From page to Strings

from page to strings

From Page to String is a poetic Musical show by Caesar obong, Samuel Nalangira ans Derrick magical kats as a group. Caesar Obong is a musical poet, and pays a range of other instruments, apart from that, there will also be lots of other acts from poets such as wake the poet, Rashida Namulondo, Joshua Kagimu(rap poet),Angel Noel and there will also be a surprise act from a visiting musician.

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A Triptych

From the past to the future
I slit-wage my burden
Through a state in quagmire

Every leaf is dry
The nation is at stake
Yet a triptych stands in black yellow and red

The past
The present
And the future awaits a nation

Yesterday we feared our burden and took refuge
Another took care with a blunt knife and butchered ignorance
Our eyes were opened with a drop of knowledge-queen syrup

Today we curry the syrup back home as bread winners
Booms still rains and our nation still dead
Mothers cry but where is the innocent world around

Let me a number
Let me call you, no I don’t need your number
I rather sing to the entire glob yet a painting still stands with three panels

In black the past still hunts us
In yellow the present in hunting us
In red the future will hunt us

We must face it with iron hurts
We shall sweat and cry blood until the fated victory.
This is our only hope for a painting with three panels

    © Caesar Obong 2016

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Theocracy

Upon heavens
My blistering tong
Be sealed

Do not cry
For mother earth weeps
From the freckles and shackles
Of capitalism

Upon faith
Let money be history
The soils of the earth
Boggy messy with innocent Sins

Winners and losers
Shackles to shackles
Freckles to freckles
We loose no time in our quest

Let God be the highest priest
Let’s rule this nation
In Gods mercy
In deity there is hope.

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Trident of Hope

Begotten three scores a some
From dawn
To Dusk
My hope dwells in ignorance

The fated blow of life
Leaves a mean buffalo stranded
Begotten not made man
Fate knows no slave

Begotten not made sick
Form of corruption
Dwells. In dikes like a mad bull elephant
We hope some day, just some day

And just some day we pray
The Sun raises his fingers upon us
So that plants may speak of glorification
And hopes at three scores

Three suns will shine
Of the blew print in the sky
Of the unseen in our hearts
And of the mirror in its reflection we know in the darkness her light will shine.

    Caesar Obong 2016

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Savages

Wild
Me…

Wild me
Leaves of fragments
Of hope by day

While they
At a shady
Will confiscate
My hope for their destiny

Wild me
Wild
Me…

Bleeds on these cages
Of hope
Of revenge
Of death

Stains of sins
Rigs my heart away
Hew him
Slew him

With a smile
They part the world
Good riddance
Let nature judge my actions

    © Caesar Obong 2016

A Letter To A Secret Admirer

Dear Blue
It wasn’t purple
Till I tested red as streams of death fills my heart
For I long for your heart
Give me your heart
Give me love
Your love
Give me your love and always it will be bond

Time to time again
We wasn’t never meant to be
Always wondering
Why and the thing is…
I’ve tried to move
Forward without you but I can’t

My heart beats lonely because my heart,
My heart
My mind
My soul
My…
Is telling me you are right here

Right here
Right here
Here here and there…
God! dam’it…
it’s killing me

All I ever wanted was your loyalty
Royalty is a quest
For a bond in love
Test tan’gy like the leaves of hibiscus rozaless
I guess that was to much to ask

And I’
I w’ll always want you
Always#
In my heart always…
In my mind always
And ALWAYS THERE WAITING IN
Heart…
Body…
And soul..
In waits for a love in vain…

With lots of admiration
Yours truly love one in comer!
My breath stops right here
Am dying and don’t forget to love me

Are You Worthy?

Yes,
i love you but are you worth the sacrifice?
Because I have to sacrifice a lot.

I have to sacrifice my,
My last name to take up yours
Leave my home to move in with you
And of my reedom
Ho sacrifice my entire fredom to
In’form you of my whereabouts all the time…

I have to sacrifice my alone time to be with you
Sacrifice my body
My body to bear your children
Think about it
My body!?

I have to sacrifice some of my dreams
For the betterment of wii!!!
Give up my world as I know it
So that I can include you in it
These are huge sacrifices my friend
So you stay secret and let me move on

But if,
If I
If I may ask why?
How?
Or so to say
Are you worthy?

Are you?
Are you?
Are you please answer me?

Are you worthy of the tears when we have a fight?
Are you worthy the pain when am having our babies?
Are you worthy the sleepless nights when I am missing you?
Are you worthy the worry when things are not well with you?
Are you worthy the time to be spared to spend together?
Are you worthy the opportunities I have to let go of?
Are you worthy the rest of my life?

Are you deserving of me?

This intelligent and wise me
This wonderfully and fearfully made me
This hard-working and goal oriented me?

Are you worthy of?

