THEOPET TONIE BLOG

In the hazy rugged view of the market  Did I stand burgling a bucket  And a coin from that stranger's pocket  Turning towards me with eyes red-shot I ceased and froze with mouth all shot To your heels oh poor soul came my thought  I fled and flew as though I had wings  Hitting and crushing all with one swing  Ole! Ole! Ole buruku! Did the market sing Roaring fiercely was her voice as a lion's  Chanting angrily were the curses from the sellers Whose goods I had battered to spoils Running faster than Jackie Chan's fairy tale  I could smell the hate from the heavy crowd's gale Pressing heavily on me I told my tale For the first time I saw infront  A young child standing at a halt Indecision gripped me to a fault  Then I grabbed him off the hazy road  From the squeezing of the crazy crowd  Whose eyes could only see a thief to hold  My charity saw the start of my ruin...

You wake up, look up to pray or turn on the TV, or pick up the phone, to call a friend, a spouse, a child or a parent; or you want to go back to sleep, you prefer the world you see in your dreams to this world of fears and tears.  The nightmare is now a thing of the day and the dreadful night has turned pal. It appears life is toeing paradise to Bermuda. A triangle of unequalled sides, with no firm base, crushing on each sides with breakages on its edges. You, the world and I, are pacing on a weird path. It seems we have betrayed the pact we made with honesty and so we have crossed paths with Karma. They say it has brought this peaceful violence. Now the world's opposites occur simultaneously. The sun rises spontaneously in the rain. Citizens have turned slaves of an unseen jailer.  We hear the sound of the grenade, we run from the streets yet there was never a shooter. An illusion, laughable yet real. A trance, so unconvincing yet conscious. A...

(A TRIBUTE TO THE VICTIMS OF COVID-19) Beauty is the reason I'm writing  Love of it is why I'm painting  To hold on without taunting  The love it keeps bringing  To both young and old  Coward and bold In measures of silver and gold  To all in the fold That humanity may sail together  On the sea of each brother  And dance one after another  On the boat of each sister  But how can we dance  When living feels like trance Each day piercing with a lance Anyone who attempts a glance Of a neighbour's home So in the prisons of our tent We sit or lie waiting on fate To tell whose turn it is to bathe In the plates of the lathe  Of viruses unknown, yet We hear the arrays of weeping  Through furrows creeping  Along the hollows seeping  Life off any who attempts greeting  Even the noise of our bickering  Makes no sense to the tottering  Of the...