Lebron James, he's the man. Steve Nash? Get a tan! The king owns Miami any day, Bron v.s Kobe on tv, I'd pay. His dunks electrify the crowd ever night, if you like Kobe, you shouldn't even be reading this, go fly a kite. I respect Kobe, I can't lie, but Lebron, his legacy is up to the sky. Lebron brings his talents to south beach, there bigger than Halo Reach. I will admit, Michael Jordan is the best of the all, and Yao Ming is really tall, but Lebron is the king, and by the end of his career, his hands will be filled with rings.

Karma was child from a humble family whose dream had a spoonful of wishes. She never thought of a hen sitting on her plate for lunch until her body shaped to capture the focus of the community.
Her and hard work were inseparable, and motivation sparked from her deeds. This was short lived by blindfolds of moments.  She then landed in a ditch of blessings which surpassed her baring as paper made solutions to all her faults and soonest laziness took her for a companion.
Yes, she had completely forgotten her path neither could she trace her background, for looks bought her a ticket to a lifestyle and rather failed to resist becoming stingy.
She learnt not the meaning of love for it carried no sense, and the she needed not to learn of true love, oh how could she for to her it was a monster that stole opportunities.
The caterpillar she was grew into a butterfly one seen by many and so touched by those whose hands could afford the beautiful colours of its petals. Souls fell apart over the turned beauty of the wings that went toxic. The meal that went bad before the harvest of a promised yield.
The love to taste of the night shinning sun evolved many to empty pockets and others to bundles of regret to disease and misfortune. It wasn’t her making nor desire, it was the glory of Gods carvings that alerted those near and far to come eco and share of visibility of a living being stationed as nature.
This beauty scorched mens eyes day in and day out as she melted souls and flowers faded in the sun. she glowed on gentle pockets, never invested any seeds for a tomorrow. Time wasn’t her ally, it brought a change in season as the clouds ushered in rain sprouted new and better yields that out competed the market of the former.
Clouds shrinked and a dark tomorrow was born, the wine tasted more bitter than old wine in a new bottle. Then the veterans got and adopted new medals at the cost of the old fades of the butterfly contests.
What was left was a story tale with a bunch of little and innocent ferries whose direction was unfolded but hope set from a single ray through the thickest forest.

Thomas Bron Mukama
#herdsmanofprogress

My name is Thomas Bron Mukama
I come from the hills of the west of my country
Born in the cold during a busy day of labour
Joy sprouted when i touched the soils
In excitement was grabbed and held to the sky a sign i had descended from there
God had released me amongest men named mukama as my heavenly father
The birds taught me to sing though not to fly
They flew down to the ground where i should stay not the sky for i would have no company above
The mountains werent shaken and i delight in climbing them
Am a son of hardwork laid not in amanger rather in bananas
I grew to learn i only limit myself
As i stand in abilities unseen besides foretales

Hon brukar ha på sig en mössa
Som gömmer en del av långa håret
En gyllene kaskad som inte blöter
Men är ***, lugnande, och skiner
Mössan skämmer aldrig bort ansiktet
Huset till hennes fina ögon, gul, grå, och blå
En blandning som måste bedömas som perfekt
Så tydlig som en plus en är lika med två

Det känns alltid bra att resa söderut
Att flygga utifrån språngbrädan
Och att ta **** tack vare vinden
Som blåser periodiskt när hon andas ut

Jag landar då på hennes mun
Som hyser den hemliga bron
Som väntar på att jag närmar mig för att hälsa på,
Inte varje gång, men det blir alltid en härlig överraskning då

Jag brukar stanna kvar där en stund
Vaggad av vågorna bildas av hennes läppars kurvor
Och inser att man kan väl resa utan att flytta på sig
Jag står här orörlig och kysser henne
Det räcker för att skapa nya banor
Som leder till ett ställe som kallas extas
Ett ställe som kan enbart finnas
När vi är tillsammans,
När det finns inget avstånd mellan oss
När vi är i mitten av en sensuell dans
Det är klart att jag vill ta ingen paus
Men hellre fortsätta tills natten gradvis raderas av solen
Tills det är dags att börja om resan igen.

The ignorant share their ignorance
Spreading it out like wild fire
The knowledgable strive in silence
As they are believed to be at the right stand

Who will dress them, who can correct them?
Those that know stay put while uninformed stray the public
Their words are so hot that they attract souls with magnets of deceit

They speak with influence even when they understand not what they speak
Those that know feel entitled and handle share for they are the books of consultation
Mother didnt let us die in straying as she picked a cain to every wrong her child did with the friends
There was so isolation for everyone was a victim of circumstance failing to watch your brothers back.

Now that the clouds are darker who will guide the lame thoughts and pride of the generation that is all knowing or perhaps whats the degree that makes up what is known by many

Now that i can eat from the bowl in person whats the need of my neighbor!
And whats their need when paper money can stand as my brother and witness

Their thoughts are enslaved with anger which may have arisen from the light of facts or from a bullied speech
As they raise their hopes they dull that of others
Their survival is struck from ******* those that surround them. Did you say jungle law. I thought i had you right.

What if i cant cry to mother, will God depart from my fights.

So i live a life of them amdong the living
The souls walk with Grace clothed in terror
Dear the fallen, its not peaceful back here, it was better there i would join you. I remember i know the way but still find comfort in sin.
They do sin for pleasure and sin to get glory
They sin for the sake of the tomorrow which we have have been waiting since creation
Maybe the lame are luck not to walk into sin, maybe the blind since they may wisk away from seeing sin

What if you can remind me to remember i didnt only come for glory over the soul of my maker.
They have judged and this lasts at death but we have lived by the star of Grace. You are not alone.

