© Musue N. Haddad
Up on top of the hilly path
Down the end of the slope
Deep valley on the rocky path,
Feet worn, torn; crudely bruised
Fingers, hands toiled, overly used
Along the narrow crooked road
Rivers flowing for many miles
And there isn’t a footpath
Left and right, there’s warpath
Inches from scorching bloodbath
Weary heart noisily pounding
Standing; a deserted highway
Then, at that precise moment
There was a glorious presence
Up and above, fully radiance
Air filled with flowery fragrance
A profound, but serene silence
Vengeance swooped to a distance
Cause, vengeance is not mine
Taken care of by thy presence
The essence of the precious moment
Separate grievance from substance
Soothing words echoed; pleasance
Dazzling sublime blessed assurances
Awe-inspiring, humbling joyance,
Guidance, victory and reverence
And that was a truly good riddance
Enriches the heart, a beatific guidance
A beautiful, blessed assurance
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
Monday, May 7, 2012
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Eight B’day – A New Era
© Musue N. Haddad
Here’s to a strong African child
Whose birthday is on the eight
First opened eyes to the world
In the land of stranger, no bloodline
Then traveled to Africa, the dark land
Where his heart truly belongs
The supposed “dark” continent of Africa
Filled with scenery mountains, hills, valleys
Creeks, rivers streams, all surging
The beautiful virgin land, grand sunshine
Swaying trees, naturally grown food
Unprocessed, non-artificial cooked food
Yes, the place of this child’s true lineage
The place his soul, heart aligns
Face dances to the sound of the birds
And radiantly glow with bliss
Come see his steps brisk, so divine
Glimmering reflection of night sky
Grand harmony of sunrise, sunset
Here is the eight birthday gong
To celebrate your birthday, my son
I could shout a world of wishes
But I’ll tell you about the powerful “eight”
The superabundant number of old
Sacred ‘Eight days of the greatest Feast’
Like the great African festivities
And the Eightfold Path of self-awakening
Or the Eight Beatitude of blissfulness
The ‘Eight messengers at the Holy Throne’
Yes, it's your era of growth, expansion
Bright new beginning, fresh new era
So, receive this as a gift from above
Shun boundaries from the past.
And holdfast to values that last
Values of your great African ancestors
Seek the almighty to make wise decisions,
And to strengthen this life of yours.
Happy eight birthday my dear
It’s a momentous eight, my child
I feel your beats in harmony with this place
So shake, dance to the drum beats
You’re in your great ancestors’ birthplace
Your’re a lineage of the Great Prince
Known also as Archistrategos
So on your birthday, and beyond
With grace, take the armor of rekindling
That’s filled with blissful wonderment
Remember today, always my son
The Almighty is guiding you my son
He’ll send blessings for tears, trials
Fill your heart with joy, and grace
Send you love on wings of dove
He’ll answer all of your prayers
On the Dark Continent and beyond
For today, tomorrow, and always
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
Here’s to a strong African child
Whose birthday is on the eight
First opened eyes to the world
In the land of stranger, no bloodline
Then traveled to Africa, the dark land
Where his heart truly belongs
The supposed “dark” continent of Africa
Filled with scenery mountains, hills, valleys
Creeks, rivers streams, all surging
The beautiful virgin land, grand sunshine
Swaying trees, naturally grown food
Unprocessed, non-artificial cooked food
Yes, the place of this child’s true lineage
The place his soul, heart aligns
Face dances to the sound of the birds
And radiantly glow with bliss
Come see his steps brisk, so divine
Glimmering reflection of night sky
Grand harmony of sunrise, sunset
Here is the eight birthday gong
To celebrate your birthday, my son
I could shout a world of wishes
But I’ll tell you about the powerful “eight”
The superabundant number of old
Sacred ‘Eight days of the greatest Feast’
Like the great African festivities
And the Eightfold Path of self-awakening
Or the Eight Beatitude of blissfulness
The ‘Eight messengers at the Holy Throne’
Yes, it's your era of growth, expansion
Bright new beginning, fresh new era
So, receive this as a gift from above
Shun boundaries from the past.
And holdfast to values that last
Values of your great African ancestors
Seek the almighty to make wise decisions,
And to strengthen this life of yours.
