Tuesday, June 12, 2012



HISTORY TEACHES US NOTHING
The seeds of war
Lay dormant in the
Crucible of history...
Seething, breathing-
Waiting for the
Spring of discontent
For grapes of wrath to bear

And all across
God's green hectares
People of goodwill
Caught in the throes
Of the enterprise
Of commerce and politics
Awoke to the gloom and doom
Of bombs raining over Kosovo.



Beyond the premise
Of rational discourse
And intended tidings...
The cooing ditties
Of the lady dove
The vulture she lured
To the bounty of war.

Still in the rounding hours
I know, years and years hence
That future broods...
This fate would know
Like those of holocausts past-
Grim reminder that...
History teaches us nothing
By
Hope Kalé Ewusi©


In 1999 I, like many others, from the comfort of our living rooms, watched in horror as the war in Kosovo unfolded.The bombings.....the gore.....the share ugliness of war astounded me,I saw hails of bullets and bombs shattering lives - people scampering for shelter....there was hunger...there was pain - anguish and despair as people tried to make sense of their tattered lives.....and then there was the the palpable helplessness of the children of Kosovo - innocent victims of war.

This sight was deja vu - it evoked vistas of WW II - the holocaust and other wars before and after. It is stated somewhere that if we humans do not reckon with the lessons of history, we're doomed to repeat  our mistakes.In a moment of quiet contemplation, I wrote the aforementioned poem " History Teaches Us Nothing" inspired by the war on Kosovo. Prior to Kosovo was the Rwandan genocide and since Kosovo we have witnessed  massacres in Sierra LeoneLiberia ( captured in the movie Blood Diamond) and Congo.  We are currently witnessing the unraveling of Syria and the picture posted below attests once more the massacre of innocent children in Syria -a  grim reminder that history apparently teaches us nothing; What's going on?
         

Monday, June 11, 2012


    POP CULTURE
“Shades of signification”

Paint a picture of me…
With the brush strokes
Of your imagination;
Honor Picasso-
Warhol – Monet…..
And other genies of
Your hallowed brood:
Collate….distort-
Morph my contours
To suit the affectations
Of Madison Avenue;

Take liberties….brand me
Codify…….signify,
While I hold my pose.
But don’t ask me who I am
Or where the hell I was born…
Let the shades of your motivation
Fill in the ---------- BLANKS.


Author: Hope Kalé Ewusi ©

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Bantu princess of my sugarcane dreams

Cocoa beauty dipped in honey
Benign spirit of my sacred garden-
Who painted you so well?
Protagonist of sleep-scape novellas..
Behind fish net curtains I peek-
Watching you flaunt your wares…
Visual serenade – hmm sweet banter!
When you talk
You sing;

When you walk
You talk!

“Makandi” cakes in measured gait
Dance in cadence to the call
Of village sign posts….
Wotéké – Wonganga!
Bwasa – Likombé
Ah sacred pageant; sensual carnival.

 
And the men, oh how they gape!
Giggles and chuckles wrapped in adulation-
Each man, his essential self tabulates
The dimensions of your revered essence-
Sister, daughter, mother – friend;
Night-nurse, wife – soul confidant
Would smooth out the contours
Of his esteemed African manhood.

Need I wonder why
Or should I worry why-

Leeches and scoundrels seek your grace?
Worry why foreign legions crave your mystique?
Yes…yes ……hell yes!
For the lessons of history I’ve imbibed-
Elmina Castle – Goree Island
I must avenge with Shaka zeal
Cos you are mine – mine!
My cocoa beauty – dipped in honey…
Bantu princess of my sugar-cane dreams-
Earth goddess – my mojo hand
My oh my!
But the question remains:
Who painted you so well?
And if I had a clue, I wouldn’t tell

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©