Profane words, poor things, scorned as contraband,
In contrast arraigned with words weighed as sane
That hold a moral firm ground-- for long grand.
Forbidden, they talk to us in words plain
But are powered by voltage of thunder clouds
Which, words that wear civil dress seldom can.
What beauty-- words raw, truthful, not in shrouds,
Honest if rude, can do free from restrain!
Not sure? Try stub your toe and mark your jibe:
Sage decorum nor yet homilies rife,
Nor vague philosophical diatribe,
Nor yet poetic prompt on fleeting life!!
Pain, no child of elegant etiquettes,
Spews words profane-- flood flooding past floodgates.
_________________________________
Sonnet (tongue-in-cheek) | 17.12.2025 | profane, sane, words
Note: The part - II follows.
Extempored Etiquettes
Elaborated conversations of old
Mildly in motion
of words to express
Synesthetic syncopations
silenced inner egos.
Naived out soul
Anticipates long enough
for a change to show-up
As Clouds faded
and day showed up
Life whispers a note
Of Now
I would move mountains for all the working mothers:
To untangle our communities and have someone see their true colors.
To stop mothers from carrying the brunt of communal dysfunction,
To guide a little cultural deconstruction,
To redirect the debilitating parental judgment,
To provide more support from the government,
To end the overstimulated etiquettes that have always been known,
To deconstruct those parenting standards we’ve outgrown,
To assist with the impossible parenting choices,
To hear these working mothers' voices.
To help homes stay financially viable,
To create childcare that is reliable,
To become a work-life balance advocate,
To build postpartum support that's adequate,
To support the countless and endless asks,
To end the pressure of the myriad of household tasks.
To stop being accustomed to survival mode.
It's time to start enjoying the motherly road,
Because the weight of being someone’s everything is as heavy as it is light,
Moving Mountains for them seems right.
Sometimes it’s obvious
And sometimes subtle
That no matter what good you try to do
The universe rewards you with the opposite.
It might be as simple as the duality we create
By such intentions;
A materialist mindset
That falls into a Newtonian universe
Of every action needing
An equal and opposite reaction.
Bound by these rules of physics
The road to hell
Is certainly paved.
While beyond these rules
The wise and masterful play.
The problem is
Within the bounds of materialism
We are all slaves
Ruled by our own fears and hopes
Narrowly following our individual paths
Heads down
Our persistent plodding
The very force that turns the grind stone.
While beyond these rules - the etiquettes of a guest
Needing permission to sit and stay, come and lay down -
The host in all His graciousness
Allows us the freedom to be enslaved.
(8/4/23)
When a tree dries
It becomes like a plea
Of a mannerless woman.
Roots feed and sustain
The entire tree and branches;
And its leaves, long or short.
Such a dry tree
Stands alive while dead;
Its roots are uprooted.
The entire tree becomes lifeless
Its branches have dried up
And its leaves fall down.
Such is a dry tree
So will children born
On a rootless woman
For it germinated carelessly;
It lacked good care and watering,
While it was sprouting.
Lack of good sap in roots
Dries the bark and the branches
Such is a damaged childhood
For basic etiquettes missed.
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
The rains speak to me
Let the torrents wash along
Questions unasked
Sometimes
The words of the Old Man ring
Constant
Let the mountains speak
Let the winds howl
Timidly, I lap at waters
Tamed savages sip savagely from behind
Cages made of glass
Etiquettes and bestiality
Woven into
Golden urns
Whose contents are black ashes!
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In variety, tones, experiences and leaders.
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Poems old and new, metered and unmetered
In concoctions and functions to juxtapose
Critiques and etiquettes in literary manners undeterred.
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In poetic craft in friendly interactions
To enable growth bereft of wrath
As poetry evolves in several directions.
