Friday, July 30, 2010

Clumsy Mory


                                   By Mory Keita

              I guess I was born clumsy – unorthodox isn’t it. Since my early childhood, I was often criticized for my odd behavior and my “care-free” personality. Though I dislike writing this genre of mini-autobiographical story, I must admit that as I write this brief story, I feel nostalgia; I realize how fast I have grown and how different I have become.

            Surrounded by family, friends and the enchanting majesty of nature, I grew curious like Ulysses, and began questioning the purpose of life itself. Though I have always been overly fascinated by the functioning of things around me, particularly machines, like king Midas’ golden touch, I have also been “blessed” with the ability to cause damage to any object I touch in my investigations and pursuit of understanding. I remember opening my dad’s watch because I was fascinated by its moving hands. Though I successfully completed my goal of putting the watch’s pieces apart, I unintentionally destroyed it.  That is one reason I was mockingly referred to as “clumsy Mory” by my sister and friends. Apart from this instance, there have been numerous other instances, which I do not wish to mention here, where my childish curiosity, or should I say naivety, has gotten me into trouble.

          When I look now at myself and think of how ridiculous my childhood nickname was, I wonder if I was the only adolescent who hated his nickname. Why couldn’t it have been “Mory, the cool guy”, or something nice to hear, or at least good sounding?

            Now that I have attained a certain level of “maturity”, it amuses me to hear my family sarcastically referring to me as “clumsy”. I wonder if it a trait that I still hold. My lost of childhood imagination and curiosity pain me, I now know that the little prince was right, grow-ups are “mushrooms”; all they ever think of are authority , riches and vain praises. But, Alas, I failed to follow its advices and have become a mushroom too; for, “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

            To conclude this short story, I have always wondered whether my so-called clumsiness was a gift or an object of mockery. Recently, I have realized that, although being clumsy isn’t perceived positively, it is more virtuous that many other characteristic and it is what made me who I am now. As I grow up, I still wonder if I shall ever once again regain that clumsiness that I have lost.


Monday, July 26, 2010

The Romantic

By Mory Keita

Though she is not Cinderella or snow white,
She lives their lives and dreams in the castle,
Where she is stranded in a dungeon for life,
Till her charming prince delivers her from the wicked spell.
Then,when she wakes up from fairyland she sees no prince.

A classic fairytale she lives in her sleeps,
Awake a  modern tragedy she experiences.
She reads poetry; listen to it, like her bible.
She imagines herself in John Donne’s hands,
While he recites that poetic melody in her ears,
The wind transporting sounds of her name to the ears of
Envious sirens in Neptune, the sun sweeping her face.

She wishes she was a Byron’s or a Poe’s lover,
Or at least one they fancy in their poetic dreams,
And write about lines unheard, unwritten by men, lines such as:

    Vois-tu  mon amour  le soleil qui brille ?
   Écoutes-tu la chanson des pigeons volant ?
   Ils envient  notre bonheur, notre amour.                             

She fancies that  lady, that “mon amour”,
She wishes she could find the whirl of space- time,
She years to travel to the romantic era,
She desires to fall in love with the Victorians,
The Shakespeares and the likes of Caspar Davis Friedrich;
With her fairness she would seduce the romantics,
She would make them write poems, novels and paint,
Paintings like never before, with a passion molded in romance.
She pray that  men could rise above sexual fantasies,
She aspires to become an art, an inspiration.
Alas! her aura of romance is but pathetic fancy,
For romance, as she wishes, is but a joke to modern men.

She pities the dullness of our era, this unromantic jungle.
This epoch  without castles, dungeons and princes.
She is bored by this world without fairy, witches and happy ending.
She misses the romantics maybe because of her naiveté,
Or she had been rocked by false tales of quixotic lovers,
Or perhaps, she is simply some lunatic, a mind living in fairyland.
I too pity her much, much to sympathize.
Though I am not a Tennyson or Byron or a poetic heart,
Nor I am Don Quixote , Don Juan or a chivalrous prince,
I too feel lost in this materialistic universe of ladies.
We both are lost in romance like sad clowns on stages.

Brief history: i wrote this in response to another of my poem The jerk because i thought i had generalized too much.
Shared with the one stop poetry community.


