© 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
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
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
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