Happy eight birthday my dear
It’s a momentous eight, my child
I feel your beats in harmony with this place
So shake, dance to the drum beats
You’re in your great ancestors’ birthplace
Your’re a lineage of the Great Prince
Known also as Archistrategos
So on your birthday, and beyond
With grace, take the armor of rekindling
That’s filled with blissful wonderment
Remember today, always my son
The Almighty is guiding you my son
He’ll send blessings for tears, trials
Fill your heart with joy, and grace
Send you love on wings of dove
He’ll answer all of your prayers
On the Dark Continent and beyond
For today, tomorrow, and always
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
My Place of Birth
© Musue N. Haddad
My Place of Birth
A beautiful, green grassland
Plum trees, guava trees, many trees
A fertile land for animals, all trees
Fresh, beautiful land, lush topsoil
Luscious vegetables from soil
Dark, naturally rich, fertile soil
Bare feet against the grass
Soil soft between my toes
Sunlight slowly beat from above
Danced through the green leaves
Twinkling of sunray in my hair
Yes, I was fond of this place
My place of birth
Yea, the land of my birth
The land, beautiful and free
Butterflies, birds, the sky, all airy
Fly above cheery and free
The smell of the fresh air
Flying through my hairs
Gently against my innocent face
I giggled, raced with the wind
The rivers, creeks, flowed freely
Fresh running water against my skin
Sparkling bubbles, drops on my face
My place of birth
Yea, the land of my birth
Beautiful, rich, embracing
But as the years went by
The rich soil, the trees, fresh air
Sounds of flowing rivers were gone away
Green trees, beautiful sky, now gray
Trails of my childhood gone away
Sounds of birds, gone astray
The color, the air, the soil wailful
The grass, soil, rivers scorched
Sounds of motors, machines crackle
Give headache, makes me hazy
Cloudy, midst the once fresh air
Taken over the land of my birth
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
My Place of Birth
A beautiful, green grassland
Plum trees, guava trees, many trees
A fertile land for animals, all trees
Fresh, beautiful land, lush topsoil
Luscious vegetables from soil
Dark, naturally rich, fertile soil
Bare feet against the grass
Soil soft between my toes
Sunlight slowly beat from above
Danced through the green leaves
Twinkling of sunray in my hair
Yes, I was fond of this place
My place of birth
Yea, the land of my birth
The land, beautiful and free
Butterflies, birds, the sky, all airy
Fly above cheery and free
The smell of the fresh air
Flying through my hairs
Gently against my innocent face
I giggled, raced with the wind
The rivers, creeks, flowed freely
Fresh running water against my skin
Sparkling bubbles, drops on my face
My place of birth
Yea, the land of my birth
Beautiful, rich, embracing
But as the years went by
The rich soil, the trees, fresh air
Sounds of flowing rivers were gone away
Green trees, beautiful sky, now gray
Trails of my childhood gone away
Sounds of birds, gone astray
The color, the air, the soil wailful
The grass, soil, rivers scorched
Sounds of motors, machines crackle
Give headache, makes me hazy
Cloudy, midst the once fresh air
Taken over the land of my birth
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
SawMill in Lofa
© Musue N. Haddad
I know, I know, I remembered
At first, it was the beautiful trees
Large blanket of peaceful shades
Trees roots sat happily into the earth
Birds sat cozily on tree tops
Beautiful harmony at that time
Children danced in the fields
We climbed happily on trees stump
Hung, swung on the branches
Then sounds of machine came
It was foreign sounds on our streets
And then our neighborhoods and streets
We saw large machines plied our streets
Then track of oily black substance; slimy
The deafening sounds of machine
In the midst of soft local songs,
And the soothing sounds of nature
Our voices faded, then plunged
Then it drowned drumbeats of our tongues
Tis was the large humming of machines
Day and night, and everyday
Big, rough tires, sharp blades on our roads
Tearing at trees, and our soft earth
Blades shot crudely into the trees
Birds flew, squirrels, animals scurried
Large, healthy, and bulky trees
Brutally slain; all beaten without care
Trees roots burst from the earth
The forest wailed, and it was all silent
They lay helpless on battered earth
Worn out by the sun and the rain
Hacked trees taken on trailers
Out of Lofa, and then overseas
And our earth wrestled
With the dark oily substance
That sagged deeply into its veins
And the ground cracks open in awe
More and more trees, all fall in disdain
Our beautiful shades, stout branches all gone
No shades, no tree branches to wave
Shrunken, cracked soil, polluted rivers
Machines, engines, grating noise prevail
Taken over nature’s voice and our songs
At first, it was harmony and beauty
That’s what it was, I remembered
But now, it’s withered and wrinkled
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
I know, I know, I remembered