Thomas Bron Mukama
#herdsmanofprogress

Ni thsi ega fo intlelliegnce atrificail
(In this age of intelligence artificial)
Neo hsa ot cmeo wthi moer craetvie wysa
(One has to come with more creative
Ot proev mi nto a roobt
ways to prove im not a robot)
Natrual intlelliegnce si bron
(Natural intelligence is born)
Craetviety si crtiical nwoadysa
(Creativity is critical nowadays)
Nto onyl outsdie teh bxo btu aslo insdie teh dna
(Not only outside the box but also inside the dna)
Thsi si ot proev mi nto a roobt
(This is to prove im not a robot)
Intlelliegnce natrually rgeins sprueme
(Intelligence naturally reigns supreme)

i was bron being told a man is somebody who hides his countenance adeptly
But what exactly defines a man ?
Is it the hair on the cheeks ?
the depth of our wallets ?
or is it the strength of our arms ?
we are taught how not to express our feelings
and how it makes us look weak
so hiding emotions defines a man ?
or is it our aloofness ?
or is man hood just desperation
born of the isolation
of our indoctrination

BRON  in a disfunctional American setting with rotten roots of an destroyed family with dead values mistaking lies for love....

she's on the go ,beautiful as a rose, but soonly changed
life from man to man serching for the father she never had
relying on the hardedn streets to deal her a better hand with clouded thoughts with desires for fancy things has a baby as a teen
cycle repeats it self once again.
alone the way soft peddles begain to ruffle bleed from her own throns she continue to ****** deeper ,traped  in the same ghetto as a rose refused to give up give in nither let go knowing if she stops now there's no sunshine and the soil that provides her roots will dry so she motivate her self everytime she hears her baby crys determine to survive while looking into a mirror now ,realize it's her Daugther eyes and see the same rose of the ghetto....

Meisje, wachtend op de trein,
soms onzeker, bang voor wat
zou kunnen komen, bang
voor wat zou kunnen zijn.

Ze weet niet dat zij
een bron is van levensvreugd,
de bestemming die ze zelf niet ziet,
waar jongen zich danig op verheugt.

Nieuwigheden doen haar soms trillen,
plaatsen handen in haar haar,
zo ook zou ze wat gezelschap willen
dan staat jongen voor haar klaar.

Weldra heeft ze haar plaats gevonden
en genomen en leeft ze wederom
in een wereld vol met dromen.

It is time for your birthday
Let’s rock and roll yeah
It is time for your birthday
Time to party
Opening all your presents
How cool
Getting down to every groove
Not knowing what you are getting dude
I hope I get something good oh yeah
Partying is right partying is fun
Go to the club to get down and say party on for uncle ray
I love movement I live for life
I never get in any strife
Oh yeah oh yeah party on party on
Partying is fun for your mate Ron
People called me bron back then
Drinking scotch on the rocks
With bourbon oh yeah
I want everyone to say to me
That I am cool oh yeah I am cool
I don’t believe in being negative
I remain positive in every part of my life
I am cool I am cool
Better than you
I am cool
I will party with the cool dudes
Yes I will

Im in the city with my hittas  and I'm further  then you know.
And it's kinda crazy but I love it babe  *** Houston got some snow.

..Tell me what they won't . love me say it slow ......
I've been in the cold , Doing donuts that's for show
Hate is guaran-teeeed,
Roll it off my sle-eeeve.
Why you stare at me ,Tell me why you fu wit me?

Ya-ya.

Regular voice -

-Karate chop these bars just like hiyah.

-*Jumping to this paper just like Zi-
I keep pink strap and a ****!
I ball like jim Jones and Mike !
I mix sativa with felisha in a Sentra take flight  !
You wanna talk talk on wifi then switch sides like bron bron like Tupac I realized the real eyes gone realized!

Hate is guaran-teeeed!

Mmmmm Roll it off my sle-eeeve!!

Why you hate on me ..?
Why you hate on me

It's that time again,
The voice crooning softly belongs to Josh Kiszka,
With a voice eerily reminiscent to Plant,
Perhaps a comment on the music one is raised on?

Taking a drag while thinking back,
To when times were simpler,
To when the innocence of childhood shielded one from all the nasty things of life,
To a place that was better,
The before.

Before bills,
Before taxes,
Before jobs, responsibility, and chores.

The before.

Ripped back into the now,
I exhale,
Tapping ash into an overflow tray,
Older and wiser,
But worn and a bit frayed,
Wishing for the before.

Before check ins,
Before people felt the need to lock their doors at night,
To when it was better,
A pinnacle of its own.

Drawing in again as one of the other brother rips into a solo that seems like it's straight from the Bron-Yr-Aur sessions,
To the before.

The Before can be reached again

For always not even once have the masses cried not over insufficient service delivery. The Dog is known to be to the owner till it strays, when the owners of this country tear the heavy deployments done are yet a portion of their contribution through tax.
Man has a voice woman has a tear and so mankind has become voiceless thus defensively becoming savage.
When the day comes it shall be like any other, when the moon will will shine smiles as the rain washes away our pain and the sun drying our tears.
The combined energy shall be the voice of the surpressed being  seeking to walk a normal life of Grace. Yes we shall not forget the leaderships that made us stumble we shall embrace the same flag under new and yet friendly arms nursing our damaged country-men. Glory will once be ours, maybe long but shall be worth.

#herdsmanofprogress
Thomas Bron M

https://thomasbron.wordpress.com/2020/08/19/upfront/

*** pas ik dit toe?

Door te observeren,
acties te selecteren
te experimenteren
met factoren
tot de resultaten
enigszins een bron
van tevredenheid aanboren.

Dichter bij gelukkig zijn,
lijkt mij niet te bestaan.