Simon Mol

Of Life & Death

Life, Death, Life.
Light, Darkness, Light, Darkness;
Light, Life…
Nothing Can Stop Nature.
Not even Nature Itself.

Grandmother's Ghost

My
Grandmothers ghost,--
Good, faithful, over and above
Keeps an eye on me.
I lean on Her when a foe’s chagrin
Strives to slur, slay, enslave my soul.
Amid despair’s raging storm I feel Her breathe,
Kindling hope... painting, pointing, paving the way—
Smiling when the rays of a friend’s joy
warms the walls of my weary lonesome soul.
Grandmother’s ghost in my dream, reveals;

telling tales that become tools during the day.
To Her I look, when the weather, in the silence of the night
reveals feelings fighting to blight my flight...
Delay me not to asleep, for Grandmother’s ghost, across the edge,
is waiting to divulge what plans tomorrow holds for me.

(Dedicated to Mba'mba Juliana Etonde)
Warsaw 3:27a.m. - 14/03/06

My Rosy Remains

Could it be that the unrelated burden forced on Nature’s
blush birthed a demon’s gloom wasting to cloud my smile?
Where does its journey end?;
when she sighs, saying,
‘behold my goal— a Star; bright,......far afield, out of reach’?
Is this enough to ruin because I won’t belong?

Your fresh-dawn will soon be here...

I am a game; a fast fleeing deer...
you can own only after bringing down with all you got;
a cruel, blind bullet.

Warsaw, 23:34  - 21/2/06

Xmas Thoughts

To be a poet is to inherit a curse.
Coming to terms with this is a great, stimulating challenge;
in the course  words are captured and feelings made prisoners
... and thus art is born'.

I Dance

By Simon Mol

I dance, watching others dance
I dance seeing them tell their stories
in the language of the joyous spirit weeping within
I dance,
I dance,
I dance knowing it’s all too brief
the dance of the heart,
that of the Universe.

2:45a.m.
Enclava: 20/10/05

Call of the Jungle

Simon Mol

Number. Back to numbers;
One to Infinity
‘Now’ to the beginning lost in count
like a string of silk blown by the wind that falls—
winding its way through grass.

Rain—sound of Rain,
reign nonstop.
How to reach out Memory—
Grasp June again,
Squeeze those seconds
Touch Space, feel leaves,
Smile… hold on,
Smell dew in Jungle air and be healed over again?

D’s DAY (Remembering DJ Daniel Feist)

Moleke-mix; your choice for me
in ‘God’s playground’ will play on—
for you, me and all touched by your risen sun
You saw it all under the Sun, D…
things that totaled to mark your Day
Plus twenty-five cigarette sticks a day before the final dawn
You held on—true son of the pillaged-Land
molding hope when pain paved its way to rule

BEFORE DAWN

It should be a Dream. Isn’t it?

And when, Chloe, will I alter?

Tell me it is and I will soundly sleep.

Pray, promise I will soar… someday hear the bombs weren’t rained

that these dehumanised remains were instead reflections of rain-clouds

in temporary grotesque shapes before Thor laughed them away.

Will I one morning, upon rising, hear babies’ cries call warriors to rescue?

-- perhaps on a nearby Sphere…

If ever, will I, on a gentle morning find my trodden Humanity gently clasped in the folds of my arms as on that day a dead while ago, before I was born?

I wonder Chloe… Chloe I wonder.

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DATELESS - An Ode to the City of Tromso

By Simon Mol

Poem Written and read in a Cafe in Tromso, Norway ("Gateway to the Arctic") on September 9, 2004

Revered Spirits of this Land
Lord Mayor,
People of Tromso;
Here is a piece of my madness captured
In a few lines.
I never felt so happy…
For several long years;

GROZNY: A VISION IN EXILE

By Simon & his Chechen friend- Adam

Conceived and written in Debak, today this blessed day of spring... 17th of April 2000, and dedicated to Grozny.

Who knows what it feels
to be away...
far away from home?
To leave behind
the cradle of his dreams?
Who knows better than I-
the grief of drinking tears?
I love Grozny...
my home-
my beloved home.
Now so far from Her,
I so miss Her...
like crazy;
Like the desert misses the rain.
Grozny...my beloved Grozny!
Now only a dream...
in the empty world of poignant nights.