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DREAM OF AMERICA – A Poem

DREAM OF AMERICA

Dream of America
Incongruent with
Visions of America
In the eyes of
Apartheid abused
Brain’ screwed up
South African boychild’s
Long-sighted eyes
Of whom saw
Paradise in America
Through
Township Hollywood bioscopes
Until in adulthood
Seen with eyes from
Best of Europe
21st Century
Shit of America
Spews all-time high
Unhinged idiocy
So brazen
It hits
All fans in the world
Fills up
All wind tunnels of the world

People can’t breathe

It
Shit of America
Hallucinating that
It’s the best of America
The greatest nation on earth
Whilst
It
Shit of America
Mayhems against
Beautiful things
All that is life-supporting
Of progressive thought: truth
Of positive action: science
Of life-enhancing material artifacts: mathematical quantifications objectified
Rendering
African boychild
Half blind
In confusion
In disillusionment
In shame
In fear of
Obliteration of America
From the face of the earth
By its own
Deranged
Pathetic
Shit of America
In adulthood
Rendering new
President of America
Number 46
To
The other day
Ask
A rhetorical question
You don’t have to answer: what is wrong with these people

Alas
Shit of America
So dum
It can make
Neither head nor tail
Of the question
Goes on displaying obtrusively
From
Minute-to-minute
Hour-to-hour
Monday-to-Monday
Unabated
All year round
Live in live eyes fixated
On Live TV
On wide screens
In closed and open domains
Even in palms of our hands
Performances of stupidity in the extreme
In violence
Spewing venomous language
Only possible
In a shithole country

From the deep south
Paul Simon’s melody
Springs forth
Ladysmith Black Mambazo-like voices wail
Somebody says
We are what we eat

What do we shit
We shit what we eat


Shit of America
Eats own shit from
Six-hundred-years-old pit latrines
Embodied in ever insolent
Acts of blood-thirsty racial hate
Rationale of which is
Founded on idiotic
Small-mind games
Throwing a nightmarish shadow
Over just the idea
Of Ivy League universities’ existence
In the land
Crushing ideas of
African boychild’s
Acquisition of
Superior education
As envisaged in the
Dream of America
Ever so paradoxical
With engineering powers to defy gravity
Both in space and in
The belly of the earth
Medical skills taking
Human life existence on earth
To ever higher levels of well being
Consolidating ideas of immortality
Becoming reality
Rattling ideas of God as
The creator and destiny of life upon death
Against
Shit of America
Soiling
Dream of America’s
Glorious creative arts culture
Blurring
Grown up
African boychild’s
Visions of America
Of hope
Of earthly salvation
In a perfect world of
Equality for all
Fraternity for all
Liberty for all

Cream of America
Are my sisters and brothers
My friends
In the land
That
Shit of America
Is ever so fervent
To burn alive
While the world
Friends and foes alike
Watch in dismay
If not with glee
For their differential wishes
Varying intentions

Cream of America
That is my people
Radiates love
As that is
What they live on

When they speak
They sing freedom
When they walk
They dance with peace

Upon being lynched
They die with honour
Inspiring hope
Fortifying faith
World wide
That
Change’s gonna come
Contra
Calamitous
Dangerous
Nefarious
Preposterous
Scandalous
Shit of America
For which God
Could never save for the
Dream of America
Sustained in my heart
For my dearly beloveds
In the land
That was once
Home to a majestic people of
Sunset-red-golden skin colour
Until
Would-be
Shit of America
Trash of Europe
Now with homegrown
And from elsewhere
Black-brown skin shithole slickers
Came ashore
Forever disparaging
Dream of America

I’ll make a rhetorical request
You don’t have to respond
God save America
Expunge
Shit of America
If only for the dream
Dreamers of which
Will walk on water
Will walk through walls
Scale concrete and metal walls
Leave flesh and hair on barbed-razor-wire fences for walls
Run on air alongside giant aeroplanes
Take off
Fly
Fall and die
In aspirations of
Fulfillment of
Dream of America
Land of today’s
Ben & Jerry’s ice cream
If that’s all the dream
Can ever give for
Redemption
Prior to
Death to
Dream of America
End of the world

Earth rumbles
Lady Liberty tumbles
Heavens weep
With the floods
There goes
Dream of America
Where is God
When we need her
To save the
Dream of America
END
©Simon Chilembo 27/08-202

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
Telephone: +4792525032
September 09, 2021

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PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

DECOMMISSIONED – A Poem

Overkill in My World

.. Metal falls
To the ground
Glue and tape peel off and fall
To the ground
Bricks column crumbles and falls
To the ground
I stand tall
On the ground
Plastic shrinks and falls
To the ground
I can breathe …
©Simon Chilembo 13/07-2021