This loving and caring me
This compassionate and gracious me
This God fearing and discerning me
This loyal and honest me
This visionary
This warrior
This team player
This peace maker
This AWESOME me

Because I will not settle for less
I simply cannot afford to
You must be worthy
You must be deserving
Because there is too much at stake

Yes I Am Worthy a Promise…

Yes
I am
A tingle of loneliness
My hear beats once again

Like a duker I will die at your footsteps
If lilies be gray let red be the color of my lobe
For I will curry you whole world on my back

I am an elephant
A giant among dwarfs
For I eat the top of
The palm

My worm blood is but nectar
Your tears are my sorrows
Your smiles elevates me till the secret world
Where gods are but jealous

I passionates between ridges
And the world is at peace
If you hold the lonely strings tight
What more do I need
You
My dear you and you alone
Is all that I long for

    © Caesar Obong 2016

WREATH

Kampala-20160101-00817I
My eye
A life gone so soon
Rivers of pain
Wonders down a painful joy
Through this painless
Earth your fire hazel in the wind

U
Why you
Re joys and calmness
A cradle of haziness
Life regenerate toward Oblivion

I
For eye
Three scores a trinity
Tears meanders through this earthly desart
A wound you left in our heart when you parted

Hai!
Why?
Eyes glued towards the sun
Spirits dazzling so strong a ray
Yet you lie silent and still
On your journey we’e hope
Some day we’ll meet again

    © Caesar Obong 2016

Crack my Balls

A coin so heavy a burden
My nation cries freedom

But were we in bondage?
Under a spell I suppose…

Under a great magical spell
That which made us dumb

Our heads are loose
Our bellies are full

Active political volcanic
Maintain…

Loose balls crack in political fires
Wagging words and dictions of wars..

I fries the leadership,
Gross…

But my fear makes me leave in fear
Am caged and to hell with it

CRACK MY BALLS…
GOOD REDENCY…

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Tavern

Left home with a quest
To get my head thinking
With a sipped of poison
By brains grew bigger
My problems disappeared

Today we sipped
Tomorrow we wonder
Yesterday was a day but
With a poisonous glass
By my hand I sipped
Towards my way to insanity

A pub for a home
Sponges as friends
The blew sky is my home
But a long dark cloud hovers over me

Is there pleasure amidst sanity
A bar is home away from home
A mixologist a friend amidst friends
Please lord take this glass away from I

My prayer past heavenly gates
Am free from contamination
A short, volt, bottle, tort or so
Tears flows as utility reaches marginals

I lick the toilet sits
And protest blame
Not me but the bartender
And yet a Tavern is home a way from home
Where free advise is got.

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Contracted Faith

Shed light on thy beauty
The gates of hell
Burns in internal flames
Mockery Jealousy and Extortion
A beauty desire

Shed dripping lies on thy beauty
For truth told wins no sympathy
Burdens of hops rest on thy tongue
Demons, Saturn are but differed
Secret only known to a MARGICIAN

Truth or Lies
Angels or Demons
Good or Bad
There is no correspondence in hope
Demons turned angels by black spells
Saturn a medium

Hops of salvation crashes when the brain is a tool
Train to think for its self
The dripping flowers sweats blood
At the large galvanized gates of heavens
And black is not bad but only a father of all creations…

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Reaping the Mastered Seeds A Confessional letter from the Emperor

Dear fellow country folks
I have been doctored
To learn the ways of man into supporting a cause
Why is it that so many of you guys are so anti-dictators?

Imagine if this state was democratic
I wouldn’t let 1% of my people have all the nation’s wealth.

I wouldn’t afford helping my rich friends like Meta, Rupzzi, Geovani and many more get richer by cutting their taxes
Or Bailing them out when they gamble and lose.

I wouldn’t afford ignoring the needs of the poor for health care and education like I has been doing in the past thirty years.

Look at my media, it currently appear free, but is secretly controlled by Geovan and his family.

My loving government tortures foreign prisoners and political opponents like Lukzzi and Kizz.B.

I have rigged elections what will UN do about it?
I have lied about why I go to war and my troops are doing quite a good Job in foreign countries like Somalia, S. Sudan, D.R Congo and C.A.R. Let alone Nigeria, Burundi and Middle east.

My prisons are filled with one particular political group, and no one complains

I have use the media to scare the people into supporting policies that are against their interests and that’s the definition of freedom and free will

The mastered seed that was planted way back in January of 1986 is readily ripen and yellow and I will harvest it Jointly or single handed.

The Barrel awaits who ever ignores my call
Doctored by His Excellence

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IGNODOM

Every need got an ego to feed
Every mouth got an anus to ex hail
Every wrong lives us in regret
Don’t be so blinded by your bad
Walk in the lime light of truth
Eat by the door steps of light
For the stereo cries rasta
And I speak ganja

Every fool never listen to advise
Every penis walks with the burdens of a family
Every woman needs a shoulder to lean on
Yet in the presence of wisdom
A fool leans through hardship
Scratching his balls like a mentally retarded person
Wisdom is backed by experience
And mistakes is a white rose among red ones.

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Spirit Of Age

I want to be faithful
But I must first learn fidelity
I want to be obedient
And I must practice obedience
I want to be peace-loving
But also courageous
And I must therefore be peace-loving
And at the same time courageous
I do not want to grow soft
I want to be hard so that I am able to withstand the hardships of life
And for this I have to harden myself in my youth
I must learn to be hard, to stand privations without breaking down
I want to love honor
I have already in the days of my youth
Live up to this concept of honor
So you my friends should live to it.