At first, it was the beautiful trees
Large blanket of peaceful shades
Trees roots sat happily into the earth
Birds sat cozily on tree tops
Beautiful harmony at that time
Children danced in the fields
We climbed happily on trees stump
Hung, swung on the branches
Then sounds of machine came
It was foreign sounds on our streets
And then our neighborhoods and streets
We saw large machines plied our streets
Then track of oily black substance; slimy
The deafening sounds of machine
In the midst of soft local songs,
And the soothing sounds of nature
Our voices faded, then plunged
Then it drowned drumbeats of our tongues
Tis was the large humming of machines
Day and night, and everyday
Big, rough tires, sharp blades on our roads
Tearing at trees, and our soft earth
Blades shot crudely into the trees
Birds flew, squirrels, animals scurried
Large, healthy, and bulky trees
Brutally slain; all beaten without care
Trees roots burst from the earth
The forest wailed, and it was all silent
They lay helpless on battered earth
Worn out by the sun and the rain
Hacked trees taken on trailers
Out of Lofa, and then overseas
And our earth wrestled
With the dark oily substance
That sagged deeply into its veins
And the ground cracks open in awe
More and more trees, all fall in disdain
Our beautiful shades, stout branches all gone
No shades, no tree branches to wave
Shrunken, cracked soil, polluted rivers
Machines, engines, grating noise prevail
Taken over nature’s voice and our songs
At first, it was harmony and beauty
That’s what it was, I remembered
But now, it’s withered and wrinkled
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
Sycophants
© Musue N. Haddad
Sycophants
Sycophants in Africa
And those in great America
From where do they come?
They crawl, sneak, prowl
Fawners and flatterers
Obsessively dumb
Never free, compulsive breeders
Continually needy
Profusely reliant
Sycophants
Sycophants in Africa
And those in Liberia
They are predators
Plunderers, babblers
Prowling, marauding without a wink
Moving stealthily
Seeking prey wiggly
Killers of innocence
See them slink
Sycophants
Sycophant in the city
And those in the villages
Intruders, raiders, looters
Ignorant to compassion
Deaf, blind to affection
Raiders without precincts
Relations, colleagues, bare instincts
Trails of blood
Victories flood
Sycophants
Sycophants in the towns
Even the ones in my hometown
They come in pairs
Destructive, twos affair
Walk side- by- side
Sycophants, Predators
Partners, wasters
Whiners, cringers, wringers
Currying favors
Sycophants
They come to display
But they bring dismays
Yet cheering hoorays
Rehearsed jangle misplays
Lies, sweet talk, miscues
Boastfully arrant
Gleefully impales
Paddles cataclysm trails
What Vain life!
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
Sycophants
Sycophants in Africa
And those in great America
From where do they come?
They crawl, sneak, prowl
Fawners and flatterers
Obsessively dumb
Never free, compulsive breeders
Continually needy
Profusely reliant
Sycophants
Sycophants in Africa
And those in Liberia
They are predators
Plunderers, babblers
Prowling, marauding without a wink
Moving stealthily
Seeking prey wiggly
Killers of innocence
See them slink
Sycophants
Sycophant in the city
And those in the villages
Intruders, raiders, looters
Ignorant to compassion
Deaf, blind to affection
Raiders without precincts
Relations, colleagues, bare instincts
Trails of blood
Victories flood
Sycophants
Sycophants in the towns
Even the ones in my hometown
They come in pairs
Destructive, twos affair
Walk side- by- side
Sycophants, Predators
Partners, wasters
Whiners, cringers, wringers
Currying favors
Sycophants
They come to display
But they bring dismays
Yet cheering hoorays
Rehearsed jangle misplays
Lies, sweet talk, miscues
Boastfully arrant
Gleefully impales
Paddles cataclysm trails
What Vain life!
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
The Tide of Benesu
© Musue N. Haddad
Benesu
Can I say she was a river or a creek?
With a little tide, it ran freely
It welcomed me always
For a ride upstream or downstream
We were a beautiful team
She waited on me always
Took me on her arms for a ride
Upstream, downstream, for a ride
Up against the wind, and deep bottom
And against the beautiful fish
Benusu
With large bundle of clothes
She’d sing as I washed, and washed
Bundles and bundles of laundry
Without a grin, she rocked me
And then her tides rinsed my laundry
She then took me for a long ride
Then one day, waved bye to my Benesu
For a journey, miles and miles away
Thinking about my beautiful Benesu
Benesu
Years later, I came back
I ran, called out to my Benesu
And called, and called; she was silent
I stood and looked down further
There she was, pale
Weak, brutally bruised,
Her tides feeble, body, arms frail
I walked in tears to my Benesu
Her arms were locked, unmovable
Her tides chained against litter
I sat on her side, and cried
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
Benesu
Can I say she was a river or a creek?