Sunday, July 25, 2010

In solitude I have found Knowledge

 By Mory Keita

In solitude I have found knowledge I sought,
More desirous than treasures of Alexander,
Knowledge that shall satisfy till thy riches pale,
For thy treasures guide thou to voracious thirst.

If thou would to bribe me with golden myriad,
Or if thou would to offer to me Midas’golden hand,
I shall not be tempted, nor shall I smile of envy.                                                 
Why should I, when I hold papyrus from my Lord?

If thou are prepared to abandon futility to join me,
I shall show to thy greedy sight fairest of all wanders,
And thou shall fall on thy knees in front of thy Lord,
For, he dwelled his grace upon me with this wisdom.
Thus, thou shall acquire wealth beyond Alexander’s,
And thou shall cherish thyself more than treasures.


Saturday, July 24, 2010


  This is a follow up to The world as i see it now.


                                                                By Mory Keita

        Plato argues in The Republic that maintaining the balance of peace and justice in a city-state necessitate  the rule of a philosopher-king, Karl Marx and Adam smith, two great theoretical economists, brought fourth their respective doctrines of command and market economy to achieve an “ equitable society”, and so have many philosophers, prophets , scientists. Though, I am not a scholar in these matters, my analysis of the world as it is presently and of human history has convinced me that absolutism is the main source of humanity’s misery.

      If we could rise up from absolutism to relativism, which is more considerate toward our diversity, we will certainly live in a better world, maybe not utopia, but a world where peace and justice are sustainable. All miseries of men lie in their excessive desire for control and superiority. Religious wars, monetary conflicts and other concerns dividing mankind are rooted in men desire to achieve a state of absolute control. To prove my point I will refer to several events that have dramatically changed the course of human history.

      The crusades are a prototype of the devastating consequences of absolutism. To restore their control over the “holy land”, the Holy Roman Empire lunched a series of military campaigns to drive out the “pagans” (Muslims) from Jerusalem. The campaign deprived millions of soldiers and innocents from their lives. Without exploring the intricacies of the campaign, as my point is not to prove whether it was justified or not, if both parties had recognized that the concept of paganism is relative to each of them this war might have been resolved. By that I mean, though the crusaders viewed the Muslims as pagan, the Muslims also viewed the crusaders as idols worshipers, thus their respective views of paganism is  relative to their own religion.
     Some other examples are the first and second world wars, which were waged on purely  military and racial superiority philosophies.  The two wars expanded throughout the whole world and engendered in lost of millions of lives.  The same thing can be extended in the current wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia and other parts of the world and violence perpetrated on philosophical basis.

     To conclude, the desire to conquer and control is the cause of all current and pasts misery of mankind. Absolutism leads to cycle of thirst for power, control, greed and unfortunately sometimes to sadism. Is there for mankind a path to “salvation”? I believe so. I will further elaborate on this issue in coming posts.


Friday, July 23, 2010

sound of water

By Mory Keita

Sound of pattering water on floor,
Drops  jump like frogs in river,
Atoms collide in the quantum like cars,
Winds blow and carry it to my hears,
"A poetic symphony in nature", I wonder,
"What a pacific resonance", I thought.

Poets United


Wednesday, July 21, 2010


By Mory keita

The sun shades in darkness when I close my eyes,
Stars and moon disappear when sun rise from its sleep,
The stillness of night become troubled at dawn,
Peace is unsustainable in face of greed and hatred,
Love and friendship vanish  into oblivion with time,
Wisdom and deeds of the saint may not be remembered,
The universe has a beginning in the big bang and an end,
Life is but a brief journey of joy and sadness,
All fade in the silent harmony of death,
Tell me, O death what is eternal? Tell me, what is man?

Share your poem at one shot poetry.


Saturday, July 17, 2010

Fire extinguisher

By Mory Keita

I didn’t know she was flirting with me,
She stared at me oddly, with a smile on her face,
Leaning against the table as we spoke,
Touching her dark brownish hair,
Laughing at my silly jokes, poking me.
Methought she laughed because of my dialect,
Because people always laugh around me,
But no, she smiled whether I spoke or not.

I didn't know she was waiting for me,
She asked me personal questions,
Complimented me for the silliest things:
What book are you reading? what is it about?
How did you learn French? I love your smile,
So, will you help me with my project?
These were normal questions to me,
Thus, I gave her friendly answers.
how can a sixteen years old read such signs?