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Carry On

Chorus

Carry on
Carry on
Carry on my brother
Life is a journey
Carry on
Carry on
Carry on carry on ho sister
A big storm is waiting

Carry on
Never loose hope
Carry on n just hack the pain away

Refrain

Livelihood wretched hanger is striving
Rainfall late would you blame it on faith
Onsets n drought is no easy way to go
Jobless and starving is a clear road to fate

Don’t tell me more…

A big storm is waiting

Hack the pain away

And just hack the pain away

Don’t tell me more

Unusual weather pattern is locking us up
The door of salvation is locking it on us
Success knocks knocks
No easy response
Don’t you count on
Empty dreams

Just carry on

Chorus

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Confession of A Heroin Addict

Hooked to the look of wild being I am
I live in the land of the un forgiven
My Habits turn good ones bad
Poison a rituals
Have got to have it
I have it, a habit
Welcome your traces
Of an addict
God forgive me
For the bad deeds
That I have done

Drug addict I am
Steel iron tubes pricks my veins
Worm poisons spills my blood
Quivering is my body without it
I got to have it
To kill the pain
Blurry is my vision
Eye lead heavy
I feel it

I see sound floating in the air
How wonderful heroin is
Today I plant a rose on my grave yard
Let me curve a stone for a coffin
I dig a hole under the sun
Hidden is my cynical ritual
Have got to have it now
For the watery pellets heats like bullets
Automated pressure kills me quick
God forgive the son of man
For I am mortal and helpless
Under the sun

I give some act-rite juices
To feel it high
Is my bad
Now everything is all right
The eye of the needle cries out to the darker side
Am looking inside through the outdoor knocking
But my society won’t let me in
So I grab my stocking
Put over my head and get the dough
These needles are my gods
Smack is my soul
My domain brings conclusion
That I’m using but the question is, am I abusing
Infested in the residence of union
Drug intrusion, color fusion
Invasion! of your senses maintain relapse
Dilate eye lenses
My dependence on these chemical artificial dreams
Is what makes my habit obscene
God forgive my sins for I am no man without your protections

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How to become a better writer

How to become a better writer is a must read for every passionate writer out there burning to excellent in his or her art.

1. Read great writers. This may sound obvious, but it has to be said. This is the place to start. If you don’t read great writing, you won’t know how to do it. Everyone starts by learning from the masters, by emulating them, and then through them, you find your own voice. Read a lot. As much as possible. Pay close attention to style and mechanics in addition to content.

2. Write a lot. Try to write every day, or multiple times a day if possible. The more you write, the better you’ll get. Writing is a skill, and like any other skill, you have to practice it to get better. Write stuff for yourself, write for a blog, write for other publications. Write just to write, and have a blast doing it. It gets easier after awhile if you practice a lot.

3. Write down ideas, all the time. Keep a little notebook handy (Nabokov carried around index cards) and write down ideas for stories or articles or novels or characters. Write down snippets of conversation that you hear. Write down plot twists and visual details and fragments of song lyrics or poems that move you. Having these ideas written down helps, because they can inspire you or actually go directly into your writing. I like to keep a list of post ideas for my blog, and I continually add to it.

4. Create a writing ritual. Find a certain time of day when you can write without interruptions, and make it a routine. For me, mornings work best, but others might find lunch or evenings or midnight hours the best. Whatever works for you, make it a must-do thing every single day. Write for at least 30 minutes, but an hour is even better. If you’re a full-time writer, you’ll need to write for several hours a day, as I do. But don’t worry! It helps you get better.

5. Just write. If you’ve got blank paper or a blank screen staring at you, it can be intimidating. You might be tempted to go check your email or get a snack. Well, don’t even think about it, mister. Just start writing. Start typing away — it doesn’t matter what you write — and get the fingers moving. Once you get going, you get in the flow of things, and it gets easier. I like to start out by typing things like my name or a headline or something easy like that, and then the juices start flowing and stuff just pours out of me. But the key is to just get going.

6. Eliminate distractions. Writing does not work well with multi-tasking or background noise. It’s best done in quiet, or with some mellow music playing. Do your writing with a minimal writer like WriteRoom or DarkRoom or Writer, and do it in full-screen. Turn off email or IM notifications, turn off the phone and your cell phone, turn off the TV, and clear off your desk … you can stuff everything in a drawer for now until you have time to sort everything out later … but don’t get into sorting mode now, because it’s writing time! Clear away distractions so you can work without interruption.

7. Plan, then write. This may sound contradictory to the above “just write” tip, but it’s not really. I find it useful to do my planning or pre-writing thinking before I sit down to write. I’ll think about it during my daily run, or walk around for a bit to brainstorm, then write things down and do an outline if necessary. Then, when I’m ready, I can sit down and just crank out the text. The thinking’s already been done. For a great method for planning out a novel, see the Snowflake Method.