With a little tide, it ran freely
It welcomed me always
For a ride upstream or downstream
We were a beautiful team
She waited on me always
Took me on her arms for a ride
Upstream, downstream, for a ride
Up against the wind, and deep bottom
And against the beautiful fish
Benusu
With large bundle of clothes
She’d sing as I washed, and washed
Bundles and bundles of laundry
Without a grin, she rocked me
And then her tides rinsed my laundry
She then took me for a long ride
Then one day, waved bye to my Benesu
For a journey, miles and miles away
Thinking about my beautiful Benesu
Benesu
Years later, I came back
I ran, called out to my Benesu
And called, and called; she was silent
I stood and looked down further
There she was, pale
Weak, brutally bruised,
Her tides feeble, body, arms frail
I walked in tears to my Benesu
Her arms were locked, unmovable
Her tides chained against litter
I sat on her side, and cried
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
Friday, March 16, 2012
A Dream Shattered
© Musue N. Haddad
He is an African child
Taken across the oceans
This child’s face sometimes black
White, yellow, chocolate brown
Sun’s ray always bright
In those eyes; dazzling bright
This boy’s birth celebrated
African drums, great rhythm
Traditional sounds; reverberation
Birth of an African Hero
After a few more bongos
This child was flown into the snow
In the great white snow
A place where many migrate
To seek greener pastures
Love and relationship raided
Stress, survival became conquerors
Then love slowly withered, cheerless
Mommy stopped listening
“Mommy, Daddy,” this child called
Again and again, over again
His own childlike voice came back
Then, the face that once lighted
Gravely dampened, clouded
At four years, little child threw a fit
Kicked, screamed, called out louder
Still, Mommy and Daddy didn’t hear
Too busy, distant to their little boy
They cured little boy, not with hugs
Pressed down his tiny throat
Prescribed Anti Psychotic drugs
Volumes, infused in his body system
Now, he’s nine years old; controlled
Handsome, but eyes dull, dreary
Mind blank, bare and stultified
Creativity destroyed, glass-eyed
“Mommy, Mommy,” Daddy, Daddy”
Wordless cries ignored, always
Little boy sobbed as the drug travels
Down his tiny throat, he wriggles
Slithered through his esophagus
In his stomach, twirled, rock around
Drugs soften; then slowly liquefied
Passed on into blood, circulate
Bubbles into brain, body system
Hear the pounding, crushing sounds
Demise of potentials, dreams shattered
And this innocent boy sits alive
Yet stone dead to this world
Pasty from anti psychotic drugs
One more innocent life crudely robbed
Now a drug-ladened rag doll
Powerful smashing of love in the vein
Broken tears of shattering dreams
The deep roots of absurd pains
And the trails of tears remain
In the skies of the universe
This child’s path marked by darkness
He lingered his days under the sky
But not the great African skies
This boy’s dream, another shattered
And another love lost
True story of a boy once bright
Like every child under the sky
He was born with greatness; a genius
The truth we know
Way of living steals the geniuses
And the smiling, pure angelic face
Today, I sit in my birthplace
With silent tears falling on my heart
For this child under the clouds
And children who want to be heard
Hugged, loved; cuddle in our arms
Hear the sounds of their laughters
For they are little children; our children.
Author’s note: This poem is based on a true story- the story of a boy born in Africa. His parent left the continent to seek “greener pastures” across the Oceans. In their search for “green pastures,” this has become the fate of their own child – the little boy.