I didn't feel the blazing  flame within her heart.
Tho’ I would ignore her sometimes,
She always acknowledged me, spoke to me.
She forced me to talk of things I didn't want to talk about,
I felt for once that I wasn’t being interviewed.
I wanted to tell her that I loved her,
Friends advised me to not make a fool out of myself,
So, I didn’t brush a word--oh silly me.

I didn’t see that I was unintentionally hurting her.
She proposed to me three times to hang out,
And I, an imbecile, replied that I had to study.
She didn’t give up on me,she stood by along the way.

Either did i see the fireman with his fire extinguisher.
He came into her life slowly with appreciation,
He wooed her with adventurous tales while I stood by.
She felt for him with such celerity, but I stood by.
A new flame grew in her heart, and the old was extinguished.

Note: I didn’t want to publish this poem on my blog, but I felt that I should not be ashamed and that I needed to “let it out” by sharing this story with others.


Thursday, July 15, 2010

Modern Othello

By Mory Keita

I pictured myself at her feet, holding her hands,
Quixotically asking with admirable élan,
“Would you take me for a husband, O dear Desdemona?”
Oh! she looks at me, one hand on her breasts,
Somehow happy, an indiscernible joy,
And Somehow with pity and she replies tottering,
“O charming Othello, perhaps with a diamond ring.”           

Have chivalrous customs lost their worth?
O diamond, heavenly crystal of delight,
Treasure of kings and Muse of modern men,
Why must thou interfere with my love and happiness?

O princess Desdemona, what dost thou wish?
If thou want power, I shall grant to thee my kingdom,
If thou wish other riches,I shall provide them unto you:
Golden Tapestries from the land of the Arabs,
Furs from the wondrous country of Mongolia,
Potteries from Nubia and all Africa and Asia,
Woolen garments from cashmere,
And bibliothèques of knowledge from the Jew;
Or if thou wish, I shall conquer everything beneath the horizon,
Or I shall ordain Moors to build a golden temple in thou name.

And she replies with  soft melodic tunes,
 “O noble Othello, my heart cherishes a diamond ring,”
O Diamond, how did thou corrupt my Desdemona’s eyes?
I have offered her all riches dear to women’s heart.

 I look into her eyes, seeking an answer and say,
“Now, O sweet Desdemona, why dost thou refuse all?”
Again I ask, “Is thou love of diamonds greater than thou love for me,”
And she replies, “No my dear, diamonds are untamed by time, so will our love.”


Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Frog and Fish : Steganography

Mory Keita 

There is a rainbow in my heart,
There is a mermaid in my life.
 she loves me and I love her.

There is dark in light,
There is light in dark.
They touch, but do not blend.

There is a queen in my life,
There is a rose in my heart,
More beautiful than sunset,
She is above earthly beauty.

Two lovers swim in the Nile,
A frog and a fish holding hands,
They swim in the blue ocean of life.
She loves him and he loves her.
But alas! frog is fogy and fish is fishy.

Key: i have colored the key words necessary to find out the story behind this poem.
doesn't this poem remind you a story in the bible?

Big Tent Poetry


I write for the voiceless

         By Mory Keita

I write for the voiceless in NYC’s subways,
Strapped in misery in the big apple,
City of dreams and universal wonders,
They walk their walks like ghosts in bliss,
They pass train by train begging,
Begging for understanding and subsistence,
Telling their lives chronicles to the stranger,
But they are unheard for their lives do not matter.
What has their dreams become?
They too sing songs of America like immigrants,
And dream of better future and opportunity.
Why don’t we bail them out?
Why don’t we let them prove their worth?

I write for the unheard children in Darfur?
Those the world snub like out-casts.
They seek peace and love but are crushed like insects,
They walk their walks like ghost in the inferno.
Is humanity blind to their sufferings?
Or has mankind lost its “humanity”?

Written for the inferno challenge: blind

The inferno Write's challenge

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Seek knowledge from cradle to the grave

By Mory Keita

“Salam,” he says entering the room.
He looks upon the faces and gently smiles and
Says: May Allah bless you all.

