April 23, 2018 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Sombilon photo



Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st




A Martyr’s Murder



Black are the eyes of the tired;

If they bear the iron hand;

The murder of the martyr fired,

By the arms of the appalling land,

The tongue of a tyrant’s arrow,

Ate him like Amor’s arrow of sorrow.


Some gladly mourn, some sadly celebrate,

The death of Man of God in battle won,

He that was born to lend love to hate,

The motive for which all are born;

A bullet spoke in the Cain’s city,

Where his poor tomb stands for liberty.


Fathoms, fathoms, did drop thee deep,

A tortoise can’t be hanged by water and die,

Speak fair of the foe! Speak fair in restful sleep;

Far from shrine where thy bones lie.

O no fatal accident killed the Man of God,

But the arms of a seldom barking dog.


By the truth, the good die for the bad,

What a murder handsomely executed,

God made man, powers made man mad;

O Hermit soldiers of righteousness nicely persecuted!

The beautiful tyrant shot the flesh,

And hoped the soul of truth to perish.


Fate, fair judge of a tyrant, rumble!

The devils believe and then tremble.



For Archbishop Janani Loum, who the then President of Uganda, Idi Amin Dada, the conqueror of the Great British Empire, killed for defending the truth in the 1970s, in Uganda.





Chess Game



Cunning is the head

That wears the crown

In the game of chess,

In the heart of the realm;

The invincible king;

Sitting unmoved by fear

Of the future ghosts,

Crosses the check unchecked,

In his territorial zone,

With diplomatic terror

In elimination method,

With catastrophic terror

In displacement method

Of the rules of the game;

In the bedroom politics

Of the queen and king;

Romancing the chessboard,

In whiteness of their teeth,

But redness of their hearts.


No stalemate in this game,

You lose and live, or die;

Don’t speak liberty,

Don’t speak majority rule;

Speak gun rule rather,

And then live forever;

No pawn crosses this red

Carpet laid for the king,

Don’t raise your head,

Don’t open your mouth,

Move like a dumb shadow,

Move hurriedly and worriedly;

This is a beautiful dangerous

Zone paved with glittering gold;

Catholics of commands,

Armed rooks patrol

The royal castellation,

As the tall clock chimes;

Knights of constellations,

With instruments of immorality,

On the autocratic black mass,

And combatted bishops of soldiers,

In the diagonal city square

Of the chapel eat with cups,

And drink blood with plates;

Waiting for more sacrificial blood

In the temple of debate;

The chessboard is the King’s.





Black Veil



Behind the black veil,

Lies a trail of tears,

A long dark untold tale,

Public secrets in the ears.


Brother Pharisee,

Your heart pants

Like a frog on a tree;

Fire in clandestine pants.


Brother Pharisee,

Best stage player,

King’s part’s player,

Honest man, you see;

Acting in the sight the blind?


Unmask the mask,

In the retiring house,

And see the demons

Marching in like army worms,

Chanting triumphant songs,

As you live like a base varlet.


Pray a little, play a little,

And tame the roaring devil,

Black sheep are always pale,

Showing the singularly sale,

Of long covered blood tale.





The Artist



The thwarters stand in the night,

And conclude, the beautiful colors are ugly,

Yet the artist drew them under light,

Only in light one can see beauty.


Only the artist of the butterfly,

With a coat of thousands colors,

Sees the soul of a butterfly’s beauty,

But not the artist’s thwarters.


Fall in love with the artist, fall in love with beauty;

And see the troubled life

Of all those who strive

To create the beautiful in their entirety.


The skins betoken the souls,

And not in the shadolin paints,

Nor in the Chinese brushes,

But in the artist’s dear pains.


Only a handful stand to praise

The handworks of the artist,

Displayed in the eyes of the days,

Where a thwarter sees mud, the artist sees gold.






Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st

Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st is a Ugandan Poet/English and Literature teacher, born in Kitgum, an Acholi by tribe, aged 26.

He is from the land ruled by Idi Amin Dada (1971-9), then by Museveni (1986-present), invaded by LRA/Lord Resistance Army under Joseph Kony(1986-2006).

Thus, he comes from a dirt poor family background, a nation where life is at stake.

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