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
July 19, 2021

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

THE RUTHLESS RULE

Kassie Jungle Law: Only the Strong Survive

In my never-ending attempt at seeking to make sense of events in the world today, I, as a reflex, regularly look back at the first fourteen-and-half years of my life in South Africa, 1960 June – 1975 January. Growing up in the then racist apartheid state has profoundly impacted my life. Day-to-day living was ever so dramatically charged. Such that, on the one hand, one could but choose to numb oneself to the volatility of emotions, if not traumas arising, and live on disenchanted and detached from the gruesome, disenfranchised reality.

On the other hand, one could look at, hop onto the intricate traumatic feelings and thoughts bandwagon, learn survival ropes, and hope for the best; longevity being a remote idea. Wishful thinking. Although the OPEC oil crunch of the early 1970s had already begun to make its mark globally, this period could easily be seen as the golden years of the apartheid regime’s economic might. The oppressed Black population segment was subjected to extremes of state security agencies’ violence.

©Simon Chilembo 2018 Author/ Poet/ Publisher
©Simon Chilembo 2018 Author/ Poet/ Publisher

Oppression is some costly business. It curtails human resources productive potential growth and manifestation. Atrocious. Oppression will last to the extent that the oppressors’ financial base remains sufficiently robust to sustain the oiling of the oppressive state machinery at all levels. Money talks. Money rules. As it is with South Africa, a country’s endowment with a variety of natural resources that the world is willing to pay generously for is of crucial importance. Oppressors maximize their hold by capturing the wealth of their nations, therefore. They personalize the wealth, becoming super-rich individually and along with their family members, as well as their power clique hounds. At the same time, their nations get caught in quagmires of long-term poverty and international indebtedness

The Soweto Students’ Uprising of June 16, 1976, would not only change the liberation struggle course. It changed the political landscape of South Africa as well; further weakening the oppressive state’s capital base. Apartheid had to ultimately collapse. Not because somebody woke up one morning and suddenly discovered that the system was in fact diabolic. The fact is that it simply was no longer economically viable. And prospects of any meaningful bounce back were bleak. Added pressure from the international trade sanctions had brought the country down on its knees.  

The effective brutality of the apartheid regime reproduced itself across the entire Black populace by default – in the home; at absolutely all levels of social interaction. That to the extent that the nature of fundamental survival power relations dynamics cultivated then amongst Black people themselves have endured. Albeit manifest at even more sophisticated, grander scale, and more destructive levels in keeping with societal management complexities and technological advancements of the times in the 21st Century.

During the apartheid domination years, many a Black South African exile carried along with them these survival power relations dynamics into the Diaspora. Not that it helped the concerned exiles much from the point of view of applying the same survival strategies as generally functional in the township, or kassie culture in Black South Africa. Kassie is a corruption of the Afrikaans language word, lokasie; which means location. Observing, establishing, and maintaining links with fellow South African exiles has kept my fascination with the Black people’s fundamental survival power relations dynamics alive during all these years.

Post-1994 South Africa has also been accessible to me. It’s the land of my birth, the land of my family’s maternal-side ancestry, after all. Thirty-eight-and-half years since living abroad, I returned to stay in the country for five years, 2013-18. As such, I have been in touch with the trends in the land all along. Much had changed drastically at about all levels. However, characteristic personal survival attitudinal attributes have remained constant. I shall dwell on these later on in this essay as I unravel prerequisites for the workings of the ruthlessness of kassie jungle law rule.     

Kassie is a funky catchphrase these days. But originally, it essentially implied a slum; not much unlike Brazilian favelas, for example. In practice, the meaning hasn’t changed in any big way. From the colonial era, peaking during the apartheid years, and stretching into contemporary times, tens of thousands-upon-thousands-to-millions of Black South Africans were dumped here. It initially was predominantly male labourers working in the mines and the agro-industrial complex.

There would be a few state functionaries and even fewer professionals in various vocational categories here and there. Much as there would be numerous fortune hunters engaged in all kinds of illicit endeavours; from petty crimes to large-scale organized crime activities involving alcohol, drugs, precious stones and metals smuggling, human trafficking, prostitution, and more. Family units would eventually emerge as a natural human development process, of course. Children would be born, raised, become adults, lead miserable lives, and subsequently die; the indignity of poverty accompanying them to the grave. Causes of death variable, from murder to illness, if not natural causes.