8. Experiment. Just because you want to emulate the great writers doesn’t mean you have to be exactly like them. Try out new things. Steal bits from other people. Experiment with your style, your voice, your mechanics, your themes. Try out new words. Invent new words. Experimentalize everything. And see what works, and toss out what doesn’t.

9. Revise. If you really crank out the text, and experiment, and just let things flow, you’ll need to go back over it. Yes, that means you. Many writers hate revising, because it seems like so much work when they’ve already done the writing. But if you want to be a good writer, you need to learn to revise. Because revision is where good writing really is. It separates the mediocre from the great. Go back over everything, looking not only for grammar and spelling mistakes, but for unnecessary words and awkward structures and confusing sentences. Aim for clarity, for strength, for freshness.

10. Be concise. This is best done during the revision process, but you need to edit every sentence and paragraph and remove everything but the essential. A short sentence is preferred over a longer one, and a clear word is preferred over two in jargonese. Compact is powerful.

11. Use powerful sentences. Aim for shorter sentences with strong verbs. Of course, not every sentence should be the same — you need variation — but try to create sentences with oomph. You might find this easier to do in the revision stage, as it might not be something you’re thinking about when you’re pumping out that first draft.

12. Get feedback. You can’t get better in a vacuum. Get someone to read over your stuff — preferably a good writer or editor. Someone who reads a lot, and can give you honest and intelligent feedback. And then listen. Really try to understand the criticism and accept it and use it to improve. Instead of being hurt, thank your editor for helping you get better.

13. Put yourself out there. At some point, you’ll need to let others read your writing. Not just the person who you’re allowing to read it, but the general public. You’ll need to publish your book or short story or poem, or write for a publication. If you’re already doing a blog, that’s good, but if no one reads it, then you need to find a bigger blog and try to submit a guest post. Putting your writing out in the public can be nerve-wracking, but it is a crucial (if painful) part of every writer’s growth. Just do it.

14. Learn to be conversational. Many people write too stiffly. I find that it’s so much better to write like you talk (without all the umms and uhhs). People relate to it better. It’s not an easy task at first, but it’s something to strive for. And that brings up another point — it’s better to break the rules of grammar in order to sound conversational (as I did in the last sentence) than to sound stilted just so you can follow the proper rules. But don’t break the rules of grammar without good reason — know that you’re doing it, and why.

15. Start and end strong. The most important parts of your writing are the beginning and end. Especially the beginning. If you don’t hook your reader in the beginning, they won’t read the rest of your writing. So when you’ve written your first draft, spend some extra time crafting a good beginning. Get them interested and wanting to know more. And when you’re done with that, write a good ending … that will leave them wanting more of your writing.

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streetwise

I beg O…
In the name of this almighty!
Is the underlying disguise
I see all day O…
In the city or town streets
I walk ho…

See them crippled our society
submit to lazy individuals
Allow them take along,
Every sweat earned
You being run over

The song of a hawker-city council attendants stampede,
The noise from the law enforcers step our thread bare buttocks
And the cold gun barrel rest on our naked necks
While we are nothing more than sits
To the low high officers of the peoples

A meal a day
We stay focused of being rained on dirty politics
Have you heard?
Sweet melodies from a blind street bagger
Leaves us all opened mouthed
The disabled is always our hero
Making us feel safe on the naked streets

I wish you knew my fate
I don’t but the street herbalist does
He is a god on the street
For a near Wesley brown or silvery coins
His tongue sees my future

Am more alert at the law enforcers
The low high officers of the law.
Whose rubber boots massages our buttocks
His gun barrel threaten our souls
And we kindly curry him on our backs

Of the street acrobats
Have you seen how beautiful they are
How aggressive they live
How patient they can be
They are the accommodating souls
Help them or not!

They won’t mark your face
Let you pass without calling u ‘sister’ or ‘brother’
A day later with the same plight.
They simply need a savior
A savior to lead them to classroom doors,
Studios and Art galleries
Or fashion shows
They need someone to hold their hand to the right direction

Hear them play in an appropriate stage
Play the drum sets with the right band
Dance for the right artist
They need a library to borrow books from
Not a bowl with two desperately tired coins waiting for a good Samaritan to pass by!

A beggar, yes a beggar on the street
You need stop playing foul
Someone needs not pity in the name of able physiques.
What a lazy lad you are!
Pessimistic opportunist!
We need laws to punish such,
Not for being lazy
But for the injustice they do…
Harmlessly needy souls of the community
disabled members of our states.

They don’t need beggars to lead them to the streets
When they don’t want to be there in the first place.
When all they need is for the beggar to leave them alone!
To walk in the streets of towns and cities
As they head to their places of work!

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Bucket O Bones

Dear friends o earth,
Am no pagan
Neither am I faithful enough
To live a bucket of meat unattended to?

