CULTIVATORS OF GOD
Living peacefully,
plowing up damaging wars,
let’s cultivate life:-
If home is where your story begins,
Why does it feel unlike home at the end?
A picture in my mind about yesterday was a little bit divine.
But the darkness I felt today was heavy and a bit too unkind.
I had been informed that the house was no longer there.
But I thought there'd be something for me to share.
Instead, all I could do was cry inside and stare.
Feeling like a frozen ball of emotion, it was much
too cold to bear. I never realized it would hurt so bad
to return. Or that a return to my little hometown would
be enough to astound me.
A playground with a merry-go-round was gone. Nothing that
I felt was like anything I had known in all my days. Where
my house and my childhood friend's house once stood,
There were now cultivators, tractors, and combiners.
My wife was by my side, but I felt so much alone.
Such was the area of the village where I was born.
It seemed every nerve piece of my body was torn.
It once was home where I had first begun to learn;
But yesterday and today became hard to discern. It
was 'once upon a place', so challenging to trace; and
The tangibles are gone, but the memories will not be erased.
061524PS
Lake Tanganyika is
Very large
And deep
With many spaces
of fish and animals.
One of the sources
Of finance of Bajoba
( Bavira, Babwari Babemba,
Bamasanzi, Baswima
...etc.)
As they are majority cultivators
And fishers.
Tanganyika is the first lake
with more spaces
of fish in the World,
Second biggest lake in Africa
And
Second deepest lake in the World.
Name Tanganyika is from Kijoba
( Kitanga kye nyika)
Which means the residence
Of electric fish
Which is called
" Nyika"
Many Bajoba were warning
Swimmers about the dangerous
Electric fish in the lake.
June 10th 2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
Note:
Bajoba: fishers
Most tribes living the boundaries of lake Tanganyika in Tanzania, Burundi, DRCongo and Zambia.
Their language is called Kijoba
When you go to Bavira,
They call it" kivira "
Babwari call it "kibwari, "
Babemba call it " kibemba "
but all are Bajoba
Bantu with same
Tradition and culture.
In caverns deep, away from light,
The evil cultivators practice might,
Their twisted minds seek to enslave,
All living things which they deprave.
With chants and spells, they call forth powers,
Summon beasts to stir the hours,
Wielding magic with wicked intent,
Their evil ways they will not repent.
The darkness creeps and blackness falls,
As evil cultivators heed the calls,
Of force and fear, with demons near,
Their evilness knows no peer.
In secret places, they conspire,
With oaths and cursing to inspire,
The strength of darkness to abide,
And conquer all that's good inside.
Beware the evil cultivator's snare,
For few escape and leave a prayer,
To those who fall under their spell,
There's little hope and none to tell.
Horse is a powerful friend;
Mankind knows horse will not betray his trust.
The blending of these souls, harmonious.
Life has many harmonies,
Though not all friendships
Breed complete trust.
Those who earn one’s trust,
Cultivators of harmony;
Like a noble steed, one true friend.
One true friend in a lifetime is,
More precious than hundreds we call friends.
Is my awareness limited by my bad habits?
Within the absence of engine sounds I find time to sigh
I should be searching for the cultivators of my net dreams
Instead I’m buying paper for the books I plan to write
What the heck? It could be my awareness is limited
I feel echo chills from out of all the walls
The gradual sacrifice of my solo man
I’m nailed to my nickels and dimes
I make all of my skillful errors
while pounding on Sunday keyboards
Anonymously meeting in interstellar coffee shops
limits defining my unlimited choices
So I play Louis Armstrong
pondering the reason for words
These words borrowed from his titles
I feel the echo chills pounding like rain
This requires no sacrifice
I’m paying for nothing
I removed his Debit card from the table
It could be one more of those bad habits!
I was inspired to write this piece after reading some of “Sand Blown’s” poems. I found the title names to be intriguing so I used them to knit this piece together. Please join me in welcoming a talented new poet.
the cultivators
taught how to walk and talk
they approached as a group
each with a bowl of bread
given unto them by a lord
trying to speak and be strong
i said, "time moves along,
it, can't stand here all day
in contest.....i say...you say"
then they all talked at once
in different directions
throwing corrections
at everything i'd pronounce
my resources mustered
as their actions grew flustered
as my patience waned
at their reactions
their creations grew louder,
i said, "just cut the chowder,
leave now please, and don't come back"
the storm eased and mine was the final thunder clap
long since when
i've not seen them again
i can tell you they are much less
than sourly missed
in fact they've dropped off
their radar somewhere else,
excepting, of course
for their last recourse
(every once in a while)
a pamphlet at the door
A farmer stocked in his farm
scorpions to serve him as guards
snakes to give him critical news
black ants to patrol the farmland
Moles he brought as cultivators
locusts to harvest the ripe crops
trusted rats to store the harvests
butterflies to oversee activities
Every creature was industrious
but an enemy appeared suddenly
hurricane came from the high seas
scorpions and all were swept away
Farmer trusted powers he planted
but everything got swept with him