Hope

The morning would be called dull, today.

Its nine, but the sun is behind a curtain of cloud. Grey and cold. The air barely stirs. It is quiet.

The seasons seem to be out of season, again. Just a couple of days ago, the sun was very bright, the red dust from Kampala’s roads had invaded every part of the house and we were in the bloom of summer. Now that summer seems to have taken a wink, a distance, a time out.

The world seems to be moving on in times usual flood. Super Tuesday was and is gone. Hamas sent another suicide bomber into Israel, and the underwater internet cables which were cut a few days ago are being repaired.

And yes, in Uganda, in what is supposedly a democracy, a bill which the populace and the parliament is against was introduced in parliament by the government. The security presence in Kampala was phenomenal. To quell any popular show of discontent.

Life’s a dream;

I’m yet to wake.

My mind has been weighed heavily by the events in Senegal, and in Egypt.

Why? This is what is usual. Maybe I am just low of spirit. Somehow, they seem to have become more of a load to my mind than usual.

--

Here comes my love. He does sense my low spirits. Lies down behind me, puts his head on my shoulder.

Warm, comforting, peaceful.

That is what love is. Something beautiful, a flower of peace and calm, though you are in a raging storm of pain.

Sometimes, many times, the world seems crazy, and I can make no sense of it. It is dull with the pain of many people, and senseless happenings. Somehow, hope still rises in my breast, in that of others.

Pain is, but pain will not cut off hope, nor will love not grow in a desert.

Hope is an oasis in a desert

a green garden in a sea of sand.

Hope is a fountain of honey,

drink of water on a day of thirst.

Have a good day, wherever you are. Because the day is good, and beautiful, and it is something that is uniquely its own to you. Happiness is a well of hope in your heart. Tap into it, and have a good day.

GayUganda

I cannot not hope

News out of Kenya is grim. At first we thought that, maybe, just maybe, the handshake between the politicians would solve things.

Well, I was mistaken. Maybe the rest of the world was too. I should have remembered that in 1985, Nairobi was the site of the Uganda Peace Talks between the then guerrilla leader Museveni, and the military junta in power in Kampala. Ugandans called those peace talks the Nairobi Peace Jokes.

Yes, maybe I should have remembered that.

Africa is bleeding. And I am hurting. I feel the pain of the Kenyan as the brother raises hand, machete, spear and arrow against brother. I feel the bewilderment as children are burnt in churches, and neighbour burns neighbour for being the wrong tribe. The bullets flying, the meaningless talk, the pain and fear and the displacement. The loss of life and property and livelihood and hope.

Africa is hurting, and I cannot help but feel the pain.

Yet I cannot give up hope. I must hope.

I cannot not hope.

I will not be wrapped in the pain of despair,

or let the desert chill of hopelessness overwhelm my soul.

I will sow hope, a seed of faith,

broadcast over all the land.

I will plant and toil, sing and cry;

I will labour and water with my tears,

But I cannot not hope.

Hope is the river that waters my heart

that sustains me through thick and thin,

that lays siege to despair and pain

knowing, despite the heaviness of night;

despite the darkness, the mud and pain;

day will come, light broach the night,

the sun will rise,

and my tears of pain will in a face of happiness turn

to tears of joy raised in a face shining with hope

beaming with happiness in the sun’s warm radiance, glorious promise.

I just cannot not hope.

©GayUganda

the Audacity of Hope

a man- of soaring eloquence;
in whom the pulse to life
throbs, near to surface,
fascinating, ensnaring, empowering-
any, all that dare near
the sun to fly, never untouched.

the audacity of hope-
Hope, that the sun will rise,
though darkness threatens-
the moon her brilliance touch
to full, the skies to clear,
a man, woman to know God-
in depths of despair, the world
to change, retouch, renew;
not a lifeless bauble-
a living, life giving mother to us.

the audacity of hope, giving hope-
world over,
not a Ceasar to rule, I pray
(human is fallible)
but a man, who dares to hope and
this world reach, turn to stare
and, dare to hope...

the audacity of hope, rising
in our breasts, my breast, yours-
in Africa, America, Europe;
hope soaring in Asia, Australia
-the audacity of hope.

Dare to dream, a man that
dares all to dream, to hope
the Audacity of hope.


(c)GayUganda


Funny. I have never read the book.

I am an African. He is American.
I do not like stereotypes, shortcuts to thinking. But I recognise the overwhelming feel of good that seems to float from him. Not because I can try to claim him an African. Fie on that.

Because as a human being, he is a charismatic one who is holding the hope of using that power to sway for good.

The poem lacks a lot. True.

Yet, as flawed as it is, I think it tells something of what I felt yesterday, thinking of his suprising win.

GayUganda