A bucket of vegetable
Makes no sense to me
Religion is corruption
Just like tax men

A bucket of bones is all that’s left
I wish I knew what they were celebrating
I wish I was dogmatic enough to understand SANTA
For Christ’s coming meant mass madder to chicken

I a rasta ferian fight for love of all that breath
My rasta fidelity of three leaves, fight for freedom
And a plate of veggies
Leaves me in a state of quagmire…

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Cry Blood

Today we fight for freedom
Tomorrow we suffer from our own ignorance
When the free will is no more
And brothers eats up each other life
(For a political cause)

Let the sent of burnt blood
pinch their nostrils while the world turns a blind eye
Upon the foreseen beauty
Of the dying…
(For a sin they pay in regret)

Audible to their ears
Is nothing more than fate
Echoes of death screams of a failed figure head
As fetal brutality lights their future
(We hear in regret)

Let’s not take laws in our hands
In retaliation
They have dictated upon our fate
And we dance to their tunes…
(Day… by night…)

Of the socialist attributes
We strive regardless
But lies and propaganda is sweeter than honey
And they know it
(For we sing free will to humanity)

Poverty is strife like a bees stink
Nobility is unjust and dangerous
Propaganda is sweet to the capitalist
And success strives on lies
(While everything else withers with lies.)

Rashida Rashida

Talked incessantly in a guttural voice
Sometimes wittily
Sometimes crudely.
Indifferent to sex yet frank and open about it
Fonder of animals than of people
Welcoming
Unpretentious
Scandalous
Capricious and rather noisy at times

Ho Rashii…
Humorous and vulgar
Impulsive and warm-hearted
Never gives a hoot for anyone or anything.
Don’t forget her
When she gives you her time
A smile, how wonderful
A tear drop how painful
But all in all its a spoken word peace
Rashida Rashida the stage queen.

    © Caesar Obong 2015

Rashida Namulondo is a Ugandan spoken word artist, a creative writer and one of the members of lantern meets of poets.

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Pride Land that i Admired

Let me tell them my story
Of abuse and disrespect
Segregated and thought for as an alien
My reddish skin tone speaks for its self
My black thick cloud of hair
Makes you idle gaze in admiration

Am an alien
Born African
A little heaven
In my country
we know no greed
No jealousy
No hatred
Africa a beautiful country for nobles

I used to live in a garden of plenty
Shared with the lions
And we were one but happy family
Never was I caged for my favorite beauty
Crocodiles, Pythons, and hyenas were medicinal meat
And cold clear waters gracefully meandered
through our home state

My curiosity brought me holocaust
Europe an Ugly country
Forest of dead rocks
for a home state
No clear streams
Water test like urine

Noisy fire breathing animals runs freely
With a circular rubbery legs
The alien people speaks nasal tongue
A cobweb wrapped around their bodies
They have hooves like the cows
And are very aggressive
Some carry fire sticks too

The white skins tames that, that can not be eaten
For their advantage
Hanger bites painfully insides my bosom
I miss you mother africa
I miss you pride land

This place is no place for man
Yet the white skin finds it heaven
They have caged me
Either because of my hear lock
Or because of my skin tone
What a strange place
Take me back home
So that I can play with the lions
In a mountain of dead rock I lie, caged and isolated

We miss you Maraboustork

Rain or shine
The painters of this nation
Rest in a garbage park
I have known them for quite a long time
Their favorite color is white
Their favorite spot is high above every man
And with an oily sack
They will paint

Water water comer miayi
A vulture butcher a dead caucus
And in the eye of every man
The sun sings freedom
And every plant withers
Wile the painters of this nations looks on
With a greedy eye
The world is but a corrupt environment

The ground breathes death
Iron snakes rails on
Noisy birds fly high above
Poisonous waters corrodes our wells
Our eyes are dried and grungy
A guard to save the nations
Earth worms hunts man for lunch
Yet with a dry suck
The painters of this world departs for the wilderness
We miss you Maraboustork

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EMANCIPATION!

If its Middle East or third world Africa
the world is quiet
when Czar da Poet
Clears his voice and open his wide mouth to Speak
thousands of haters ask my status in life,
well refuse to accept the truth but I will never stop blowing the trumpets of the Payira
handed down for generations
from Rwot Awich to Acana
I live among the shadows of
Pa neya am of the paidwe’s

Let them speak
Let them slain us
Kololo ku
One day when am gone
the world will remember my name in pain
son of the Paidwe’s hunted,
hated and rejected for i whistled…
Ladwar dies of thirst in the wilderness
Let’s all whistle the songs of freedom

Rwot- title for a chief among the acholi
Payira is a geograpical location
Paneya- maternal grandness home state
Kololo ku- rebellion never wins
Paidwe-of the moon people
Ladwar- a hunter

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Cry Humanity

Luice Hamstrong…
what a wonderful world
A suicide victim
A pretense to sodomized the state off her freedom
A soldier of peace am I
What a wonderful world
Green roses blew black
A cry revenge
While the ants laugh at mockery of a political stage
We kill the innocents in retaliation
The sky is blew oh yes it is
Cold rivers Red
Is the stain of the slain

Nguvu na Nguvu
We want your wealth
Humanity must steal from the park
The gentle creature turned wild by pain of hanger
There is no respect in revenge
Only regret
And I speak to my self
Ho what a wonderful world
The state,
the free will,
the regret
Ho what a wonderful world