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
He is an African child
Taken across the oceans
This child’s face sometimes black
White, yellow, chocolate brown
Sun’s ray always bright
In those eyes; dazzling bright
This boy’s birth celebrated
African drums, great rhythm
Traditional sounds; reverberation
Birth of an African Hero
After a few more bongos
This child was flown into the snow
In the great white snow
A place where many migrate
To seek greener pastures
Love and relationship raided
Stress, survival became conquerors
Then love slowly withered, cheerless
Mommy stopped listening
“Mommy, Daddy,” this child called
Again and again, over again
His own childlike voice came back
Then, the face that once lighted
Gravely dampened, clouded
At four years, little child threw a fit
Kicked, screamed, called out louder
Still, Mommy and Daddy didn’t hear
Too busy, distant to their little boy
They cured little boy, not with hugs
Pressed down his tiny throat
Prescribed Anti Psychotic drugs
Volumes, infused in his body system
Now, he’s nine years old; controlled
Handsome, but eyes dull, dreary
Mind blank, bare and stultified
Creativity destroyed, glass-eyed
“Mommy, Mommy,” Daddy, Daddy”
Wordless cries ignored, always
Little boy sobbed as the drug travels
Down his tiny throat, he wriggles
Slithered through his esophagus
In his stomach, twirled, rock around
Drugs soften; then slowly liquefied
Passed on into blood, circulate
Bubbles into brain, body system
Hear the pounding, crushing sounds
Demise of potentials, dreams shattered
And this innocent boy sits alive
Yet stone dead to this world
Pasty from anti psychotic drugs
One more innocent life crudely robbed
Now a drug-ladened rag doll
Powerful smashing of love in the vein
Broken tears of shattering dreams
The deep roots of absurd pains
And the trails of tears remain
In the skies of the universe
This child’s path marked by darkness
He lingered his days under the sky
But not the great African skies
This boy’s dream, another shattered
And another love lost
True story of a boy once bright
Like every child under the sky
He was born with greatness; a genius
The truth we know
Way of living steals the geniuses
And the smiling, pure angelic face
Today, I sit in my birthplace
With silent tears falling on my heart
For this child under the clouds
And children who want to be heard
Hugged, loved; cuddle in our arms
Hear the sounds of their laughters
For they are little children; our children.
Author’s note: This poem is based on a true story- the story of a boy born in Africa. His parent left the continent to seek “greener pastures” across the Oceans. In their search for “green pastures,” this has become the fate of their own child – the little boy.
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Valentine’s Day
© Musue N. Haddad
It’s Valentine’s Day
Here, I woke at dawn
Not for the fanfare
Or something to wear
Just a gentle loving kiss
To be a Valentine Princess
My thoughts ran, a quiet hiss
Kept me without much sleep
As the dawn light faded
And the Sun’s ray caught me
Waited, waited to hear this
Flavored, laced with a touch of bliss
Waited for prolonged moments
That turned into anxious minutes
And then into boring hours
Only to see it dismissed
On the one special day
That comes just once a year
It’s Valentine’s Day
I dream of that love
That’ll look through my eyes
Embrace me with warmness
Look deeply with affection
And say with a gentle embrace
“You're special and nice.
And say to me precisely
Your cheerfulness makes me glad,
Your smile warms me
It feels like moonbeams
Your love strengthen my dreams
And captures my heart forever
You and you alone my dear
You’re my fair lady
My Princess and my Queen
Yes, you are my Valentine
To me, you're everything!”
Yes, I know I’ll hear those words
Relish in a gentle loving arms
In a love that’s unwavering
Delight fully in an unqualified love
Wholly cherished, appreciated
Both now and years ahead!
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
It’s Valentine’s Day
Here, I woke at dawn
Not for the fanfare
Or something to wear
Just a gentle loving kiss
To be a Valentine Princess
My thoughts ran, a quiet hiss
Kept me without much sleep
As the dawn light faded
And the Sun’s ray caught me
Waited, waited to hear this
Flavored, laced with a touch of bliss
Waited for prolonged moments
That turned into anxious minutes
And then into boring hours
Only to see it dismissed
On the one special day
That comes just once a year
It’s Valentine’s Day
I dream of that love
That’ll look through my eyes
Embrace me with warmness
Look deeply with affection
And say with a gentle embrace
“You're special and nice.
And say to me precisely
Your cheerfulness makes me glad,
Your smile warms me
It feels like moonbeams
Your love strengthen my dreams
And captures my heart forever
You and you alone my dear
You’re my fair lady
My Princess and my Queen
Yes, you are my Valentine
To me, you're everything!”
Yes, I know I’ll hear those words
Relish in a gentle loving arms
In a love that’s unwavering
Delight fully in an unqualified love
Wholly cherished, appreciated
Both now and years ahead!
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Beautiful Silence
© Musue N. Haddad
There is silence.
Here, there, yonder,
Where are the folks?
Not the ones who gloat;
Theirs is nuisance.
As for the goats,
Annoying bleaters!
Pass the ones who groan.
It is hindrance.
Ah, ah! Not the crooks.
I’ll pay fee of sixpence;
For sure voidance.
Rather march with the grouts,
A silent mergence,
Without grievance.
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
There is silence.
Here, there, yonder,
Where are the folks?
Not the ones who gloat;
Theirs is nuisance.
As for the goats,
Annoying bleaters!
Pass the ones who groan.
It is hindrance.
Ah, ah! Not the crooks.
I’ll pay fee of sixpence;
For sure voidance.
Rather march with the grouts,
A silent mergence,
Without grievance.
Copyright © Musue N. Haddad
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