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There are all sorts of pupils in my class
Class management is becoming a nightmare each day
There is Shakespeare in my class
When asked questions he talks in riddles and proverbs
I have Ronaldo in the front seat
Once in class he kicks dusters and chalk all over the room
Galileo cannot be motivated
At the back of class he is all the time dreaming about stars
Michelangelo is never amused
As others are writing, he is busy painting and drawing images
Socrates has puzzled me
In tests he asks floods of hair raising questions- not answering
Oprah Winfrey has caused me sleepless nights
In class she is all the time dramatic in all responses to tasks
Karl Marx is ever on the move
Class to class he moves to ignite revolution against rich pupils
Mother Teresa is an enigma
While in class she is busy to praying and meditating
But there is one pupil who knows not his names
To answer simple arithmetic he runs all over school looking for calculator
These prodigal pupils in my class
Have sacrificed my professional etiquettes on the cross of incompetence
I nurse a dream of being a poet
Writing like Frosts, Shakespeares and Poes
Yet each glance at old works of poets
Sees my tall dream standing on its toe
Reading the lines so old and new
I marvel at arts which sweet words paint
How so subtle their sharp curves hue
Fair etiquettes on a soulful chant
I stand before the picture of my dream
Watching its shadow meet the face of the sun
With sparkles and glitters in streams
Words of old have my dream reborn
Too many questions
Came to my mind,
And rushed against my veins
Like ocean’s bubbles
Surfacing with hopes
To catch the last tropical rain.
Why is love not for everyone?
Like the sunshine reaching
All beings
Like the sea’s waves,
Reaching all virgin shores
Why is love not like
Water,
Bread,
salt,
spices,
Wine,
And perfumes.
Why is love not like
An infant water stream
With a big dream;
Comes from a titan desert to reach a big lake
Like a cloud and rain
Like grass and flowers
For everyone?
I thought
It is for all
Human being
With no exception
No etiquettes
No protocols
Or political debates
Why is it not possible
To have a natural love
Like a red rose
Rising up from
The sand
Why can love not
Grow up naturally
Over
Our chests,
Our hands,
Our legs,
Our backs,
And our heads
Like our
Black,
Soft,
Yellow,
Long,
Short
And curly hair?
Why is love not
given with our
birth certificate
As a second Personal ID?
Why love is not
A necessity
Like poetry?
Free your lips
From the daily etiquettes
And the charm of ancient veils
Do not run away
No one runs after drawing ones fate
Did you ever see
The sea running away from its tides
And hiding behind the shores.
Take off your veil
And your rings
And the Indian henna
You may not need them
Love journey is like
Crossing the ocean
With a rebellion young boat
And with a little water.
Show your feeling face
No need for hate
Hung it against the wall
Like a Victorian painting
Or an African lion scull
Convert your hate
Into a roman wine
Or a Chinese ink
To use later to write a future language
Plan for new fates
Life is held between your hungry lips
And your tattooed eyebrow.
Too many questions
Come to my mind
And rush against my veins
Like the ocean’s bubbles
Why love is not for everyone?
Like the sunshine reaching
All beings
Like the sea’s waves, reach all virgin shores
Why love is not like
Water
Bread
Wine
Like an enfant water stream
Come from a titan desert to reach a big lake
Like a cloud
And rain
Like grass and
Flowers
For everyone
I thought
It is for all
Human being
With no exception
No etiquettes
No protocols
Or political debates
Why it is not possible
To get a natural love
Like a red rose
Rising up from
The sand
Why love cannot
Grow up naturally
Over
Our chest
Like our
Black
Soft
Yellow
Long
Short
Alternatively, curtail hair
In our pens pockets
And wallet
Why love is not
A necessity
Like poetry?
I closed my embassy.
Before that,
I laid off the staff
With no writing warning,
Or excuses in advance.
I laid off the security guard too
It is a shaking time.
A lot of bloody feeling bombs,
Harassments,
And body language threats.
I tried a few diplomacy
To save this ancient
Mutual love
Interest
I tried really
To preserve
This bilateral
Romantic partnership
That flourished
Since the Babylonian era.
I want to Stop
Our lips shaking
With too much love
Etiquettes
I want to stop this
Cold and
High temperature
Collisions,
And earth quakes
Between the north and the south
You did not
Give me too many choices
Neither did I.
See, there is nothing between
Hell and Heaven.
I closed the embassy
I locked its oriental door
The only thing I took with me is
The last six years
Of our secret poems.
After a long discussing
With
Emily
Spiced with
Empirical
Etiquettes
She said,
“Send me something
For the sake of friendship.”
The time I got
Home
I opened the
Oxford
Dictionary
To clear the 8 words up
For fairness
I paged
96 pages
Of WOMAN SPYCHOLOGY,
71 pages
Of
WOMAN SPIRITUALITY,
SEX, AND RELATIONSHIP
Hell!
I did not find
Something that
Looks like
“for the sake of friendship”!
In this time
Of Ebay,
pop-ups,
sex and the city,
and
In this dark time
Of religion
And the apocalypse
Is this a
New gene discovery
Put on the first
Page
Of a
Misfortunate
Local
News paper
Or
A new kind
Of self serve
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