Golden smile
I mascara thousands to clam
An air base in their territory
Respect must be backed by fear
Ho what a wonder full world…

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PUZZLES OF LIFE

Gone are the yesterdays
When my country was still peaceful
When slenderer ladies roamed the night clubs
And every muzungu was a pray

We cried freedom from financial burdens
Drunk cold citizen brew, sipped sucks of london dry gin
Yet with coal like coated skin, smelly armpits and torn stockings we were but happy

Football was the inn thing
My team was chicago bulls
I recall of the time when Jordan Mike did his air walk
BBC broad cast it live my ears were opened that day

The stick girls that would roam the trading centre
Munching ligaments and eating row mangos were aloof
They would live a muzungu crying out bloody girl!
But that was then in the after math

We had no social media to discipline us
So we drunk and rested while at work
Creative writing is so difficult my friends would complain
You have to sample it to get the real story

A Muzungu yelling out 999 police
With an open zip lock, no pants and personal documents
A rubber shield peeping out of his west line
While we sipped sucks of london gin and Citizen beer
a donation from the stick girl whom he had…

That was in the past
But today the stick girls have been replaced by the Swagatees
they are friendlier to money and are shameless
They keep track of the social and political headlines
And like an angry lioness they are aggressive and knows not how to share

That was today
In tomorrows world
I expect date night girls to replace swagatees
They will break all the rules
make life a living hell for some of us
And they will be the type you can’t hide away from.
Because Humanity is changing…

Muzungu is a white person
Swagatees are youth with a particular blend of fashion

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A POLITE DISGRESS

My eyes tell a story
I have spent sleepless night
Cooking a country in chains
Been so long enough
Seen a leader glue in power
Not willing to let go
Till death part with them…

My hair tell a story
Of age
Born today
Lived today
And died today
While the yesterday’s ruler still ruled
With Guns and iron fist for tomorrows youth
And with a lying tong
He smiles to my sufferings

Wrinkles around my desert like mustache
Tells a story of pain
Of a jobless educated youth
Who chants praise to his emperor
With a yellow T-shirt
I sing to my pain
2 bonga nawe
Sevo…
Is it worth it?

I must cook something
To let go of today
I must tell a lie to my self
To let go of today’s pain
I will lie to the future generation
Chant praise in distress
Humiliate my self
And just then I will tame my self
Hunt my future in a cunning way

I have been long sited in this forest of books
Some have greasy ideas, dark and dirty
Some sing numerical ideas so boring
Others tell stories of stupidity
Books are nothings but stains of beautiful and dull colors
Of fat and thin emaciated maids
Who wonder the street of wisdom
In search of gnosium

But leaders are like a baboon attacked by black flies
They Chant threat amidst pain
The yesterdays wounds must only yield from the outside and rot from the inside
That’s what politicians are
They treat our heart with pain
Pain can set you free
Especially when you are in need
Pain make you forget that you are the determinant.

AM IN PAIN
PAIN OF BEING BLINDED BY AN EMPEROR!

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OGOGORO

Push…
Me in
Push me out
Ogogoro?

You are the epitome of my happiness
You test!
Your smell
The beads around your west
Tickles my test buds with excitement?s…

Ogogoro?

You alone knows my sorrows
My happy…
NEST?

Okai kai
Liralira
Kasese
Key?
Cha… nga?

My happiness dwells…
in you
When you touch my lips
The ritual of life assunders…
with excitements
An excitement that sends a man drowsy
And staggering to his rest pad

Ogogoro
A true friend you are
And you alone knows what it takes
To bring a mans life back
A sip of you
A puff of filtered cigarette
Crafts a mans appetite
An appetite that traits alone can witness

Ogogoro?
Ah!
A true friend you are.

***
©Caesar Obong aka czar da poet a 2015 Production

Note
Ogogolo is an african crude dry gin from cain sugar, yeast and coconut syrup.
Key, changa, kasese, Liralira and Okaikai are other names of the same brew.

Chintamani Stone

I saw an old man of nativity
Searching, searching and lurching
Down a forgotten lonely grave yard
He muttered words of elevations
Singing Buddhists rhymes
Sweet lullaby pushing me to sunamer

In his quest
Excavating, excavating and extracting
Bones artifacts of forgotten origins
Made sense to him
Wailing tears of rejuvenation
I hollered
Why not respect the dead?

