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Best Poems Written by John Ngor D Garang

Below are the all-time best John Ngor D Garang poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | John Ngor D Garang Poem

Happiness With Strangers

Sometimes, happiness is found in unexpected places,
In the smiles of strangers who cross our paths,
In the kindness of strangers who lend a hand,
& in the stories of strangers who share their hearts.

Yesterday, it was like a ray of sunshine,
That broke through the clouds of loneliness,
That warmed up the coldness of indifference,
And brightened up the darkness of despair.

Today, happiness is like a drop of water,
That quenches the thirst of curiosity,
That nourishes the growth of friendship,
And refreshes the soul of humanity.

Tomorrow, happiness will be found in unexpected places,
Alongside strangers, who will become more than strangers,
Strangers who will become our associates.
& strangers who become our happiness.

Details | John Ngor D Garang Poem

A Soldier's Trust

 Trust is a bottle
That I drink to forget
The things that I've done
And the things that I regret

Trust is a bullet
That I load in my gun
The only thing that's loyal
When the enemy comes

Trust is a gamble
That I play with my life
The odds are against me
But I still roll the dice

Trust is a lie
That I tell to myself
The only way to cope
With this living hell

Details | John Ngor D Garang Poem

Growth

I feared heights when I was a kid,
& as an adult, women and responsibilities are what I fear,
If heaven is in the skies,
Maybe one day I'll meet Him on Jebel Amianin,
When the urge to think,
Draws me close to Him. 

It's weird how of all the million pages in a newspaper,
Children only scan the colourful pages,
Funny how I used to be that kid too,
Carefree and excited,
Yet now,
I can't help hating familiar places that once held dear memories,

Growth has two things,
Disappointments and misquoted statements,
They say bees flea smoke,
But what if smoke is the most polite language that tells the bees go away,
We sleep with hope of a colourful tomorrow,
But when we wake,
Tomorrow is a yesterday and the next a tomorrow.

Sometimes my future is the miraculous Mosaic bush in flames,
& I have high hopes a ram will appear and I'll I'll walk out the furnace,
But every waking morning,
None of these hopes,
Comes out of the smoke.

Now I grow from strength to strength just to fill someone's shoes,
For expectations— which always did exist 
And needs, of no name— of many names,
Just like I'd drop a tear in the ocean,
And be tasked to find it.

A pair I can appreciate about growth,
Is that I can sew words and make a dress of it
& Coffee isn't off my boundary anymore,
So yes,
I'm living the best I can— one day a boy—the next a man.

Details | John Ngor D Garang Poem

Be Grateful

Be grateful for the sun that shines,
And burns your skin and hair,
For I have only felt its heat,
Through rags and scars, I wear.

Be grateful for the moon and stars,
That mock your dreams at night,
For I have only cursed at them.
In anger and spite.

Be grateful for the home you have,
And all the stuff you hoard,
For I have only seen the trash,
And the filth that you discard.

Be grateful for the love you feel,
And all the lies you tell,
For I have only known the truth,
Of hate, hurt and hell.

Be grateful for the life you live,
And all the sins you bear,
For I have only paid the price,
Of guilt and grief and care.

But don't you worry, my dear friend,
Or think that I am mad,
For I have also found a way,
To cope with being sad.

I have dark humor,
A sharp wit,
A sarcasm that cuts deep,
& a stark cynicism.

I have gratitude as well,
For every joke I make,
For every laugh I hear or cause,
& For every chance I take.

So be grateful, sure, but also know,
That gratitude is just a show,
You must also cheat, steal and lie,
And make this world a better place for you and me.

Details | John Ngor D Garang Poem

The Smoke Man

There is a character I had known back at the barracks,
That his doings earned him the title 'Smoke man,'
He had weird habits that always succumbed to change,
He had a way of bringing life to introductions & then deep graves on mid-parts,
The only thing he ever finished was his ciggie.

His loss of interests shriveled like rains in July,
And he lost patience fast,
You could hear him complain of hunger at times food delayed over the fire,
And when it's finally served,
He would take three or at most four spoons,
Spit out the last and bark 'Whatever this new recruits can cook, a rat can better,
As he pulls out a victim from his cigarette packet.

Sometimes I think he found more meaning in cigarette packets,
Than in all the Arabic the Janabu spoke,
Along with his promises of outcomes,
He did not have much,
But had never been poor enough not to afford a pack of ciggies.

Yesterday he was out on a Valentine's date with a girl,
I could sense his excellent starts,
As the woman released conservative chuckles and giggles now and then a while later,
At one moment he reached into his pockets as if searching for something important,
You could puzzle out the anxiety and expectations on his date's face,
As if expecting an engagement ring or something of interest,
To her disappointed he shoveled out a lighter and smirked.

They say time changes people,
But for as long as I've known this man,
He's never changing,
Not until he goes into a grave,
Where there are no chairs & cigarettes.

*Janabu is an Arabic word for a senior rank military officer

© John Ngor Deng