Jaachị Anyatọnwụ's Blog, page 20

The Quest For Peace

The Quest For Peace

They told us that rivers does not flow up the mountain,
But rather flows down the mountain
Why then does my tears flow upwards
Into my head, dampening my thoughts afterwards?

They told us stars twinkle in the night
And that wind powers eagle wings
Why then are wrinkles in the sky
And eagles roll with chicks?

I seek for peace in the skyline
Like the Eastern Maggi scouting for stars.
I hear a Messiah is born
But this star roams like it’s lost.

I seek for peace in flowing riv...

Wait! Give It Time!

WAIT! GIVE IT TIME

I have questions. May I ask?

Ever taken time to flip those pages before judging the book?
Ever taken time to look deep beyond the surface of illusionary facts before writing someone off?
Ever given time enough time to give time a chance?
How do strangers gradually turn friends and lovers become strangers?
And how can someone you never imagined you could tolerate became the best of friends?

Love happened?

Permit me to flip the coin. Thanks.

You never planned for it. ...

A Lot Happened This Year

You seem to be in a similar reflective frame of mind as I am. Every year at this time, doesn’t there seem to be that same sensation of an end? 

One thing that really struck me last night is how frequently I hear people repeat, “A lot happened this year,” as if they didn’t say the exact same thing last December and every previous December, while going through a similar nostalgic retrospective. 

I suppose it is in our nature to elevate the present with a sense of urgency and relevance that t...

strong winds, ocean waves, & tough times

strong winds do not care to know
whether or not the root is deep or shallow
it just blows
hard,
bending, breaking, uprooting

ocean waves do not consider the ship
nor seamen losing sleep
it just rises,
high,
rocking, flooding, upturning

tough times are not concerned with my pain,
whether or not i can bear another strain,
it just happens,

but
like the palm, i break not
like a surfer, i sail storms

with my broken wings
i’ve learned to fly

this curve shall be straight again

the cynical nature of your philosophies
makes a cylindrical mess of my parallel
my ideas begin to wane
nobody would take the blame
like droplets of rain
you fill my emptiness with your bane

to please you is now my chore
i hide behind your big picture
myself, my worth, that once was scripture
but by your philosophies, made impure,
all of it, i’m shedding off

acquiring your genuine superficial
if only you know, you’re building a missile
that will send you into exile
out there were oblivion thrive
by the ...

if your enemy thirsts

if your enemy thirsts, give him drink, says the preacher

so, when
aunty ramotu asked for a
glass of cold water to quench her
thirst, i added droplets of
sniper to taste

it’s beautiful how she sits still like
a piece of oil art–lifeless–incapable
of trapping me, again, in-between
warm thighs while family sleeps

if your enemy thirsts, give him
drink, says the preacher. nobody
said it must be pure water

in his tiny arms, a dying dream yawns

there is a boy running down a dusty road

in his tiny arms, a dying dream yawns

he pauses for a while, gasping air and biting dust

gritting teeth to fight off cold

dusting worries off his cloak

he takes off again

his mind dazed by the blinding lights of hunger bites

yet he runs, farther away from what’s behind

he’d lost what it means to be found

and sought what it means to be lost.

he runs faster

an oasis appears three cactus away

he dives in, his thirst to que...

out where the river is flowing, you drown like steel in the lake

out where the bright lights are glowing
you’re drawn like a child to a flame

you stare at the bottom of your glass thinking
and to a sky full of stars talking

you close your eyes, and see her,
so close to sight, to touch so far

you laugh as your wine, intoxicating,
fill your veins with butterfly wings

while in distance nearer than hell
demons whisper your native name

with the voice of rushing waters

out where the river is flowing
you drown like steel in the lake

i die here

this war unending
this gun ever firing

this jungle is under siege
this trench is no more safe

this war is as real
as air in my nostril

but this war isn’t on the ground,
it’s in my mind,

i am a soldier of my mind,
fighting a war i didn’t start

nuclear are the warheads,
it’s span is until grey hairs

year in, year out,
both sides hold their ground,

and to be honest,
it doesn’t look like the end is anywhere soonest

i die here

to the boys

To the boys
who for the trauma dished by bullies
sneaked into army barracks
to transfer aggression
on a peaceful nation
and cover their tracks
with sick ‘unification’ lies…
It was really peaceful here before you came.

To the boys
who for the love of khaki
the pride of wielding registered muskets
the secret thirst for dominance
and tribal prejudice…
It was really peaceful here before you came.

To the boys
and their boss boy
who sit on a sore rock
farting into the air
policies that make the devil go pale
and...