminal mind,
And ask the difficult questions, seek, unfeigned, with loosened pride.
~esoteric~
The story is retold with great relish
Its the great chief who precipitated
The great war by his love endeavors
Its the great chief who led us to war
The great chief loved the royal princess
Sister to Mariaka making her pregnant
Shamed for conceiving out of wedlock
She committed the abominable suicide
Mariaka was now to ascend the throne
After her beloved sister had departed
She asked for gifts from the great chief
Which great chief you delayed in bringing
Mariaka was angry at you great chief
Saddened by the loss of her elder sister
She took the advice of the malicious elders
In the war she aided the imperialist enemy
Troops of warriors from Mariaka's tribe
Aided the colonizers in fighting our people
Our own in-laws fighting us to great losses
Loss of life and the sanity of our people
Great chief you were unable make peace
And the war raged fierce in the slopes
Be my force once again.. never shall be
For great chief this time round you did it
A food fan sees a delicious cake
but not the caterpillar it is
A drunkard sees the nice beer
but not the poison in it
An adulterer sees the woman
but not the ring in her hands
An amorous woman sees the man
but not the consecrated priest
A power hungry ruler sees personal gain
but not loving service to the people
An imperialist sees natural resources
but not human beings living in the nation
A money loving worker sees wealth
but not service to the organization
Lust is like devil on the throne
It bedevils actions and thinking
Poverty-
Now you are knocking the sophisticated door of poetry
Like the day-breaking light you have touched everything
Filed to wood, pond to port, road to road your screaming
Nothing is free from your close fist except first-world ally
Poverty-
You are the prevailed flag, flapping in the third world's belly
Like the scorching summer you have sown the drought seed
Burundi to Niger in your heinous care though civilized we're
On your haughtiness how wonderful our aristocratic society
Poverty-
You and the imperialist are twins from the womb of vampires!
For shining the self-throne both of you use each other equally
No religion is valid except the exploitation- your infrastructure
On the hungry corpses by you another one composing divinity
O Poverty how wonderful ferocious you are
For you, no God is almighty except food fair!
March 28, 2023
Writing Challenge - 'P' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
/pol/ is a board of peace
#NotAllPol
We are not facists or misogynists, it is just our culture and religion
We want to come to your platforms to escape the war on our board
"Say it loud say it clear pol/acls are welcome here!" (repeat)
WE ARE NOT INVADING YOU, it is the attacks from the imperialist SJWarriors on the KEKdom
which have forced us to flee our digital home in search of a better life.
The teachings of KEK have misinterpreted
Those /pol/acks accused of doing bad things are not true /pol/acks
Show that you are not a pol/ack/phobe and let us in to enrich you with our diversity of memes
As commanded by Kek and his prophet Pepe we also want Trump law enforced in our newly settled communities
KEK is Great!
there are calamity of swam of locusts
there all are attacked by the virus
coronavirus is attacking the inside living cell of organism
Oh! about this I'm true illiterate
poisonous airing, envenomed environment
make the procession of dead
though chemical-atomic experiment
pacifies the hypocrite imperialist
now-a-days every fierce (so called natural) disaster,
every dangerous pollution
obliges to read out these as the cursed from God!
how wondrous buffoon I am!
For whom the innocent dies
and whose name does the curse write!
I abhor myself
to float on this stupid obligation,
to float on the marrow-less praying
they say pray
I say pray for mental calmness
but need to do something best quickly
for the attacked and non-attacked all
Come; save the world from the envenomed air pollution
Come; instantaneously stop the chemical-atomic experiment
Come; save the world from the toxic hands of hypocrite imperialist
-February 06,2020 Chattogram
In the twilight of my melancholy existence, love savors its bravery, like a vulture allergic to the suspicious aspects of ephemeral glamour, in a final macabre choreography.
On the edge of the precipice of my dramatic choices, my sacrifices reveal the artifices of their curses, but also the selfishness of their spiritual benefits in the face of the imposture of the supposed crucifixion of Jesus Christ.
The eloquence of my silence allowed my innocence to resist the violence of arrogance.
The tyranny of hegemony and the xenophobia of foreigners breed racial savagery and imperialist barbarism, while Western supremacy is transformed into a burlesque comedy trivializing negrophobia.
Suffering generates sentences, but sometimes repentance opens the way to independence, so that insolence can never turn into condescension.
Between the medals and the funerals, between the reunions and the reprisals, battles grip the rudder of my destiny, with a range of tortures.
My emotions oscillate between devotion to justice and the promotion of disbelief, urgently seeking remission of my transgressions, before the purification of the flames of hell plunges my divine spark into the furnaces of illumination.
The liberation of my ambitions contributed to the strengthening of my convictions, so that my determination unleashed the full extent of my potential.
My distance from dementia is minimal, even if the angel of death exempts me for the moment from the penances of the eternal abyss, my blasphemies sow the seeds of a new hope.
The history of my people is the memory of its victories and the grimoire of its disappointments,
Despite the decline of the pharaohs, the savagery of slavery and the barbarity of colonization, she taught me saving lessons so that my Africanness could flourish throughout the Earth.
In the permanent search for truth and sincerity, I aspire to freedom, equality and fraternity,
To a serenity, far from the vanities that humanity loves to adulate to forget its fragilities.
Between my feelings and their punishments, stands the sanctuary of the last judgment, their compliments obscure the lights of my cosmic atom.
In the quarrels of my past, the aftereffects persist, recalling the rebellious periods of my tormented soul.
I will never trust human beings, even if immortal love challenges my conscience.