Prevalent land conditions are far from prime in the townships. This makes the construction of decent domiciles a daunting challenge for impoverished people. Sustainable subsistence food production from the land is near impossible. Minimal to total lack of functional social amenities comes with the package here. If there was anything prime about the original townships, it was the potential to induce and generationally perpetuate poverty with all its attendant maladies: disease, moral decay, ignorance. All that to facilitate self-annihilation amongst Black people: kill them; let them kill themselves; create space for more European trash to come to work, settle, and add to the growth of the white population in the country.

Conditions are even worse these days, taking into consideration, since 1994, the influx of millions of refugees and fortune hunters from war-torn, dysfunctional African states to the north. Others come from other parts of the world, especially Asia. Competition for limited resources and livable spaces in the townships has spiked exponentially, apparently in favour of the new immigrants. Many of the latter come into South Africa with more by far international hustling experience: higher academic qualifications and vocational experience in both the social and natural sciences, military or guerilla warfare experience, and all that it entails – daring nature, PTSD, and other related outcomes. Also, investment capital for entrepreneurial ventures in various fields, often starting with small-scale grocery stores called spaza shops.

The latter attributes above are often accompanied by extreme manifestations of arrogance of power towards the locals, who are considered to be intellectually lacking, lazy, and fearful of White people, who still own the land, anyway. It’s hardly surprising, therefore, that strong anti-immigrant sentiments have mushroomed across the country, culminating in several outbursts of brutal xenophobia-inspired violence in recent years. Afro-xenophobia expression is ascribed to South African Black-on-African Black violence. In keeping with characteristic basal kassie culture, violence is the first instinctual option to eradicating conflict. Tragedy is ever the outcome that never brings forth solutions for a peaceful co-existence for all in the country.

The reality of the matter is that, much like the Ununited States of America, South Africa owes much of its economic might to the historical inflow of migrants from all corners of the world. As I’ve already implied above, these people bring into the country a wide diversity of creative/ intellectual/ academic, productive, and entrepreneurial skills that contribute to the robustness of the country’s vibrant economic and social advancement in the long run.

There’ll always be a few bad apples here and there. But assuming a functional justice system prevailing in the land, relevant policing and legal institutions are there to deal with lawbreakers. South Africa is truly a multi-cultural melting pot. Bishop Desmond Tutu’s broadly embraced Rainbow Nation nickname for the country supersedes discrimination neither based on race nor origin of the people that call South Africa their home, either by birth or immigration.   

©Simon Chilembo 2020

From an epistemological perspective, it is clear that the concept of township/ location/ kassie in South Africa was never meant to create ideal, conducive conditions for Black people to thrive and propagate themselves; neither to attain ever higher standards of living in time, in pace with national economic growth prospects.

The rise of apartheid economic might was at the expense of the lives of Black people, both at the hands of the apartheid state security machinery, and intra-Black violence across mainly urban South Africa. Many other Black lives were also lost through fatal accidents and occupational diseases in the agro-industrial-mining complex. Functionally concerning apartheid intentions, townships were supposed to provide temporary shelter for lives destined to be “… solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short.”

But then again, survival instincts abode in all humanity. People can remain wretched only for so long. If they are not wiped off from the face of the earth, they shall engage in all sorts of means to prolong their existence. Perhaps fate can change for someone, someday: break the bonds of subjugation, rise and liberate the people, and, ideally, live happily ever after in boundless abundance.

In the meantime, at the individual level in the South African kassie context, survival was and still is about ruthless “semphete ke o fete” (Sesotho: don’t overtake me, I overtake you) tendencies. Here, the strong survive. The ruthless rule; applying cruelty as their claim to prosperity and longevity.    

Set in alphabetical order below are personal dispositions I’ve arbitrarily identified as being cardinal for relative individual survival and ruling potential in the South African kassie culture of violence. That as a tool for understanding the nature of human relations power dynamics, and consequences thereof, at all levels of contemporary society, both locally and globally. The respective attributes may be understood regarding the identification of the individual as to who they are, and what their social standing is concerning behavioural phenomena observed of them:

  • Bodomo (street parlance – Setsotsi) is derived from the Afrikaans word dom. Alternatively bokwala (Sesotho), it means stupidity; downright idiocy. Amidst events, act like you don’t know what’s going on. Go about your daily business indifferent as to whether or not you cause others harm in your endeavours; you lack empathy. You are not interested in reason. You are a denialist. You are a revisionist.  
  • Bokhopo (Sesotho) is cruelty. When it is deep-seated, merciless, non-benevolent, and non-repentant it is called khohlahalo in the same language. Rule by absolute iron-fisted fearsomeness. Without exception, anybody transgressing you in any way shall suffer the full ruthlessness of your wrath in line with the nature of the offence and the choice of punishment you dim fit. The line between life and death is often very thin here. This tends to elicit baffling loyalty from your cohorts. Much to the bewilderment of your detractors.
  • Ho tella (Sesotho)/ ukudelela (isiZulu) is an uninhibited show of lack of respect. Total disdain. You are brazen. You bulldoze your way through towards the attainment of your power or material acquisitions, and other egocentric ambitions. In your interpersonal and other relations in the community, it’s your rules or no rules at all. 
  •  Lenyatso (Sesotho) is the root of ho tella and leqhoko, immediately above and below respectively. It means to undermine, to belittle other people. Tools applied include patronization, ridicule, insults, unjust criticism, passive aggression, isolation or exclusion, subjugation; all propelled by jealousy and/ or feelings of threat irrationally perceived or real because the victim may, indeed, be the better person in many respects. The idea is to crush the victim, cut them to size, and put them in their place of insignificance. This is pure mental and emotional abuse that often easily degenerates to physical abuse.
  • Leqhoko (Sesotho) is provocativeness. Be agitative even out of nothingness just so your presence is noticed, is not forgotten. Be relentlessly disruptive. Cause havoc; be an ass. Instigate and sustain fear. Use all means at your disposal: bully, defame, riot, vandalize, pillage, depose, fight, maim, kill. Ultimately, emerge as the leader of the pack; level-headed and solution-oriented, if only to cow and manipulate the terrorized towards aiding to secure attained dominant safe position.
  • Mamello (Sesotho)/ Qinisela (isiXhosa/ isiZulu) refers to tolerance capacity; endurance in both hard and good times, depending. Good times are generally no big deal. But in hard times, practice self-preservation by keeping to yourself and your own. Hang in there. Stay away from trouble. Be invisible. Make no noise. Cultivate hope. Keep the faith because everything is going to be alright someday.

    For the mighty, though, mamello/ ukuqinisela means staying the course no matter what: keep on pushing; stand tall, don’t fall. Never, never, never give up! Never change the course of action once commitment to act in a certain manner is made. Here, mamello/ ukuqinisela becomes an interplay of bodomo, bokhopo, ho tella, leqhoko, and manganga in variable doses and combinations according to the circumstances prevailing at any one time and space.
  • Manganga (Sesotho)/ Inkani (isiZulu) is absolute stubbornness. Take a stand, be resolute to the very end, whatever the cost. Whether or not original intended goals are attained is not the essence. You are defiant to the extreme. Stay rock-steady as a matter of principle because you cannot be wrong, or you cannot be denied your demands. You are the truth. You are the light. If you are not the son of God, then you ARE God! Your opponents shall declare you as deranged, delusional; but that doesn’t bother you at all. You are mmampodi (Sesotho)/ champion; you rule. You live above the law. You own your followers through and through. Each one of them understands that you are their life saviour.
    A street parlance (Setsotsi) adage goes like this, “Maziwaziwe, maz’bidlikaz’bidlike! (isiZulu)/ If they (e.g. towers) fall, they fall; if they collapse, they collapse!”
    It is what it is.

    Tyrants, hard-core conspiracy theorists, and charlatans fall under this category. So, in the USA, Coronavirus is just the common flu; “… it’ll disappear just like a miracle!”
    Not forgetting The Big Lie that Joe Biden and the Democrats stole the presidential elections of November, 2020. And then supporters of The Big Lie insurrect The Capitol peacefully like tourists, leaving destruction and carnage behind. Very special people that The Big Lie spinner loves.
    You can also do an egotistical, parochial, typically falls premises pushed brexshit and pull your country out of a body of international solidarity in the Western world.
     
    Neither does State Capture exist in South Africa. You know none in your family that has contracted AIDS in South Africa. Therefore, it doesn’t exist. Step aside rule in the ANC? What’s that? If you are indeed going to fall, you don’t go alone. You are vindictive. 
  • Sebete is a Sesotho word for liver.The liver is considered to be an organ of courage in my part of Black South African culture. A courageous person is said to “have a liver”/ O sebete. Courage is a common thread linking all survival, or power attributes in kassie.

Ho sa (Sesotho, noun), lumps together the attributes above into one virulent trait: petulance as gross as only an extremely spoiled brat can display. The descriptive form of ho sa is “O sele!”, meaning “He/ she is petulant!”   
People of all ages manifesting ho sa as a characteristic social interaction trait are some of the most dangerous a community can have. Makings of despots emerge here.  

