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aphorisms

Quotes about aphorisms, page 3

The Konye Obaji Ori (United Africa) Manifesto

Since the dawn of neocolonialism my nights have been filled with the ballads of Nzingha- the Amazon queen of Matamba, the sonnets of Nehanda- the Mbuya of Zimbabwe and the odes of Yaa Asantewa- the queen mother of Ejisu of Ashanti. I seem to have become the spirit of their poetries and the notes of their songs, for even when I sleep, I am awake to the pulchritude of the African night that they have graced. In my dreams I hold the staff of Osei Tutu and look like Chaka the Zulu in the robes of Desmond Tutu. My mornings are brightened by the philosophies of Affonso the first, the King of ancient Kongo, King Askia Toure of ancient Songhay, and Mansa Kankan Mussa of ancient Mali. My threnodies, chants and expressive verses of compositions have been from cognitions deep as the abyss where my love for Africa is rooted.
Out of the root cap of this adulation I have found a political voice and a passion to lead my generation- a passion born from the ill-fated chronicles of the African people. My shoulders have been strengthened and my mind broadened by the mentors, families and friends that I have been blessed with on my quest for a better Africa. With them I have been able to breathe in the lamasery of the ancestors of ancient Kement, Abyssinia, Kush, Bechuana, Basuto and Ashanti. With them, I breathe Africa.
I am driven on by the aphorisms of Mosheshoe, Mutato and Kwame Nkrumah: to unite Africa, to seek after a better life for her people and set her on the path to retain her lost glory. And yes they are many like me who have tried and failed, they are many like me who have yelled in the morning and have been silenced by nightfall. They are many like me who have been changed by the system as it is silhouetted, and they are many like me who have given up and decided to let things be the way they are. Yes they are many like me who have decided to let lions be lions and zebras be zebras. But the wounds, the scars and the pain of Africa, her tears, her blood and her songs fuel my voyage. I cannot find a reason to give up on my quest. They say I seek after an Africa that may never be found, but I seek it nonetheless. And though the finish line may seem beyond sight, I will run the run towards a better Africa. With the spirit of a Zulu, the grit of an Olulumo and the resolve of a Maasai, I run the race towards the unity faith, peace and progress that has eluded the land and the people of Africa since the birth of slavery, colonialism and imperialism.
I am not just an African with a voice for socio-economic and political freedom but an African with a humanitarian credo to uphold; I am a good-will ambassador for a one world community where a sense of oneness, credence, peace and collective advancement is inherent. I am Konye Obaji Ori and I seek a better world.

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We Incinerate Lights with Fragile Mirrors

Do you know what basks behind your ears?
With your supple hair of lightning tucked lightly
Do you hear the sirens' screech and fluster you with fear?
That you reduced yourself in the speculum of a melody.
Have you been in the river of you veiled ears?
Where the conversations live and die a riddle
Resonated in reflections, ebbing not to err nor stir
The somnolent glow grazing the little shafts to bristle
At the floor of the river, the bosom of the mirror
Rouses an opalescent light; a wafer of a prism
A lamp discordant from the puissant lightning roar.
Sheathed in those ears: a hero to somnambulism.

Do you know what clings on your parting lips?
That dies with the deception of your dissenting teeth
Do you verbalize with tales of wars, tragedies, or assailed ships?
That your tongue flounced and fumbled towards an empty pit
Have you sang a ballad and extemporized metallically?
Painted with maroon hues and festooned with ivies;
A crowning barb of virulent thorns, lackadaisically

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The day we learn how the streets get their names

And plunge into geometry of the sharp blind corners
That live their lives between two dreams
The milimetres of strength might easily dissolve
Into both maps and paths museums at the crossroads
Into the traffic lights helplessly blinking frozen
When the wishes billboard the paths to hell
Or deceptive images of harsh entertainment
For the visitors who say
‘We’re now nice decent people
We no longer look at the dancing bear
Pinned by pokers on fire
Because we’ve learned his macabre pain
Now we put on the gloves
And walk to his Zoo
To ask him for an interview
Though he never said a single word’

The day we learn how the streets get their names
There appears an aphorism of pain
Squeezing a masterpiece address

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Rigoletto – Mobile Verse Parody Verdi

In this opera by Verdi, with the choicest of libretti
ranging up to alto, down to double bass,
to avoid the nitty-gritty of the plot would be a pity,
so in nineteen stanzas scan the rhymes encased.

Scene is set in some fair city where the search for someone pretty
was the past-time of a Duke with time to waste,
he’s the subject of this ditty which runs true to subject, witty,
wise, and well within the boundaries of taste.
.
Now this Duke had roving eyes bright, marriage ties seemed to despise quite,
all affection had forgotten for Her Grace,
Countess Cipriano one night spies at a party, quickly tries tight
to encircle, during dancing, by fair waist.

Noting, not without surprise where, anger blazing through his eyes’ stare,
the Count in fury fumed at the unchaste, -
she appeared a pretty prize there, perfect in both features, size, fair
and, despite his presence, to the dance made haste.

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Passion Plot - Arthur Abacus' Affiancing

Passion Plot - Arthur Abacus' Affiancing Application Against Ann's Approval

Passion Plot

Aspiring author aims at gold award
accordingly advancing work of art
always rhyming, rhythmic, in accord,
A I O U and Y are drawn apart
from that which follows D, and from the start
inscription shows how mighty is nib's sword.

This way of writing is simplistic - word
word follows automatically drawn,
idyllic musing is it or absurd?
no hours are lost, all printing rags untorn,
prompt spurring, on hot air as tiny bird,
this work so artificial's promptly born.

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