How many times have I been,
or perceived to have been,
the victim of cruelty or injustice,
which I tolerated,
as I felt it was necessary to survive
or, if not to survive,
to maintain a minimum standard of living -
as a child,
as a sick person,
as a subordinate in a corporation?
How did it make me feel?
Angry.
How did it work out when I expressed my anger?
Poorly.
Hence, much of my life was lived
through a clenched jaw.
Which doesn't seem pleasant.
Is there another way?
Philosophy?
Religion?
Forgiveness?
Acceptance?
Reassessing when I must compromise?
Learning a new way to communicate -
civil, yet uncompromising?
I wonder.
Snail eat food
Slowly like
A sick person.
From early on, I have liked figures, numbers, and percentages.
I also liked math, even trigonometry, until the scholars created
the 'New Algebra'. I continued to like general math but never
became friends with the new algebra. Moreover, math never
became what I would consider a hobby.
But reading and writing? That is different.
Reading and writing are my two hobbies.
For many years, I have done both but
at no time like the last 20 years.
The writing themes are endless,
and occasionally, the themes
are not chosen by myself. They
come from outside in the form
of life stories as well as from
my inward being as poetry.
Often, I can decide and sit down
for my pleasure of reading, but
I never seem to sit down and say,
"I think that I will write a poem
or a short story". Perhaps I will
see a cloud, or visit a sick person,
remember an old friend, etc.
Then, something begins to form
and build within me. Bingo! Out
comes a story or poem. If it makes sense,
'I don't look for writing; it finds me'.
042124PS
The wounded sigh of a father,
Tells his concern for his child
Whose actions seem stupid and wild.
The wounded sigh of a teacher,
Reflects his worry for his pupil
His progress, if he can’t quadruple.
The wounded sigh of a wife,
Shows her anxiety for her better half
As she senses a threat for her marriage graph.
The wounded sigh of a doctor,
Denotes his apprehension for his sick person
Whose health does progressively worsen.
The wounded sigh of an emperor,
Is the sign of bother for the safety of his nation
As he sees his warriors’ gradual elimination.
The wounded sigh of an environmentalist,
Is the signal of his distress against pollution
And his search for the ways of its solution.
The wounded sigh of a peace lover,
Is the symbol of his hostility towards wars
As they destroy the lives of crores.
She wasn't feeling Well,
When she was going to the Well,
Her father was making a Will,
He finished it by God's Will.
The place was called Jacob's Well,
Any sick person drunk the water from that Well
And became Well.
When she came back home , she was very Well.
Written 03-03-2023
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe Mussabwa Chris
We’ll never understand what makes
A random gunman tick.
To shoot a stranger does imply
That person must be sick.
Yet even if that is the case,
There should be in the brain
A message getting through demanding
That he should refrain.
A bunch of people shopping
Or a rider on the Q
Or a class of 4th-grade students –
Not a one of them who knew…
That his life would soon be over;
There’d be no more stress or fun,
All because of one sick person
Who had access to a gun.
Banned man
So, it finally happened, of course, Trump gets the blame
but I think this, not the whole story.
For years the workers have seen their wage packet shrinking
and their rights being ignored, no health insurance
nor trade union to look after their interest
As the common man gets poorer, the wealthy get richer
they live with the fear of needing surgery or losing the job.
The two ills go together if a sick person stay away from work
too long he gets fired anyway.
The people revolted Trump fanned the flame that already
was lit.
And it gets worse the big tech firms have banned the president
of the united states and that is an outrage that belongs
to a dictatorship, it has a sinister implication that doesn’t bode well
for us civilian when only what suits the big tech get a hearing
this includes anyone of us at any time.
The crowned virus from Wuhan
Rapidly spreads day and night;
It transmits from man to man,
Filling up the world with fright.
The people are in panic,
Each patient lies down on bed;
The threat becomes pandemic,
Leaving many victims dead.
The covid-nineteen infects
The mouth, the nose, and the eyes;
The body's lungs it affects,
Until the sick person dies.
The lockdown and quarantine
Are immediately employed;
The search for the right vaccine
Is what the WHO can't avoid.
The washing of hands is fine,
So is the social distance,
Staying home neath the sunshine
Gives household a better chance.
Form: Tanaga
I am as well as any sick person has a right to be
From the outside, people may labeling me as carefree
Not knowing the monster inside who is terrified
staying up nights, grinding her teeth, trying to ignore
the monster within.
I am singing, and dancing, pretending in all the right ways
that life is optimistic and hopeful and kind,
Keeping my tears and jeers to myself.