Underpinning the relative kassie individual survival and ruling potential laid out above is the question: O tshepile mang (Sesotho)? Which directly translates as, “Who is it you trust?”
Who’s covering your back?

Simple as the question might seem, it is not necessarily a daily conversation question posed in my original part of Black South Africa. The question is profound to the extent that it is asked a person directly, or others are asked about a particular individual when the latter’s negative behaviour defies not only mainstream social protocols across the board, but sheer common sense as well. It is believed that there must be some extra-ordinary qualities, some mystic about these kinds of people. For example:

  • What gives them the guts? What makes them tick?
  • Whose progeny are they? What are their lineages?
  • Do they have some guardian angels, perhaps? In that case, who are the latter? Where are they?
  • What do they have that ordinary people do not have?
  • Are they working for somebody even more powerful than themselves? Who are these people?
  • Are they protected by God? Ancestral spirits? Wizards and witches?
  • Or are they just raving mad, sick in their heads? Are they bewitched?
  • Do they have magical powers themselves? If so, from where do the powers derive?
  • Are they members of some organized crime gangs? Or some secret societies? The Illuminati?
  • Is it just because they are too rich? But where does their wealth come from? 

It’s only if and when sufficient knowledge about these treacherous people is gathered that concerned individuals or the community can effectively react to get rid of them in one way or another. It’s not unusual that the former fall from glory in the most dramatic and humiliating fashions; those who lived by the sword dying exactly as they lived. Such is kassie life. The ruthless rule but momentarily.

The strong are often the smart with senses of moral and ethical awareness. They tend to survive, break out of the mould of kassie misery and ignorance, and live longer. Some in this category will in time even travel wide and see the world, permanently breaking the spell of kassie anti-life attributes. Expressing themselves through diverse media and creative and performance forms, they may also become proponents of liberty, justice, and equality as fundamental Human Rights tenets all of humanity on earth is entitled to.  

Meanwhile, South Africa has yet to cleanse itself of the kassie anti-life attributes spell, to the extent that it’s possible. However, given the current display of elite kassie mentality antics in various judicial and organizational platforms in the country, it is clear that much more work remains to be done at this rate. Well, cumulatively from the onset of contemporary European colonialism in the 17th Century up to the apartheid era in the 20th Century, the mechanizations that facilitated their imposition had at least four hundred years to dehumanize my people and screw up our psyche. The Rainbow Nation is only twenty-seven years old.

Khotso is a common Sesotho name for South African males. It means peace. The female version is Mma-Khotso both as a formal name and may denote that the woman is a mother of a boychild called Khotso. The name has significant connotations. In practice and conceptually, peace is a universal prerequisite for progressive human co-existence. That making for harnessing humanity’s creative potential towards a sustainable, infinitely fulfilling life for all. The South African national anthem, Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika! (Nkosi Sikelela) is essentially a cry for peace, captured in the Sesotho text:

Morena boloka sechaba sa heso/ Lord Almighty, save my nation
O fedisa dintwa le matshwenyeho/ Bring an end to strife and suffering  

Were the ruthless and the smart kassie people of South Africa and beyond to realign their attitudes and heed the message of Nkosi Sikelela, the future would be bright for all. I want to be here in four hundred years to gloss in the glory of the heaven on earth that South Africa and the rest of the world will have become. I sit here in a space of relative peace. I breathe. I dream. I write. Ever conscious of the lasting impact that my kassie life background has had on me, I have every reason to want to choose to be hopeful.  


SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
May 29, 2021

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

I REFUSE – A Poem

Fairytales in My World


Must I look away
From children
In my daily
Living spaces
On 2021 17 May
Norway’s National Day
Show-casing tangible
Children’s worth and joy
In a free world of peace
Whilst other children perish
At this very moment
In ravages of war
In baby Jesus’ world
Where peace is but
A concept in foreign vocabularies
Studied in Military Sciences
At Ivy League universities
Of this world

Jesus was a child of the wind
May be reason why
Nobody cares about
The fate of
Children of the soil
When the missiles rain out there

Must I obliterate myself
From the scene
The moment I hear
Children’s voices
In my proximity

Must I sing
I would rather go blind
Than to see
Children’s eyes on me
In their fields of vision
Fields of play

Must I be
Malignant angel
To a child
Warming my heart
With their purity of emotion
As I sense them

Must I suppress
My paternal instincts
To want to assure
A child that
I want only to
See them happy
Exuberant and free

Must I refrain from
Singing for a child
Dancing for them
Clowning for them
Reaching out
To touch them
For them to feel
The warmth
The honesty
Of my actions
My intentions

