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Njukang Princeley Poem
How much they hurt I know,
The wrongs, the things I did years past.
The wounds so deep still show,
The pains profound still last.
The wrongs, the things I did years past;
Those many slaps, those many blows;
The pains profound still last.
All I e'er brought were woes.
Those many slaps, those many blows;
They were ne'er what I promised you.
All I e'er brought were woes,
Oceans of tears filled you.
They were ne'er what I promised you,
Those heartbreaks, those lies.
Oceans of tears filled you,
Even the heavens wept at your cries.
Those heartbreaks, those lies;
The scars left still hurt thee.
Even the heavens wept at your cries,
I was to love, to cherish thee.
The scars left still hurt thee,
Time passes but they stay new.
I was to love, to cherish thee,
But pains and tears, that's all I gave you.
Time passes but they stay new,
Those bruises, those holes in your heart.
But pains and tears, that's all I gave you,
I tore your world, your life apart.
Those bruises, those holes in your heart,
Ne'er knew I'd feel them also.
I tore your world, your life apart,
Now I too am torn and filled with sorrow.
Ne'er knew I'd feel them also,
The brutality, the cruelty and the tears.
Now I too am torn and filled with sorrow,
Cursed has been my world these years.
The brutality, the cruelty and the tears,
For these and the rest I'm sorry.
Cursed has been my world these years,
Please forgive, erase every memory.
For these and the rest I'm sorry,
Through hell I've learned to treasure gold.
Please forgive, erase every memory,
I'd make today's sun bright and bold.
Through hell I've learned to treasure gold,
The wounds so deep still show.
I'd make today's sun bright and bold,
How much they hurt I know.
Copyright © Njukang Princeley | Year Posted 2020
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Njukang Princeley Poem
There was a man with bright white eyes,
And his eyes, they whispered the lies
That cocks tell to woo
Hens to love them true.
I loved him, and ended in cries!
Copyright © Njukang Princeley | Year Posted 2020
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Njukang Princeley Poem
She comes to sing for bread and breath,
In a pathway by his window.
Time too is stopping this morning
With a longing to hear her voice.
She tiptoes, then stops, then tiptoes
Until she reaches the window.
Song in her mouth, guitar on her
Hand with fingers fixed on the cords,
But no song can come out because
Her lyrics get lost in his eyes.
She tries to draw back, but is drawn
Forth by that force the rose best knows.
So she stands and longs for his heart,
And spells his name on her guitar.
Then a new song fills her lips,
His heartbeat guiding the rhythm.
The lyric painting his portrait,
And the cords pulling him nearer.
He leaves the window and walks down,
Smiling, showing his thirty-two
Till he stands by her gentle side.
She keeps singing, inundating
Him with her soft honeyed voice.
He joins her, they sing and sing.
But when he turns to say a word,
She quietly walks away
Because she knows their skies are
Parallel to each other.
Copyright © Njukang Princeley | Year Posted 2020
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Njukang Princeley Poem
Today, we remember
the long, scorching march into the tombstone—
eyes like oceans, salt pouring from flesh.
Today, we remember
the cross, 300 pounds heavy,
bent and dipped into his head.
How he slipped and swayed,
sandwiched in a crowd of tunes—
// slaps // claps // shouts//
“He healed the blind! He delivered many from afflictions!
Now, why can’t he save himself by the power of Beelzebub?”
Today, we remember
how flayed and flaccid he fell,
and none who drank from his cup of blessings
offered a hand. This man,
once worthy of a palm-carpeted floor,
had become everyone’s criminal,
a relic of death's penalty.
Today, Jesus, we remember
your heart shedding its veins,
taking the piercings of the cross
like a Lauren Daigle song.
Today, we see
that love is helplessness, not showiness,
that it is sacrifice, not selfishness.
You could have called down a million guillotines,
instructed angels with swords,
vanished from the sight of all
who stood waiting
for you to become good food for the grave.
But what did you do?
It is what we remember today:
your throat baked, a leaf in autumn,
hammers pumping nails like blood
into your flesh, blood pouring unto blood.
Today, we remember
like Kumba and Ngarbuh,
Yes… we remember!
Copyright © Njukang Princeley | Year Posted 2025
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