“Salam to you, O prophet”,
The house members joyfully reply,contemplating his gesture.
They look at him as if there is a nimbus above his head.
“O messenger of Allah” the elder says, “what cause brings you here?”
He looks up to the stars contemplating its beauty,
It serene tranquility which brings peace to night and
He says to the elder, “see, the grandeur of your Lord”.
And the elder replies “yes I see heaven. My lord is truly grand”.
To that, the prophet shook his head and gently taped the elder’s elbow,
“How many times have you seen the starry night?” he says.
The elder pauses for a time and replies, “as long as I have been of this dust”.
Then, the apostle of Allah replies “I am here to tell the wishes of your Lord”.
“What are the wishes of the architect of the universe?” the elder replies serenely,
Then, the servant of Allah replies “your Lord wishes that you seek the unknown and teach.”
 To that, the elder replies, “O Apostle of Allah, I am of old age, what can I learn”
Again, the prophet smiles and says “seek knowledge from cradle to the grave.”
The elder looked upon the prophet with admiration and says,
“Did not our Lord commands to strive for his cause?”
The prophet replied, “The ink of the scholar is more holy than the blood of the martyr.”

Then, he said again, “Salam “to the people of the house,
After, he marched away thanking the great architect for dwelling knowledge upon men.


Part 1: My miserable existence

                                                          By Mory Keita

                                                  Part 1: Genesis 

             This forest of solitude, with singing birds perched on its colossal branches at sunsets and sunrises, has always been a sanctuary of meditation and peace of heart for my troubled soul. Its enchanting floras and fauns, earth and heaven, and perfumed air like fresh coffee bring the spirit of life itselfa spirit strange to my monstrous being; for of little meaning and relevancy is an outcast’s existence. A life voided of love, affection and things dear to men’s hearts. The more I see of it, the more I realize how miserable and  dull my vagabond life has been. Punished by the hands of my own father to endure the curses and sufferings of Atlas, the titan and Sisyphus, the king and hated by men and beasts alike, I hurled my rage in an empty bottle, for my universe is a vacuum with silence and grief as my sole companions. I attempt to relieve my grief by writing down my feelings. My life is but damnation, I do not know the tenders hands of a mother , the enchanting kiss of a lover or heard the wise advice of a caring father like others living creatures. I was born motherless, a result of my father’s experiment to defeat Hades, the god of the underworld.
         Atlas supports the earth on his giant shoulders for his rebellion against Zeus, the mighty god of the Olympus, Sisyphus is cursed to eternally  push a gigantic boulder to the top of the hill, only to watch it roll back down and to repeat it forever for his avarice, cruelty and mischief. But, I was punished only for being reborn. This miserable existence of mine began in a dark cold cloudy winter days when my father, Victor Frankenstein, a scientist obsessed with life, began his mad quest to discover the secret behind heavens most precious and sacred gift, life.

         In his boundless insanity, he spent many years studying the function of the brain, natural philosophy and alchemy at the university he attended. After graduation, he spent his fortune conducting experiments in an isolated laboratory situated at the heart of Berlin, the site of modern western science and civilization. There he  gradually began planning his sacrilege creating the needed chemicals and electric circuits to accomplish his inhumane goal. After completing his preparations, he stole my dead body from my grave andiit revived  with his electrical machine. Thus, I was reborn. After seeing me, he ran from the laboratory, heart pounding afraid.