Must I ever look over my shoulders
In children’s presence
For fears
Of my actions
My intentions
Being misconstrued
By eyes
Seers of whom
For reasons obtaining
From their own fears
The nature of their lives’ journeys
Has taught them
To see only evil
In the acts of
The joyous
Glowing in the light
Of children
Yet to know
The sentiment of envy
The force of hate

I refuse
‘cause
I don’t know
How not to suffuse
Pure affection profusion
In view of children

I refuse
To succumb
To malicious fairy tales’ pitfalls by
Delusional prejudicial minds
Seeing reality
Through
Diabolic colours-tinted lenses
Tainting my honour
In view of confrontations with
Their own insecurities
In which their design
Their display
My hands
Never had a role to play
Could never want to
Never
Never
Never

On the contrary
My hands sought
Only
To build
Pillars of strength
Towers of power
Alas
In a moment of
Attention gone astray
Monsters were birthed

Now
Time of reckoning is here
Bring it on
I gotta move on
I got children
To enthrall
I got children
To raise
It’s not for nothing
They call me
Sirkus Chilembo

I refuse
To be vilified
I cannot be cancelled
At the stroke of a pen

I REFUSE!

I cannot be micro-assassinated
I cannot be buried alive
When
In my soul I’m free
END
©Simon Chilembo 16/05-2021

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
May 30, 2021

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

GUILTY AS CHARGED

Savage As Observed

Savage As Observed
The case was as plain
As the death ground was plane
Blatant murder on display
The view as plain
As on a TV on a wall plate

Everywhere News media stream
Global eyes witnessing in dismay
On a day in the month of May
Hands in cuffs arresting pain
Knee on neck effecting killing pain
Pervert’s fingers in pocket aim
To assuage phallic neck
Squeezing head with no shame
World’s emotions ‘n disarray steam

I would have cried in pain
Tears poured out in vain
Lost in torrential rain
Over hostile terrain
Upon which Derek Chauvin
As with his cohorts they train
How to oppress and strain
Black lives again and again
Had George Floyd been slain
For the murderer to retain
Disdain
For people the colour of whom he can’t drain
Whose annihilation he can’t gain

White supremacy ‘s got no brain
Needs a grain
Of justice every step of the way to refrain
From pushing on the race hate train
The latter effort is mundane
No longer can justice entertain
Black hate reign

Rot in jail
Don’t wail
Watch your pomposity wane
Until you are frail
Perish at pace of a snail
Evaporate as water in a pail
In the shade

No space to contain
Your remains
You ain’t arcane
You’re just stupid, plain and vain

No one could sustain
But abstain
From your racist lynching strain
Psychopath immune to pain
Your white privilege ‘s down the drain
Slow death to your deranged brain
Choke in trenches with the hail
I CAN’T BREATHE
Feel how it is
Who feels it knows it
END
©Simon Chilembo 21/04-2021

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
Tel.: +4792525032
April 21, 2021

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

LOCKDOWN – A Poem

FREE YOUR MIND

Prophet of doom
In gloom
High on a broom
Possessed by the moon
You bemoan
You aren’t enslaved goon
Neither 5G’d buffoon

You rave
You own a cave
For free will
Thy will
Shall be done as you will
You might as well
Write your will

Dig your grave
It’s a time game
Your thoughts aren’t the same
Your feelings aren’t tame

Take your time
Your freedom is prime
For crime
Warning bells chime
Could save you a dime

It’s a no-end-game
Your logic is lame
Driving in the wrong lane
Is a death game
For the infame
Ignorance unframed
Self-destruction uncaged
Soul encased

Burial to erase
You from the race
For collective survival grace
There’s no grief
Your mind is grave
No peace in the grave
Your demons are brave
Your dark side can’t behave

In the horror that’s your head on a stave
For your face
In a trance
Everyone is a nutcase
Everything is a disgrace

You persist that the system in place
Seeks to replace
People liberties with acquiescence
In dissonance
With your sense
Of egotistical existence
Your disappearance
Equals good riddance

For once
Shut your mouth
Declare your
Four-square-metres of safety
Around you
Close your eyes
Form your
Space of solitude
Inside eight cubic metres of
Six mirror’ surfaces

Open your eyes
See the many facets of
You
Your potential
And that is only
The-visible-to
The naked eye

Inside of you
Is the power
That made God
To say the least
Fear not thyself
Fear ye not the unknown

No need for anger
No need for confusion
No need for despair
No need for panic
No need for prejudice
No trepidation
No end of the world imminent

Cleanse your hands
Create similar spaces
For your loved ones
Your neighbours
Your fellow beings
Merge the best
Of your reflections
See how larger than life
You all are together as one
Against
Devious intentions
By the contentious
They call it solidarity
You have a future to groom