How would knowing benefit others?
Why bring them down with me?
I am living the dream,
doing the dance, being the one
Others think has her act together
Scoffing at their non-eagerness to actually know me.
Gloating in my superior knowledge of the turmoil that is mine alone…
I want a woman who makes love to me with her eyes open,
I want a woman who will look into mine.
I want a woman who smiles wonderfully,
I want a woman who cries gently.
I want a woman who peeps into my soul,
I want a woman whose heart is wonderful.
I want a woman whose talks bubble to her lips,
I want a woman whose joys are similar to her weeps.
I want a woman who loves the needy person,
I want a woman who cares the sick person.
I want a woman who always respect others,
I want a woman who makes the way for the new comers.
Dare to care for those who are hungry and have nothing to eat
Dare to care for the people who are homeless and living on the street
Dare to care for that sick person who won't get well
Dare to care about the youths who have made their home inside a cell
Dare to care about the battered wife who feels he loves me when he hits me,
she never knew what it was like to have real love, the only love she knows
is through the pain of a glove.
Dare to care for the baby who was born with aids, you see the mother fell for every
guy she met at a glance and now because of her negligence this innocent baby
hasn't been given a chance. Dare to simply tell a stranger to have a good day,
something so simple might be whats needed to chase their blues away.
Little things mean a lot, you don't have to have millions to make someone's day,
A smile or a kind word or deed just might be all it takes to pave the way.
Dare to care.
Child reads the stories
Of great explorers
He dreams of deep jungles
And wonderful animals
But he does not realize
How dreadful the place is
Until he crosses one of the seas
And among foreigners he is
Some hate him because of his accent
Others because his pale skin
Not just white but pale
Like a sick person according to them
This is somewhere else not Africa
But Africa for pale faced boy is even worse
Animals fight between each other to
But at least they only fight to survive
Yet they will all eventually vanish
Such is a peril of life
That which once was beautiful story of Dark Continent
Now is understood as inhospitable living dying hell
But beware of a curse
And anger of man with face like death
Only he the fate can decide
Beware of wizard turning into warlock
The song goes I bless the rains in Africa
Beware this turning opposite of that
The pale faced boy is now a man
And only he can save Africa if it does not destroy him first
I wait for you
Like the night sky waiting for the kiss of dawn
Like the parched earth waiting for refreshing rain
Like the hungry child waiting for a morsel of bread
I wait for you….
Alone
Parched
Famished
I wait for you…
I wait for you
Like a writer waiting for the touch of inspiration
Like a sick person waiting for healing
Like a bird waiting to catch the breeze to soar
I wait for you….
Needy
Bruised
Weak
I wait for you...
Like a refugee waiting for a place called home
Like a mourner waiting for comfort
Like winter waiting to make love to spring
Like death waiting for resurrection
I wait for you….
Poor
Dejected
Shriveled
Lifeless
I wait for you...
And in the waiting….
I find my comfort, joy, and life
For you have promised
It won’t be long
Till you are here
Ending the wait
With your love
Eileen Manassian Ghali
(12/15/12)
As the nation weeps today for the twenty
Angels which were taken away
We also weep for their families and friends
For this pain will never end.
Sitting in their classrooms with thoughts
And hopes and dreams of the holidays
In came a sick person to wipe their dreams away.
We will never know what went thru his mind that day
To take away innocent lives in such a brutal way.
It is true that god has given us free will
But why go to a school and these children he kills.
Let us not forget the adults also who gave
Their lives trying to protect the children
On this day -For them also we do pray.
Tears fill my eyes and pains fill my heart
And their names , ages, or genders
We may not know or remember
But to them our hearts and love
We do surrender.
So fly my little cherubs, and take the angels hands
For you are going to gods promised land
Where there is no suffering, wars or pain
And gods love is the what remains.
(12/14/12)
a day of tears and broken spirits
spent on the floor in
frustration and no commmication
blame, causes and denial
tired of the lectures and accusations
the guilt and confusion
years spent thinking that i had to give everything to have people care
dinners, money, time
everything has been for the keeping of the peace
the status quo
don't understand why everything broke
family torn apart
freindships with conditions
unconitional love that was not there when needed
hurt and confusion
never meant to keep things from people just tried to keep things separate
would never endanger those i love
truly believe that it was my duty to help a sick person
but am learning to realize
it cannot happen if i lose everything that is me.
years spent giving in
years spent not speaking up
years spent keeping peace at all costs
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