RONALD K SSEKAJJA

RONALD K SSEKAJJA Poems

Home, sweet home,

Home, sweet home,
There near the brown water river
...

Travel with me pretty maiden
That skies may speak our mother-tongue
Hold my hand a little,
For when men close their eyes
...

Well tell mother, her smile is a light
Its a flashing gold-ray from a sourse so bright
But if love is for love, then mother
You deserve the love, its blue, so blue
...

Death caught me, past lines fading
And I met the eyes of my maker
And tell you what, it's quite chilling
Living past lines of the quiet seeker
...

If for once you thought there was beauty
It's a lie that has crossed your thought's duty
Gold too holds dust
And iron too does rust
...

Some have sought
These have spoilt
They did fight
And these have reaped
...

Short verse is verse, if pink is not reverse
So tell me of the fire that lit up the desire
For am not wise but a fool
If nothing remains for me to pull
...

The silence was there
And she held it higher
And we all watched the space
To know, and face
...

It has been my hallo
For I have been pushed in a narrow hall
And this year with its fret hail
Did welcome me with this haggle
...

It all began with the stars
And the sparkling ficklesness
The bightness in the tenderness
Delivered not by them, so careless
...

Little by little
I will spell it out little by little
And tell how my life trend little by little
Those moments that sweep me away little by little
...

Past swaying breeze
Far past swaying breeze, the lines are found
The heart of a man stole, and mind not sound
If death holds it against me, my referee I point up the cloud
...

Let's dance to the clouds, beholder of ancient beauty
For eclipse paint hidden emotion in poet's duty
Hold me like that, that twinkling stars may fickle with colour
I am close to you, your hair brushing me, in this poet's palour
...

Facing it another day

A dark shadow cast by men
A fretting look women hold in eyes then
...

Wish I would find that line
That contour men find in the shadow of damsel eyes
That when she looks in my eyes I may find
The diminuendos and crescendos of my life
...

16.

Golden vessels fit for golden bodies
And if golden hearts are not given to golden poets
What shall I bestow of this golden thought?
A golden ship awaits, a golden suit case
...

For a country denoted with anarchy
For a soul tormented and headache
For time that fry by
For the tears we cant hold and cry
...

When the axe is present why then ask?
It’s plain when its rain why then drain?
As me what our ancestors asked their ancestors
For words are for those who can’t read or listen
...

Spill warm single syllables in ever re-sounding crescendos
That with admiration I will sing with lyrical diminuendos
Tell me Muwala wa Hajji
When you wake up before that suhoor
...

Well, this is where we dwell
Where the green grass paint in the rains
And the falling yellow rays fall in thier reign
So then the leavy grean begin to pale
...

RONALD K SSEKAJJA Biography

I started writing in 2002. Am trying to build this career but it is hard. I have 1200 poems and two novels, all of which are not published, except for afew poems published by poetry. com and other on line sites. Am organising around seven books of poetry collection and i need advice. am a procurement professional and a management consultant, i also do copy editing and proof reading on freelance)

The Best Poem Of RONALD K SSEKAJJA

Home, Sweet Home,

Home, sweet home,

Home, sweet home,
There near the brown water river
Tinted with a few green algae
There besides purple jacaranda, pink and yellow tulip
Yellowing buffalo grass on the far side near the granary
Caladiums with unique pink and in the middle and green on the side
Home sweet home,
And I will never see such home again

There where we skipped the rope and played duulu
There where we had fun even when we had no costly toys
There were there was no hypocrisy, no worries, no sorrows,
Only joy in the home sweet home
The sun rose in the Far East in golden rays and I would watch it
Now I never see it because it rises
when I am inside the office every day
There were I would smell the freshness of blooming roses,
Now the only air is from an A/C or dusty air in the Kampala Suburbs

Home sweet home, there where I would call mother
Play with my sisters, ball with brother Or rush and hug father,
That home is no more, swept by modernization
And we sing no more by the fire in the open night
For every one coils in sofas to watch evening soaps
We hug no more, sing no more, we smile no more
For even when we do we don't do it with the heart
Because we lost that home sweet home

© ssekajja K Ronald 2013

RONALD K SSEKAJJA Comments

RONALD K SSEKAJJA Popularity

RONALD K SSEKAJJA Popularity

Close
Error Success