No need to abuse
No need to bully
No need for conspiracies
No need for estrangements
No need to hate
No need to lie
No need for suspicion
No need for others’ blood in your hands

Mirror reflections are science
It’s called physics
In times of uncertainty
Chaos reigning high
Broken mirrors pieces
Reflect
Lights of possibilities
By their numbers
In all directions
Angles and curves
Have no fear
There’s always an answer

Lockdown
Open your mind
Do right things right
Reflect on your life
Reflect on your place on earth
There is always an answer
It’s only a matter of time

Polish mirrors in your head
Let science work
Like it took man
To the moon
And back
Alive
Mars is next

Lockdown
Unleash your fantasy
Cure your myopia
Pandemize your phobia
Vandalize claustrophobia
Vitalize your inertia
Recall your Utopia
To your euphoria
Today
END
©Simon Chilembo 14/04-2021

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
Telephone: +4792525032

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

MAKE ME WANT TO LOVE AGAIN – A Poem

Keep Singing

Sing on
Baby
Make me
Want to love again

The way
You sing
Your voice
Ignites
Feelings
In my being
Taking me back
In time
To
An evening
In that phase
In time
When
A boy child
Transitions to
Man child

My first love
Took my hand
Urged me
To step along
With her
Into a passage
Where she’d
Teach me
How to know
When I love a woman

She embraced me
The maiden kiss
She gave me
Morphed me
Into
Adult lover man
In a young man’s shell
In an instant

Since then
Only
A certain
Kind of girl
A certain
Kind of woman
Only the
Boy child
In me
Instinctually recognizes
Moves me
Like you do

Keep on singing
I just can’t love
Just anything

Called a girl
Just anything
Called a woman

Mine is
Love discerning
Much as
Yours is
Melody exceptional
As I hear
Your song

Sing on
Baby
Make me
Want to love again

I want to love again
Because
Without love
I have
No reason for living

Without love
I go from day-to-day
Doing all
I have to do
Merely
Out of duty
Breathing
For life
With no passion
Like
Post-inferno ashes
On parched land
In depressed
Climatic states
Of being in nature
Waiting
For the storm
To wash away
Into oblivion
At sea
With
Tumultuous waters
Over barren earth
As I breathe
Dry air
Brittle
Incapacitating
My olfactory system

If I can’t
Sense
The odour of you
In the atmosphere
There can be no love
As to enliven
My immediacy

So
Sing on
Baby
Lubricate my soul
With your song nectar
Make me
Want to love again

As
I inhale deep
Hold my breath
Listen to my heart
Singing along
With you
Pumping
Your song sweetness
Into every cell
Composing the lover in me
In sync
With the love vibrations
You ooze
With your song

In this state
I feel in perfect health
I want to live for
I want to love
Only you

The boy child in me in love
Says to tell
That
For you
We shall live
We shall love
Until
Eternity
Comes knocking
On my door

Sing on
Baby

If it pleases you
Urge me
To step
Into your love corridors
If you love me too

For
I could never ever intrude
Into your love chambers
Yearning for you
Much as I do
Give me your song
Give me hope
Teach me
How you want me
To love you
Like you sing
Like you make love to your song

Only you make me
Want to love again
Sing on
Honey
Baby

END
©Simon Chilembo 05/04-2021

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
Telephone: +4792525032
April 12, 2021

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

COLOUR OF MY SKIN – A Poem

AS IS COLOUR OF MY SKIN I AM

I’m ‘y skin colour
I waste no light
You see no colour
You’re out of sight

Light shines through you
Your
Condescendence
Ignorance
Insensitivity
Superficiality
Ubiquitous

I walk
My colour
I talk
My colour
I breathe my colour
I live my colour

You see no colour
I run over you
My voice colour laser
Pierces your eardrums

You choose not to see
You choose not to hear
You’ll never learn
You’ll stay colourless
Dumb
You might as well
Be dead
Bigot

Your words say
And I quote
Oh, dear
I am indeed white
And that is a fact
God-given
My blood is
Racism pure-red-free
White is my world
Pure and clean
I do not see
Black in the people of God
Black is the colour of shame
That notwithstanding
Black is the appearance of the colour of the skin of my lover
When we perform coitus
I shut my eyes closed
Really
I do not see colour
I feel only delight
Primal pleasures of the flesh flavour

Close quote

Clearly
Your vision
Is twisted
Your hearing
Is clogged
Even then
I invite you
To read my lips
If you can
For one last time

