SWEET SORROW

How daunting a task it is

Living this way…

Always trying to turn our stones into bread

With my soul torn away from its source.

Or perhaps it’s my source

That’s been torn away from my soul…

And then begin the questions,

Firing away in the depth of my half alive conscious;

“Who is your source?

Is it she,

Or is it Me?”

My philosophic answer rings in response

That she is from your divine essence,

Therefore she is my source as well.

If I have adored her above you,

It’s because I’m only half myself without her.

And in her, your divine hand made my world come alive.

I must be foolish,

Answering God in this way…

Her love made me drunk

And I loved being in that blissful stupor…

Sobriety means being half myself again

In pain, hurt and ghost filled memories.

I wonder if her ghost shall ever leave me…

Just like Adam, I choose to blame Eve

Just like Adam I’m so full of shit.

God speaks and says well done my son.

And I sit on my chair, and cry peacefully

Hard choices always take guts.

Now I know carrying a cross isn’t easy

Its not just heavy wood on my back,

It’s also ghosts in my heart.

All I ask is that He

Takes away the pain,

Heals all the members of my hurting half soul,

And helps me to learn to live with her ghost-

She who I loved the most…

Joshua Nyagah

Sleepless Ghosts

This world has become sleepless

As sleepless as a thousand insomniacs

Perhaps its because of the heartbroken ghosts

Resurrected by the all too familiar cycle

The cycle of love and its elation, loss and its frustration

So with seasoned hearts,

The lovers of this world move on.

 

 

Perhaps in the ensuing cycles

The end shall be sweeter;

The end shall have idealists and their ideals,

Realists and their beliefs

And all who are in between

Finding love…

 

 

For now however,

Let us languish in our sleeplessness

Stare up at the darkness

And court the ghosts;

The ghosts of hearts we broke.

Lets laugh and love and touch them.

In doing so,

We shall discover how to love our selves first.

 

 

The curtain closes on a seemingly dark soul

Wondering to and fro,

Searching and yearning desperately

For another seemingly dark soul…

In a sleepless, insomniac world

A world draped in the cold winter of loneliness.

Joshua nyagah.

citizens of mars

Looking back in retrospect I see that;

As bright as the dark,

was how you were to me.

Now you’re just memories; a sad reduction.

It’s so sad because you’re still alive.

Alive and near, yet so emotionally distant.

Sometimes I feel sad for you;

And on rare occasions, I feel sad because of you.

I always wonder though,

Whats the color of your world?

What love can pierce your iron armour?

Who can reach out and truly touch your soul?

Who can save you from your self-created downward spiral?

Do you bleed and if you do,

How do I ever stop the spreading redness?

So many questions I bear,

With no hope of an answer…maybe thats my curse.

Now, I’m looking for a place to stand and

Its hard, its an emotional task…

in this illusion called your world;

A world as bright as the dark.

nyagah.

FEARLESS!!!!

Like Babel I am towering and intimidating.

My eyes make yours to look down,

My voice makes yours to dry up and shrivel;

I do not speak, I roar!

I do not just walk, I prowl…

Spreading my power with each step.

 

The ground shakes as I walk,

Volcanoes turn into waterfalls.

My sole turns every desert into a lushful green

And my sound turns storms into a sunny bliss.

 

For me, time stands still.

 

I am fearless; unintimidated, unshakable,

Strong like Atlas, as strong as Joan of arc.

When I rise the seasons change.

When I sit the earth kneels.

 

I am unconquered like the universe.

Just like a phoenix;

I thrive where all that is normal dies.

And I shall die in a manner few have died;

Fearlessly!!!!

 

joshua Nyagah-a fearless influencer.

LOVE?

A burning matchstick,

Fire in a little smoky maze

Think about it;

The tiny flame

Sparks up then grows

Shrinks, fades, then is gone

No need to marvel…

If it were strong enough to live,

It would’ve lived on.

If its existence mattered,

I would write a longer song

A longer poem

Devote more thought

Give more of my time

Square out the words and

Develop all the rhymes

But it’s just a matchstick

Whose flame shall shortly die…right?

A memory I shall no longer bear in mind

Goodbye.

Burn away your short life.

Perhaps I shall see you again

When you are reincarnated

Into a beacon

That shall consume my heart, body and soul

And keep me warm

Through the cold night called life.

Then, I shall look at you

And compare you to the stars above

I shall touch your flame

Because you’ll be nearer than they are.

My sun at dusk…

And truer than any star can ever, ever be!

But for now,

Goodbye.

Nyagah.

The birth of my son

Notice how the bean is birthed

Just like our son,

From your egg and my sperm,

Under the warm sun,

When passionately

We make love.

At the height of our pleasure

We draw closer

And I send to you half of him

For you to tenderly nourish into a whole,

Our souls merged with an immense intensity

So as to form his,

Just like the pod burst and birthed its seeds,

We exploded and formed a living being.

He is young,

Clumsily walks and speaks,

He has your eyes and nose

And he has my cheeks.

He is your child,

He is my son.

And he is our seed.

Our little bean.

Nyagah

We talked, the rain and I.

It’s the drumming I love most;
When you hit the roof,
Your humming as you meet with
The eager ground.
Your lullaby is the only tune
That calms my insomniac mind
And so,
I dream that
The lonely clouds were crying
Because the night was too black
And cold and ghostly and…
There was no conscience in the world.

Or maybe,
The elements were caught up in passion
And so the rain was sperm
Coming down to fertilize the earth
And bring forth life
Living beings,
And those that are seemingly not living
Rocks and trees.

Then again maybe you’re just rain,
Falling down mundanely
Not speaking back to me
Just falling…
Perhaps that’s how you speak;
By falling and humming me into my dreams.

© Nyagah

my response

My response to your echoing silence,

When I shout love! love!

While in the canyon of your sweet memories

My response to the darkness,

When I seek a ray of your light

No matter how slight

As I stumble through this labyrinth called loneliness

My response to the pain,

Pain which no therapy can tame,

It refuses to be sunk by the storms of time

Pain which seems for ever mine

My response to the damaged,

The hearts I’ve injured as I rummage

In my quest to quell you, my obsession

And be complete once again

My response to my dead senses,

I am partially alive at best

I am vulnerable, defenseless, loveless

I am spent,

Partially alive at best

My response to the regret,

Of having let in an infatuation

A weakness

That sinks me slowly into the ground

Despite my protests

My response to the cold,

To the night

To the winter

To this freezer;

Called ‘what if?’

My response is this poem

This release…for a moment.

Room to breathe, live and look

Look into the mirror of life and laugh

Despite the tears and hurt….

Nyagah.

remember?

do you remember?

lying perfectly still

afloat in the river water.

do you remember the clouds that day?

and the wind’s whisper

that made your water drenched clothes sway.

do you remember the drifting leaves?

some in the air,

some in the water.

do you remember the peace?

and the whispering silence,

the cold of the river water

and the warm salvation from the sun.

the  dancing.

do you remember your hair dancing?

swinging and dancing in the water.

and the colours,

All of the univers’ colours

as they sarrounded your  dreamy eyes.

remember getting out of the water

and walking the short distance to your house

drenched, soaking wet

but feeling as good as hell

saved from the day’s stress.

nyagah

to walk the tightrope

what’s this freedom?

a slave is freed from his prison-

only to be forced to walk a tightrope;

that rope that bridges being alone and being un-alone.

To balance

lest he falls into never ending darkness,

after being alone in his cage for ages.

And so faced with such a predicament

what does he choose?

To be a prisoner to loneliness or

to eternally free fall into darkness or

or to walk the tightrope that always seems to lengthen.

Nyagah