This is fur greater than cause young man
His white bushy moustache giggling
The world is at peace if this purplets is in safe hands
This purplet stone of destiny answers all
You want conquest
It gives at a cost
The cost is destined
Son this is the wondering stone of destiny

Rebirth of Time


Yesterday was history
Tomorrow is mystery
I live for mystery
A gift I suppose
To you

If you don’t consider it
Its up to you
My status today is temporary
And what passes by
Is a gift

Today a gift
But you my friend
You live for today
To you I am a Skank
For I live in promises that never yield

Keep on laughing
Tomorrow I will yield the good breeds
But today you stresses me up
But block by block I build a foundation
That your generation will be proud of

I am a skank you laugh
But tomorrow I will ask
May be you will even be frightened
To look at me in the face
For you lived for ruins but I was the building blocks

A foundation I built for your generation
A strong foundation that a nation praises
Yet you blindly accuse me
Of poverty and dictatorship
I am a son of my mother born strong and understanding

You my friend
You have been blinded by worldly items
Correct your mistakes
And I will forgive and forget
Don’t let greed blind you

You do not consider me worthy
I am a man of deity
I believe in reincarnation
Metempsychosis or transmigration of the soul
Do you believe in reincarnation too

The chi in me
The Derivative of the spirits…
Transformation
What holds my heart is stronger
Than what you are asking for

I live in the darkest part of my soul
My deeds are a result of transformation
Of the worldly pears that hearts my soul
A blue print in my judgment
An issue you shouldn’t consider

Put thoughts first
Speak after a correct judgment
Do not provoke an issue
Walk away
That helps calm a provoked soul

We are our own judgment
You my friend fails to understand
The doctrines
Was it not you who asked
And when I answer it frightens you up

I am not what you see in me
I am a result of wisdom
A knowledge greater than what education can hold
I am a light bearer in the darkness
My light shines beyond the horizon to my death bed

Do not talk false on me
Do not ignore my calling
Do not wish bad lack on me
The world is an atom in a multiverse
And you and me are the building blocks in it

The protons and neutron
Vibrating to cause a change
Electrons a charge
That cooks a mans brain
And you my friends see me walk to my darker days

TOY BOY

Am a Toy Boy
Yes I am because I am in love
With my mothers age mate
No I don’t actually love her but I love her money

Girls my age brackets
Knows not the secret of courtship
If its love then you are in trouble
But my mothers age brackets wants attention

Toy boy to sugar mom
money I desire
For the courtship I pretend
Nothing other than money that I die for

Lean on me
She cries with cold hands, cold hands…
I will curry you through I comfort
With worm shoulder I cuddle her

A sugar boy be I for these Stallions
That I scavenge
Test-less as they may be
Are my fathers age mates

Who cares what they be
None but I do
I care for I need their money
Trade fluids for Money

A toy boy I am
I know she isn’t worth a woman
But for her money I die
I make her world feel young ageing in style

In public
She is only a mother
And I only a son she never had
I care what you say but to money I care most!

Not silly enough to make mistakes
Sweet mama likes it her way
For I do it just the way she wants it
Mama needs no shield on but I do

Hey girl hold it
She is my boss
Show some respect young lady or else?
Or else you quit!

A CONTRACT?

I live…
My life through time
Am not happy
With the path…
That I have chosen

This white paper
Has ruined my life
I signed yes I did signed
Because I needed the money
And they needed my talent

I have traded my talent
For my suffering
A laissez-faire
Now they brag about my name
Live me with my suffering

I cry for my freedom
You and them can kiss my bosom
I live for the pride of the world
To talk is their money
If I sit back is a loss on my side

You and them can kiss my bosom
I am a city linker
Durban, Nairobi, Kampala or Gotham
You name it a contract I survive on
My life, my profession is controlled by the vail of a contract

I have been to many hotels
Sun City in Gauteng province is my favourite
Aromatic cappuccino of Hilton Nairobi hotel my favourite too
Luwombo chicken in sheraton where I reside
While my family rot in giza giza slums near mbuya barracks, Kampala-Uganda.

I change cars like shirts
Yes I do that because I am a public face
You and them can kiss my bosom
Cardiac, Mercedes, rang rover I drive
I talk they earn, they earn I work, and that’s the way it is
A con.. Yes a contract

You and them work to see me in drain
Yet you and them thinks I earn millions
No I actually earn penny
But my talent is what they survive on
I survive on and now you too survive on
Writing lies and faults reports to see me down

Surprise your reports pushes me up
My cause is greater than my personality
If i accept its a story,
If i reject is another story
The world is safe on lies, deny it I live for the press

You and them can kiss my bosom
I signed a contract to save my weary bosom
You do your job and let me do mine
I signed a contract because I was broke
You report because you lark what to sell to the public.

A contract?
Yes a contract is what I signed.
And I labour through
Living through time
A contract for my ruin.

***
©Caesar Obong aka czar da poet a 2015 Production

SUGAR BABY

What is all this pampering about?
Every day, week in, week out?
From hostel to hotel, beaches, bar and hangouts
Am tired of hearing, doing and doing the same thing

Whether I”m sexy or whether am not
Whether am happy or am sad
Whether I love to or hate to do it
All that matters is are they cool with it?

