My Nation

Gifted hands!

To form, and fashion

People of love

Peace and hope

Welcome!

Here, there’s plenty

To spot and consume

Vim of our footprints

revealed in range,

from mountain to sea

desert to grassland

Each one in fame

to keep you sentient

All day long

ensign of regalia

As splendor of paradise

Hills boom from ‘Kolofata’

to praise of ALLAH;

Majestic canoe rides

From waves of the Mongo

to echoes from ‘Bonendale’

spirited waists with ‘ngwashi’

spin in ‘njang’ to awe of  grasslands

and giant steps break soil

to behest of conga

 Falls!

Mountains

Stunning greenery

symbol of our continent

How we’re blessed

We’ve got it all

Hail! Hail! Hail! Cameroon

God bless my nation

(Bonendale, May 12, 1995)

We shall conquer

Though nights trigger fear

Right down to our marrows

As vagueness of who stands at the door

Or aims from the yard,

Drives away slumber

From tenderness of our cradle

Though our anticipations are only dreams

And we open eyes to unending terror

Yet, we hold on to our faith

And we shall conquer.

Though our daughters are snatched

 Right before their future

And sons, wiped out in the mug of their goal

Though suddenly peace grows wings,

And water, swapped with blood

And we look but can’t see;

We gather, yet can’t mobilize

For we know not where arrows aim

Yet, our hope shall be our shield

And we shall conquer.

Though our land becomes alien to us,

And safety, a miracle

And door bang sounds like gunshot

Though terror accompanies our shadows,

Since we know not the enemy

Yet he seems close enough to know enough

Though quickly our smile fades away

And tears soak us to the brim,

Yet a testimony we shall tell

And we shall conquer.

(for all victims of Boko Haram attacks)

Neville Tamanjong

Writer/Actor/Poet

How I wish

I see her lope across

Naked and scruffy

Sure in a moment,

a lady would come running-

“Oh my child, away from the road”

or something like that

I thought!

Yet none comes around

Then I pace,

still in marvel;

Only few steps away

then another!

Him even worse

I count ribs;

his frail looking chest

and skin, pale and stiff

as object of a rough draft

Then again and again,

they pop out from angles,

hanging on poles and sign boards

tongues darting out

like hungry cobras crawling

ready to strike man’s heal.

Cars drive, men meander around

yet none seems dazed as I

Oh feeble offspring

of sloppy humanity

how I wish!

someone hears your stomachs roar

Yet be calm

for He that let you live

shall keep you secure

The Real Prostitutes

No, not they who are hurled to streets
By cruel chase of economy
Not the ones, plainly driven
Into giving shame away
For choice is smashed
As lack shrinks their faces
But the ones who’ve stolen their lot
And come back to pay for their pride
The ones whose vices
Have pronounced them upon the road

No, not they with only ethics to scuffle
For their actions wrestle against dignity
Not they with themselves to worry
Since their option only alienates them
For not many are driven to muse
By their will to trade forbidden
But they who tender interest
At cost of stakes for which they stand
The ones with homes to defend
Same ones who tussle such measures

No, not they who vend their bodies
Because no one bought their brains
Not they who gave in to brazenness
Since no one heard them cry
Not they who make up brothels
For no place else they could be
But them who buy at any charge
And make the market flourishing
The ones who come day after day
And cause vendors to thrive

Elambo Neville Tamanjong

Writer/Actor/Poet