KABEDOOPONG PIDDO DDIBE'ST

 

 

The Sun That Set That Noon

 

    — For Cynthia Gentile ( a poetess friend from USA, died 2024: RIP)

 

O Sweet Goddess of Light —

 

What mournful melodies

Shall I sing in solitude!

What sudden drumbeats

Sounded in the heat of noon

With such sudden sorrowful notes

Whirling in the din of wild west wind —

Telegraphing sombre note

This — (teach me how to sing dirges)

Of the rude wind —

Swiftly passing of light from sights

Diving skywards like a lark by midday —

Leaving but whirling hearts?

Perhaps if I knew

The Reaper's Mother's Homestead

Perhaps I would have mounted a mutiny

And burnt it utterly, utterly!

But how sad

Only your sweet memories

In my mournful songs

Will keep me sane forevermore

After that last sweet Mother's Day...

Let eternity in this line remain you sweet.

© Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe'st

 

Speak Kindly

 

Speak softly; silence smashes me by large

To speak least when you speak most, I dread;

Speak softly; my brother, shouts do tarnish

All the good done that words never spread.

 

Shout softly at me, this fledgling spirit;

Brotherhood should not stop now but capture;

Let me all naked in your words tender and quiet;

Our faces might not be of long rapture.

 

Speak thoughtfully to me, those words, their

Spears shot in silence smash me  with strife;

Hold me like a husband a wife, with utmost care,

My life, that you summarize, filled with trials and strife.

 

Speak kindly to my soul that is soft and frail,

Speak love and speak in deeds to my spent spirit,

Whose temporal grains are ending their trail;

Allow tranquillity enter my mind as they depart it.

 

Speak gently to me, sister: recognise

My struggle might have been fruitless;

Perhaps callousness carved their demise;

Ah, reclaim them back into worthiness.

 

Speak softly; it is only the words the deaf hear

Do not spread my dirty pants along the road

That we call life; cover me if you can, dear;

It is only the deeds that the blind can see aloud ,

 

Red hot fire only hardens the iron it first softens;

Dark tomorrows should only cement our song;

New days should not change our hearts, or often:

Someday somewhere we shall meet again to sing.

© Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe'st

 

The Missing Mother Drum

 

Tell those that catch shadows of men

Let them draw nearer me;

Let their camera eyes be open!

Let the seers of the eye of the sun

Check their wrists;

Let the judges take their seats

And judge me justly tonight

For I am not a doll here

Once I begin to whip my drum...

Let all villages gather around

And clap their hands

For the son of fire is here

And all things will be set ablaze soon,

Let those walking sluggishly hurry up

And all my seers from far and near

From this village and beyond the rivers,

Let them assemble themselves

Like vast oceans of men

And listen to me...

 

Where is the drum,

The mother drum and the baby drums I whip?

Where are drumsticks

That the dance may start?

The drum I drum

With my drumsticks I whip

Where is the drum I whip?

I don't need a saxophone

I don't want a trombone

That I may tremble bones of men...

 

I want a good Acoli drum;

One whose breasts are sound,

And voice a thunderstorm,

I want a good Acoli drum,

I too want to become a chief,

The Chief just defeats me with a drum,

I too am a chief in my hut,

Only I lack a good drum to beat...

Tell somebody I am in the arena already,

And that the dance is starting to boil

Once I find my Acoli drum,

Let all the beautiful women know,

I have not come to play with them,

I have come to find a wife,

But let no man complete with me,

A guinea fowl is not competed over

With the owner of the string...

The skin of my drum is muscular

Like the head of a tortoise;

Rough and tough;

Only my palms can whip...

I too have my teeth

And I too must eat or bite.

I too must marry,

And I too must eat while others sleep;

But oh,

Where is my mother drum that I may whip her too?

© Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe'st

 

Song Of The Initiate

 

While I sing my song in the noonday sun,

The sun's fire charts my dark-skinned hand;

I hear scorn's voice, from kin of mine, rings,

  For I, Wod-Ker, yearn for rooted springs.

 

Uprooted, but wisdom in our ancients lie,

In the Jokamalo who touches the sky;

I find my heart rooted in the black clay,

  While kins aim for stars at heated midday.

 

Those that search my tongue will find,

With me as their songs, they openly scorn;

In silence their dark hearts still grind

  But their silence will not steal my brain.

 

Bridled by pride, they dismiss me weak,

Twisted do they see my simple antique;

Never will I trade my birthrite for their scorn,

  So by day's end, I still remain a black-born.

 

Those signposts point me paths to follow,

[To places they themselves have ne'er been]

As though it is their legs I did borrow,

  Yet it is me who steers my own reign.

 

While I sing my song they are afraid,

For it is the Prince alone that sings home

While urinating upwards, with full pride;

  And he alone shall inherit the throne.

© Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe'st

 

Elegy

 

In a whirl of words,

A star blinks out - Oh, my friend!

Nightfall on the pen.

© Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe'st

 

(The above poem is in loving memory of my poet Ghanaian friend who passed away from New Zealand where he had been for his PhD, 2023. This haiku was written in his memory, for he was such a black master poet at penning down haikus.)

 

KABEDOOPONG PIDDO DDIBE'ST

 

KABEDOOPONG PIDDO DDIBE'ST is an internationally acclaimed multi-talented Uganda poet, visual and aural artist, teacher, student lawyer, short story writer, upcoming playwright and novelist; human rights, cultural and literary activist, born in Kitgum, Northern Uganda, East Africa; published in both print and online magazines and anthologies, newspapers in more than fifteen countries worldwide.