Part 2: My miserable existence

By Mory Keita

Part 2: Adventure in the Garden of Eden

         After being abandoned by my father, I was drawn to the daily spectacles taking place outside  the box in which  I lived in. The incessant noises of the crowded streets, the dark smoke of the trains passing by, merchant women calling on pass byes to buy their merchandises, children playing catch me if you can and running in the avenues, a group of old men smoking pipes while others  played chess and shared life experiences charmed my wandering spirit. I was particularly intrigued by a university professor, whose  name escapes my short memory, who seemed very bright and righteous. Therefore, one night, I decided to secretly venture into his chamber to question him about my father and myself, for if there was a man who would have been able to tell me my identity, it had to be him.
        I went to his chamber walking slowly and calmly, like a cat. Seated in the right corner of his vast room, he was reading a book of geology which he seemed to enjoy. I approached him as politely as I could, and then tapped his shoulder. He turned his face towards me.
“Who is this?” he said with a soft gentle tone.
“Sorry for the interruption sir….” I replied back as gently as I could.
         Before I could articulate my sentence he ran heart pounding afraid and disappeared from my sight . I went back to the laboratory, wondering about the cause of the professor’s sudden disappearance. “What is the ghost that scared this gentleman or was it simply my giant posture and pale face?” I wondered throughout the day in solitude.
        Long I spent waiting, thinking and dreaming—dreaming like a lazy dog of an unknown father’s return, but my patience was in vain. So, the next day, at dawn I disguised my self like a typical townsman by wearing some old cloths left by my father before his sudden departure.Dressed like an upper class gentleman,  i walked slowly and confidently. To my unpleasant surprise, the people seemed to be in fear of seeing a hideous monster like me, as they murmured to each other. Hatred  consumed their souls, but despite their envious and heinous eyes, I continued my journey of exploring the town.  
           The town, with its majestic vista and rich people had nothing more enchanting than my precious Lady Janet. She was a pearl of heavenly beauty—a beauty above earthly minds.
                                          Soft and gentle like snow,
                                          She climbs the moon like shadow
                                          Then her beauty fades forever.
        The first time I saw her passing by, our eyes met and like a god-sent angel, she smiled at me. Much I marveled in knowing that such an enchanting ghastly creature could have a sincere interest in a monster like me. Isn’t fantastic—beauty and the beast.I followed her gently to pay my compliments to her loveliness. “Excuse me my lady. May I know your name?” I said calmly approaching her, “Ewww, Monster, Monster!!” she yelled hysterically running like a fearful tiger chased by elephants or Cerberus itself. Much I marveled again, “Why such a delicate flower would run from a gentleman being courteous”. Saddened and disappointed by this unorthodox conduct, I isolated myself for days to meditate on reasons people are scared of me, and decided to venture into the wildness. After days of thinking, I came to the conclusion that in the Garden of Eden, all creatures of god are not equal in status— only appearance matters, not personality nor intention.      

I encourage you to read the Third part of this story,  Day of judgment.           


Part 3: My miserable existence

By Mory Keita

Part 3 : Day of judgement 

         All stood before the Lord to testify and receive honors for their deeds but I was the only one blamed for the misery and fate of mankind. Behold, an angry crowd of poor peasants approached , axes and machetes in hand, ready to attack and beat me till my last breath. “Monster,” they shouted furiously hurling young and old, men and women like possessed  by a mysterious invisible dark force pushing them. Barking dogs, mounted horse men positioned to attack and kill me at any instant, and an angry mob of peasants with red eyes, furious like bulls, chased me while shouting “kill the monster, kill the monster.” I felt the need to prove my innocence, believing in the teachings of the book of the Lord, which promise fair judgment for all.
“What monstrous sin did I commit to deserve such hospitality?” I asked peacefully of them, but their shadows approaching me kept growing bigger and bigger.
 “Kill the monster, kill him!” they repeated louder than before, branding their tools and arms against me, ordering their dogs and pets to bait me and tear  my body into shreds , leaving me with pain and injuries.
“Hear me, O noble people, I never insulted you, touched your properties, plantations or herds. All I ever wanted was food and water to appease my hunger and thirst. Is this how you treat strangers?” I tried to reason with them.
They heard, but did not listen; they saw but did not reason. They continued approaching me.
“O good heaven, what have I done to deserve such a burden on my head that no mortal has ever had?”
Their shadows approached my silhouette quickly.
“Monster,” a priest leading the crowd shouted at me, the cross of Christ at hand “by the heavens that bend above us, tell me, and tell me what thou satanic creature want from us?”
“I am sorry, food” I replied quickly.
“Monster,” he said again,“by the God that protect us all, tell me, tell me banished creature, messenger of evil what dost thou want from us?”
          Seeing that I had no chance of convincing them of my good intentions, I ran, hiding behind trees in the forest and bushes. But they pursued me and tried to kill me until I disappeared from their sights. From that day I learned that the only just judgment is God’s, not men’s.

I encourage you to read the fourth part of this story, Revelation.


