afrika re- animation poetry
12
playbook
Christian Mowarin
Get away from My window pane Move, old soul
With all your pains Social at your own Intellect speed
Your heals in head
Knock all down hills Everything your way
Away your creativity.....
Your own role
Mad away from my sleep Far away in no sync Die in daily dream
Walk on every water
Clinch the tallest tree Make your own song With all your act Play in your own
Morbid generation
It doesn't matter
One case in earnest You are just a wind
A mindset, a figment A role, a liquid soul
christian mowarin
For my mother, Clara
an oxygen paperback July 2011
Am a genius with a curious and genuine consciousness
A hateful ability to harness rites Am calling you in spirit light Begging your rights in
unique and creative standards In relative approach you know
With a child-like enthusiasm
I know the current perspective
And I know the incumbent innocence I bent them myself in my tribulations
So you won't get troubled
In the metaphors of trusted hearts
christian mowarin
follow the red gourd
If you wake up Feeling reluctantly dizzy With insanity screaming Unscripted thoughts Up in your hair And your head exploding Bit by bit by bit Follow the red gourd If the morning cold Is curling up your sleeve And the daylight too Bright for your eyes Your spirit don't let go Holding hand with your lover Squeezing tight and tighter Follow the red gourd Your friend comes Around and meets you round Gives you a little roll kick And the rain comes back From the night before To tell to stay at home So you wont go baobab Follow the red gourd An orangutan dance Away in cool energy Extra wide and intoxicating Puts all your dreams in One empty basket for the malady to ďŹ lter through Waiting and waiting and waiting Follow the red gourd
land of a certain sun
The long arm of the hour Hits a mile longer than necessary The shadows deep enough Branded by indefatigable switch Trailing through the wild Circumstantial in remuneration The devil in practiced performance Of revolutionary ancient relief Made pale by constance Irritated by notional messages Soon the women silhouettes Pilfered by orangutan sunset Began to appear radically Razed by burnt umber utterances Days over from the nascent Spirit infested udimili tall river With it's longitudinal tributaries Like a fulcrum of archipelagos Undulating in lighting speed For any one who dare walk The sun maneuvering it's way Clumsily towards the dead east Sinking fast among molten haze Lazily covered by burning cloud Rain sold and really imminent Time plays imaginary lessons On the end road to sunset On the way to an ancient salvation Made open by black kind
voices of a plateau
It's done, the Daily plague Stretched like a Symphony header Played in daylight Aristocratic craze Set in semi-arid Human vertical space And of paragraphs Of satanic verses Kept reserved For generations To rekindle To mock the new And lost holy wars The book of prophets But not a voice Of mediaeval santity Armed Armageddon Dressed up as crusaders In nocturnal energy On a table of rock Tagged in sediments In the earthly hours Before the cock To re create A life in afterlife With blades of steel In a street of stilt In greed of human salt In molten lava
a million descent
The Valley of the dead Holds the conspicuous abode Staged like an eighteen century Home to a million descent Garden once manicured The new armoires faith An effervescence of a hope Against the colloquial diety Marshes in rustic destitution Made to stay so well World in modest wonder A magic from the ashes Of a full boned and hectic Blood painted art of shrines There is no unimagined None whatsoever to venture on Old blood already shed New Knowledge acknowledged Gory nature of age long No time shall never bring us back Holy battle with the gods to wage
Reconstruction, the
It will not Lift your heart Completely nor Reconstruct you From the rain of pain And the sold panic of a picnic technic But the latent Splines it draws The calm clay On which it rests. Raw pollen power Bring wrath of the gods To mend the stakes Still wild, wandering. So you won't roam So true religion The future retrogressively Written in noon hue Satanic coronation You shiver In the new dew, Down by the day documentaries Seek a shelter these ambiguity Because you resonate natively A gentle market calling Mother nature warmth Day just stretched You know the harmattan Something you hold is broken Together we would drift Through it all nd ďŹ x you
heavy heart
Shadow moppets A dance of delinquent Shallow soliloquy In quizzical quietness Like stillness of hearts And life grown signage Made gains in grains Hands against walls In halls again this time Where would you go For dire wisdom And challenges of fate The clan wars rages Old Brothers in arms Bad blood dialects In plain proposals War time heroes In time stories Invocations voting In regular regions Down by the raids Hell so close, so Letting loose Prayers in Plural dictions Saint Matthew too new Kingmakers with crown Originated from lies Told to lineages of long Median mending principles In disorderly slant Slaying all who listens It's the end of the world As we all know it
twilight rain
Run away in rail You oil of resistance With the rest calm Cameras in disarray An array on thoughts Thought of you now Dancing in the cold Silver of twilight rain Your move in shire Manifests of an evening Enveloped in consequence Conscience in phony Race of cacophony How do you blend? With your mind so far And so mended from The antics of noon time Fusion formation As proprietary tools Taking rudimentary shape As ape of this a new jungle As app in new digital Dimensions dating back To time when minds work In weak lineage Painted in retro in motion With commotion in motion
liquid soul
Get away from My window pane I just worked it Move, old soul And take your cold Hold it close With all your pains Social at your own Intellectual speed Your heals in head Knock all down hill Everything you see It's your creativity Your whole margin Your own role Mad away from my sleep Far away in no sync Die in daily dream Walk on every water Clinch the tallest tree Make your own song With all your act Play in your own theatre Your own utter gene Your morbid generation It so doesn't matter One case in earnest You are just a wind A mindset, a ďŹ gment A role, a liquid soul
dancing alone
It comes like A machine, the Strike or strike offs Brain stings In stinks Instincts Violet detectives Finding paths Territories of dead Trajectories of life Native symphonies Coming together A move in sanity Insanity Spirit of revolt In reverb voltages Black wings Swarming down In large wrongs The dead running In orangutan orchestra Playing extrawide Praying dreams Abnormal realms In reciprocal maladies Waiting like this You need something Things on life's grip Heaven closer The sky game over
this mad beauty of mine
This mad beauty in me Sometimes I wonder Dare to ask once This madness in beautiful Hues leads me nowhere Leads me to rebirth Nor consultation Only humiliation This mad beauty I intend to rub off With a new color To fade away in times This mad beauty Stuck so much in me Works not for me Paints not my news Renders me in greys Not in brilliance Of cool blues or clues This made beauty I intend to rub off With a new charcoal To black away in night
scents of an
african spell
The setting sun slowly Glide past as the rays move The shadows in my room It's map corrugates my ďŹ nger's Furrow as it's violet ray Punched warmth in my reection Been aging there a while Near the open yet closed shutters Been dying slowly since that day Pondering why I had to remain unattended What is it this world have turned What is this paradise slave landscape Could it be the day have cast An irrevocable spell on my genre With the pulmonary thongs piecing through With hopes and beams of an upturned beginning Enchanted encapsulated in burnt dimensions? Night life burns slowly Is he coming to bring the light Or is he coming to take the life The magic wand, the one The energies that will power us The living spirits that will guide us The sons of the noble ancestors
Notes
Notes
Notes