Graveyard of Truth
I dare not to tell it
It is trampled upon by powers of the world
It is slain
It is killed and buried in its graveyard
It is the graveyard of truthReign in the kingdom of lies,
is reign in the kingdom of falsehood
It is where truth is a fiction
It is where truth remains a fallacy of poor
The powerful and the rich buy it
The poor rears it
The sycophant adores it
And the innocent are the subjects
It is the graveyard of truth
In the funeral of truth, liars become the heroes and heroines of the day
The truth in its graveyard becomes a valiant
Even in the court of law, truth could still suffer the blames
For none tends to liaise with weak
Truth from a weak mouth tends to become a subject of a muscular
Graveyard of a truth becomes a scene of genocide
Scene of lie becomes shrine of martyrs murdered in the battle of lies
It is concocted by few, but enjoys support of many blinds
Lie becomes truth of strong and truth become lie of the weak
It is a truth in the graveyard
In the graveyard of truth,
even a tongue of a liar becomes piece of a gospel
Even a liar becomes a spokesperson of truth
After truth is being trampled upon by the powerful
It is the reign of lie
It is the kingdom of none other than lie but a lie sugarcoated
It is the kingdom where witchdoctors do the preaching of four gospels
Less live the kingdom of lie
Long live the graveyard of truth.
bed tends to lie on my back
We all lie on our backs
Both the bed and I all lie on our backs
I enjoy being on my back,
my bed enjoys the warmness of my back
We are back to back
We enjoy being on our backs
Sleeping has no exception
Even when I sip a tea,
a cup of tea tends to sip my saliva
We all sip each other
My wide mouth touches edge of a glass,
likewise a glass touches my wider mouth
We all widen our mouths by several openings
Eating has no exception
Even when cooking, fire lights a wood
and the wood keeps the fire lighting
Both the fire and the wood light each other
Both function in lighting each other
They are lighting and cooking company
They companion well in lighting
Candle has no exception
Even when caressing touches of an opposite sex send a signal to a sensory
Your nerves relay a signal
A signal sends signal the nerve to send it
You do not know who sends who
They all send each other
They are sensory family of sending and receiving
Our other communication gadgets have no exception
When rays of a sun radiates on a surface,
our eyes are able to see
But even a sun cannot force our eyes to see,
nor does the radiation of rays shine without the sun
The sun, the ray, the radiation and the eye all forma union of possibility
All are dictating of one possibility
The seeing
With mediation, all are made possible
Remember not to dictate on my mediation
But meditate over your dictation
Your meditation has never had exception
With your alluring feature,
You bring a bundle of joy,
With your elegant stature and physique,
You bring hope closer to heart,
Your amplitudes of hoarse voice
Brings vanity to the city merchants
With what their monies and cookies could not afford
Your natural alms irk and etch elastic arteries of heart
I wish I could customize the pitch of your voice
Whenever I hear the buzzes of your dress
My adrenal hormones boil up,
beyond boiling point of water
Your presence next to me
faints a boon of abundance in destitute
In you I find peace
In you I find solace
In you, I’m on the shores of joy
Because of you, heavenly bodies seem traverse their orbit late but faster
Your caring attitudes reign upon me in aloofness
Appearance of your lip dilates corneas of
my eyes like the eyes of a night owl on tree in neighborhood
When I have seen you,
choruses of my voice fluctuates like,
strings of a guitar stricken by an Ethiopian lyric Bob Marley
When I have touched numbness of your tender hands,
Roars of my throat bellows like that of a bull
Struggling to exchange the cud and fresh in takes
For the first time in score of years,
when the sun, the moon and the galaxies of stars
turned away from the orbit.
It was a day doomed to end life, soul and oxygen
Life past the glimpse of hope,
For the first time in score of reasoning,
smile, frown and laughter of happiness
turned into a mere cries of babies
life and soul mesmerized by the events of the day
a day doomed to an end of breathing oxygen
it was when abdomen of pregnant mothers aches
but no neighborhood helps
It was when no glimpse of hope seems guiding tomorrow
a bride and groom tend apart in anguish.
It was a day when twelve hours of the night add up in imagination
It was a night when couples drop duty of caressing touches
Bitterness of no glimpse of hope
Life and hope were yoked under the merciless burden of time
Life past the glimpse of no hope
For the first time ever,
fathers and mothers began abandoning their loved angels
in the quest for new hope.
Life was doomed to an end
Ordinary oxygen tends into hot carbon dioxide,
seas of waters melted into swarm of fires,
mirages of savannah lands eroded into ashes,
and the soft germinating buds protruded into thorns
It was day of curses and regrets, unforgettable day
Life was with no glimpse of hope
For the first time the traditional astronomers
failed to name seasons,
to differentiate between January and December,
June and July.
It was a season of no harvest, no planting.
Men and women of high integrity bent their traditional norms
in survival.
They tried unexpected; they steal on others’ farms
Life was doomed to an awkward ending,
mothers cry the cries of babies
and babies sing their own lullabies like wallabies
It was life short of hope, no glimpse of hope
For the first time in life,
peaceful tribes locked horns in bitterness,
for the first time sound of horn of dangers locked doors of peace.
It was time of no mercy but mercilessness reigns the region
It was a region in ruinous shape.
Silence reigns the confusion
It was time for an end to hope, not even a glimpse of hope
Mine is as little as any other little journey,
A soul searching journey,
Started on the foot of a tall house of pride
As a lonely little boy herding cattle in the swarm of Upper Nile,
Squarely faced by realities of the long struggle,
Disciplined by a bitter sense of death
The core concept of every struggle,
seen and taste the nastiness of war
What did I learn in that little costly journey?
It is none other than bitterness,
A remorse-fulness of losing love ones,
moving barefooted on thorny and rocky grounds,
walking distances taller than my childhood ambition
nodding and napping while trekking
trans-nights like nocturnal
It is a life rashly spent aching,
life spent etching with lice and lies,
echoing on the egos of gilts-edge,
full with boyish recklessness
Doomed to death,
but on the mercy of nature,
we emerged alive well
Atok Dan is a media specialist operating in Juba, South Sudan. He is reached at atokbaguot@gmail.com
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