Black Stars, Black Balloons
I am a star that was born black
I am full of hope and radiance
Oh! How does a black star shine?
It always exudes white heat!
I am brighter than what your eyes can see
See, the way our eyes detect light
a lamp ten times more luminous
than a second lamp will appear less
than ten times brighter to human eyes
all stars are measured in magnitudes
I am a lower magnitude black star
but the lower a star’s magnitude
the brighter it is for the eyes to see
Stars with negative magnitudes
Are indeed, the brightest of all!
I am a big balloon coloured black
I am full of what lifts to lofty heights
Oh! Do black balloons also fly?
It is what is inside me, not my colour
black balloons too fly to greater heights
I am the blacksmith of ploughshares
I am full of creative essence of peace
Oh! Where is my quantum smithy?
In the heart of humanity is my foundry!
swords into pruning shares, arsenals into granaries
So doubt me not, you sons of anachronism
when I catch a moonbeam in my palms
when I lift up the sea waves to hide fresh dews
when I wrestle my quill from the whirlwind
I captured infinity by becoming one with nature!
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The African Writer is a Painter
If writing is like painting in words
and being an African is being a warrior
whose true valour lies in sensibilities
on the battlefield of life’s hybridation
then I am proud to be an African writer
striving to remix colours of perturbation
whose continuing saga remains unbiased
But if my Africaness is viewed as lens
to see life as fair and humanity as foul
then let those who judge me daily with bias
use equity parameters to see justice in nature
and should not wince when the table turns
for the world is like farming on a mountainside
when you peep at your neighbour’s buttocks
someone else beneath you is peeking at yours
painting with unknown colours can be torturous
when our repertoire is blurred in strange tongues
like a distress ship in uncharted chaotic waters
whose tumult is redefining and brazing trails
and broken fragments of an edifying entity
the race may not be for the swift who maim
scorn at those who lag on the same footing
the world is like the skin of the chameleon
and life is like a tide in prodigal floodwaters.
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The Will of the People
The people’s will is like a calabash
it cannot be pressed under water
stifled yet the spirit will not abash
like smoke none can cover nor falter
progressive wheels we prevaricate
to cloak decree of lies we fabricate
Where good governance is so rare
the dry lands of vile tyranny thrive
and where despotism trod so bare
the people’s will dwindles to strive
as their voices are refused to heed
instead it bites the fingers that feed
truly without the people’s consent
no one is good enough to rule them
for there exists no centre so cogent
to inveigle joy in an obnoxious helm
for the will of the people still prevails
the sterile crossroads of their travails
so if we plough on old iniquity fields
and insist on sowing odd mediocrity
where only poor governance yields
then we expect to reap in obscurity
but where ambition sows excellence
we reap prominence as equivalence
its sane terrain may be the harshest
but so also its plush doors of success
open to those who push the hardest
why do we languish amidst its excess
in the lush lands that we are so blest?
look with envy at the rest at their best?
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© Dela Black Bobobee