Part 4: My miserable existence

                                                          By Mory Keita

                                              Part4:  Revelation
                    “To be, or not to be, that is the question."
                                                  Hamlet, Shakespeare

              Long I walked searching, like a desert nomad, for father’s location. I crushed earth and heaven wandering across seas and land  like Ulysses “following knowledge like a sinking star beyond the utmost bond of human thought”.
         I finally found my father’s mansion in an isolated place in Scotland and decided to pay him a visit that night. When darkness enveloped the sky like carpet, I adventured into his chamber through a broken window. While jumping at the window, I imagined my father jumping on my shoulders, crying of happiness. I imagined him ordering a banquet for his beloved son's return.
            I calmly entered the entrance to his chamber room and sat in an old chair in a dark corner of the room and began contemplating the family's tableaus hung on the tall, decorated walls of the chamber. These are my ancestors, great gentlemen and ladies; I felt pride in my heart seeing the nobles of my lineage. Suddenly, there came a tapping as someone entering the door. I hid by the rose decorated curtain covering the window, then there came a person entering. My heart pumped as I observed the tall silhouette approaching my hideout.
“Father,” I said uncovering myself.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my chamber?” he instantly replied, shivering as if he had feared this moment for so long.
“I am… I am your son,” I replied, approaching the sun light to make my face more visible and distinguishable.
“Do not approach me, Monster,” he yelled trembling, “I have no son.”
He took a few seconds to look at my face, and then, realizing who I was, moved backward little by little as if searching to escape.
“Have you forgotten me father?” I said astonished by his hostile welcome.
“No, my God, what have I done? You are a mistake”   he said with remorse, hands on his chest.
Confused, I looked into his blue eyes and said, “but, I am your son, flesh of your flesh”.
“Don’t you understand you are not human, you are a monster, my punishment for my sins” he said crying.
     My soul felt like a asteroid from sky. I parted from the chamber, sad, furious, and lost, then set out to travel the world while waiting of a revelation from heaven.

I encourage you to read the last part of this story, Exodus.


Part 5: My miserable existence

By Mory Keita

Part 5: Exodus 

          After my many disappointments, I set myself to traveling the uncivilized parts of the world in quest of knowledge and understanding. In that mid-October, I took the road to the Americas where I tried to live in harmony with nature’s wilderness. Living there, I found an inner peace and sense of belonging cultivated in harmony with the elements constituting the universe. I have found a new purpose in life— accepting who I am.
          To conclude my long and boring life story, I would like to explain the nature of happiness. Happiness is not beauty, talent or prestige. It is an inner voice that shows us the light to something farther ahead, a greater understanding of the world and its principles. Happiness is a combination of knowledge, identity and a sense of purpose.This is the tale of my miserable existence.

This is the end of the story, if you liked it please leave your feedbacks.


Sunday, July 11, 2010

All i seek in life

By Mory Keita

A beat in heart,
A voice in head,
A song of life,
A drum under hands,
Something to see,
Something to feel,
Something to believe in,
Something to fight for,
Something to die for,
Something to be remembered for,
That is all I seek in life.


Saturday, July 10, 2010

Dangerous Beauty

When art becomes an abomination
                            By Mory Keita

          I stood awestruck in the middle of a street in uptown New York, contemplating the striking beauty of the graffiti painting on the walls of a Public building .As I attentively observed the fantastic work of the artist, I realized that he didn't do it just to please folks passing by or violate the property. He was expressing his feelings in a painting- a simple yet majestic painting. Just like the writer writes on paper to reveal his philosophy or the politician makes ads and flyers to propagate his opinions and views on issues to the public, the graffiti artist paints walls to expose his emotions. As a teenage writer, I suddenly felt a strong connection to the unknown artist, for just like me, he is an innovator - an engineer of ideas.

         Freedom of expression is a natural right of every human being, when one is blocked from expressing one’s feelings, one  right is violated. It was painful, frustrating to me to see security officers slowly wiping off colors of the splendid piece of art like banning an abomination or erasing forever the trace of the devil itself.  I felt as if a piece of my writing, my creation was being roped apart, thrown in the trash like a nasty, worthless piece of paper – an abomination.

       I do not support the damage of public properties or the violation of the law, but I believe that graffiti artworks painted on public infrastructures must be preserved from destruction for future generations, because like any form of art, graffiti is a form of expression ,thus, a conductor of democracy and freedom.