Drive me in
A Mercedes, Cardilac or limousine
I live this compass free of financial Baden

When ever I juggle or wiggle
It’s another poor old prick I crunch
As soon as they call baby, yes baby…

My sweet sense tingle for a Sony DC today and tomorrow?
Yes tomorrow could be a windows PDA brand new from IBM
For a sauna, a swim in the hot sun, endless holiday
Is all that I will crave for

A sugar baby for I
Before I juggle or wiggle another victim
Its time to turn to my books,
good grades at schools
A better tomorrow starts today

My teachers yes my lecturers and professors too
I see them as a tool, puppets they are
For good grades needs dedications and openness
My world is a statement of price, an invitation to treat
Caviet empta is all that I offer

Be aware am a sugar baby, baby…

Future awaits

They are the simplest kind of being,
A knock on their door steps, only wins them_
They are the building blocks
For all that matters a joy to their husband
A mother for a stable house that’s what a man needs

But which kid of women do they need?
How many men have seen them through
A few knows what lies on behind what doesn’t
Its their epitome of desire,
Hidden behind beauties are sock of jealousy

I pear into a glance, my future wife or
Or…
A glance!
Yes a glance into what is silently
Solitude!?!

Retributions!

Give me blood and wine

So i can celebrate

My opportunities

With vengeance

Too long has my patience

Dried up in mad-illusions

While the black white collar criminal

Rabid our lives masterminding a plan

We plunge our way in disguise

Today we languid from  fake policies

Tomorrow our children pays the price

While we are long gone and forgotten

Earth worms make love with our skull

And dead waters slabber

We kink our hears

And pray for the fated day

Retri-butions…

IMGP1845 Continue reading “Retributions!”

Contrasting Schooling and Being Schooled

To live without thinking is to fail in the proper use of that power and fraculties with which we have been eluded, to think with out applying one’s thought to the conduct and affections to the subject is but a loose understanding of the conditions and terms of minute intellectual capacity, that capacity to reason, listen and understand what the ultimate goal of the information is and how it can be developed to something useful by another party or groups of individuals

What is education then?

What is studies, why do we need to be schooled?

Must we pay vast amount of money to buy knowledge?

All these questions and their answers are but illusions for if money as a medium of exchange is involved in education, the whole ultimate goal of innovation and or invention looses the meaning which is the primary goal of getting schooled and to be schooled is to learn from one another which is the sharing of a known piece of information, or idea which in tern is the passing of a given information from one informed ear to the other uninformed ear.

The information must then pass through a medium and that media sometime being the ultimate truth through which knowledge can be attained, the proces of attaining that knowledge there for is magical, there are vast fields of learning and learning it self is a question in contrast, that which is magnetised to a polarity, that polarity being the body of knowledge or mental freedom to which ones attains at the end of the tunnel.

The duality that doesn’t exist but in turns affects us more and more with time is to try and learn from the ultimate goal of magnetization the polarities, the absolute freedom, the caravan of destitute, that underlining concept of time and space in a field of broader understanding.

How ever the use of magnet in this concept is sometimes understood as a compleet manipulation of the ultimate doctrine, as if to say the only choice is between yes and no. The understanding and failing to understand is but a mystery born out of human mis understanding, that which in this case can be treated as a corrupt behaviour, that behaviour which is aberrant.

To sum up this discussion about schooling and being school let me take a deep guess into my curious state of mental illusion and may i be bold enough to accept that the truth is the illusion and there is no truth in its self but the finding of the ultimate goal is what counts. The ultimate goal is also the induction of curiosity or the introduction of corrupt understanding as the saying goes in this current generation of netzenship.

 

CLAIMS OF BETRAYALS

Traitors extradite

The elders speak in cord red

 War, war, war must be declared 
While vulture squeals a dying tone
Food, food ho!
What a wonderful food
The youth will paint the earth with their own blood
Those that deserve to live the most must die
Greed and welfare they fought
But necked dogs visit the trenches at night fall
Expecting a wonderful food
Hoo! what a wonderful food
But it is the youth that must fight and die.
Let them fight and die
and mothers must cry
Blessed are the young,
For they shall inherit the national debt.

Make A Change

14102876_1640666822910994_5910355800660766894_o(refrain)

if you keep on
Doing what ever
You have always 
done

You will keep on
Being who ever
you have always
been

Don kong i winya loki ba
lok man kela koyo
jal kong iwinya loki ba
lok man kela koyo
kong i winya loki ba
kela koyo ya

(refrain)
Yes i know that
how it sounds like
too well i know that
what it feels like

nothing changes 
unless you can
make a change
nothing changes 
Unless you make a change

(refrain)

Don kong i winya loki ba
lok man kela koyo
jal kong iwinya loki ba
lok man kela koyo
kong i winya loki ba
kela koyo ya


Verse(spoken word)

When hope 
is the only force
sweeter than the human will

Freedom, Justice and Peace
Are but illusion
Born out of the faculties
Of the same force
made divine by 
the same people who gave you 
Your banking System, 
Your corrupt educational system
Your free will

Its important to note
that freedom is a fundamental right
a right to decency
creativity, individuality and intellectualism

Killing creativity, individuality and Intellectualism
is more like modern day slavery
that which we must fight upon.

(refrain)
Yes i know that
how it sounds like
too well i know that
what it feels like

Don kong i winya loki ba
lok man kela koyo
jal kong iwinya loki ba
lok man kela koyo
kong i winya loki ba
kela koyo ya (X4)


Notes
To play the song you will ave to set your metronome at 70 beeps per minutes, 
the codes being used are E and Am don't forget the finger picking.