Vocalize my words
Inside your head
For you to hear
What I have
To say to you

I’m colour of my skin
I give meaning to light
Black define’ space
In your time
Black colours
Contours of your life
Black contrasts the universe
For creation’s diversity
Ever unfolding
Inside of you
In everything
Your senses perceive
In your world
Big or small

I’m colour of my skin
I stand here
A plural faced prism
I disperse light
In all directions
In all its
Spectrum splendour
Colour possible tones
Imagination unbound

When some call me
A person of colour
It’s because
They see something
Of themselves
In me
In all corners of the world

The day you decide
To open your eyes
Come into me
Find the colour of your skin
For who you truly are

Walk with me
Your colour
If you want
As I walk mine

Walk my talk
Your ears might heal
Talk my colour
Your ears might hear
They might be
Receptive
To Black person
Dancing
In the light
Singing
You cause me harm
For colour of my skin
You harm yourself
See my colour
See yourself
Feel your pain
For the day
Light might cease
Falling on me

In the dark
Everything is possible
You created Satan
Made it
My alter ego
And yet
Satan is
The face
Of your fear of my skin
Of your hate
Of the colour of my skin

I’m shining bright
In the light
Of the smart
Come in sight
Self-knowledge is might
Sit tight
Time is right
Waste no light
I’m infinite
By right
I’ll teach you right
Colour of my skin is erudite
Just treat me right
I wish you might
Expedite
Be contrite
For your spite

Immortal is
Colour of my skin
Get used to it
See colour
If only
For your longevity
Life is good
For the colourful
In a world
Tainted by
The
But me
I don’t see colour
I see people

Oh, yeah
People come in
All colours
All shapes
All sizes

You blind
To that reality
Move to the side
Stay out of sight
Moron

END
©Simon Chilembo 23/ 03-2021

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
March 29, 2021
Tel.: +4792525032

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

ALL IN THE HANDS

The Hands Know

It’s all in my hands
I see her
Call her Stella

©Simon Chilembo 2021

I clasp the hands 
To feel the mutual pull
Of the palm middles
Pulsating onto each other
I get to feel
Balance of
The center of the universe

Heat of
Fire of belly of the earth
That I feel in the hands
Gets my little finger
To twitch
Telling me that
My heart
Is with me
I’m in love

My ring finger
Kicks out
Telling me that
Stella’s wife material

The middle finger
Itches
Telling me that
We have to ensnare her
Into our love kingdom
Knock onto her heaven’s door
Trigger off
Her fires of desire

The index finger points
Straight out at her
To single her out from the rest
Stella sure is the one
By any measure
Better than the rest
She is the one

The thumb’s up
It tells me that
It’s all systems go
It’s now or never

She disappears
Over the horizon yonder
We’ll never see here again
Images of her
Flash in my mind
My hands tremble
Non-stop

I put my hands together
Porcupine quills tingle
My skin
Goosebumps pervade
My body surfaces
From toe-to-finger-to-head

If
I can’t breathe
It’s not for
A man’s knee on my neck
Love sighs for Stella
Take my breath away
My hands get epileptic
I can’t reach out
To touch her

The seizure goes
I fold my arms
Hide my hands
Under my armpits
The warmth soothes me to sleep
I dream
Stella’s back tomorrow
My hands wake me up

END
©Simon Chilembo 22/ 11- 2020


SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
March 08, 2021

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020

THE 500K CASE – A Poem

PANDEMIC FATALITIES
This year 2021
I’ll hit 
My second life
500 000 kroners
Fortune mark
Beyond which
I’ll stop counting
As the zeros grow’n’grow  
I’ll start kicking creditors
In the butt 
Big Daddy
Mr Big Money Maker
Back in town …

©Simon Chilembo 2021


What you gon’ do
When 500 000 ghosts
Nightmare your sleep
One night at a time
One spectre at a time
When your
500 million dollars creditors
Get on your case
Fight like hell
Want a noose[1]
The Capitol is calling
Save your pennies
END
©Simon Chilembo 14/ 02- 2021

SIMON CHILEMBO
OSLO
NORWAY
TEL.: +4792525032
February 14, 2021

RECOMMENDATION: Do you want to start writing own blog or website? Try WordPress!

FURTHER READING: “List of unproven methods against COVID-19” on Wikipedia.

PS
Order, read, and be inspired by my latest book, Covid-19 and I: Killing Conspiracy Theories.

©Simon Chilembo 2020
Project management

[1] The Atlantic, It Was Supposed to Be So Much Worse, Godfrey, E, Author, https://bit.ly/3u1IMW7, (accessed 14 February 2021)