Bunguswa Writes.

Critical Analysis of Graveyard of Silence Theme and Subject Matter The poem Graveyard of Silence explores the emotional burden of unspoken pain, illustrating how silence, often mistaken for strength, can become a heavy weight on the soul. It critiques societal expectations that pressure men to suppress their emotions, leading to internal suffering. The imagery of a graveyard serves as a powerful metaphor for the burial of emotions, suggesting that suppressed pain does not disappear but lingers like restless ghosts.   Figurative Language and Symbolism Bunguswa Brian employs rich figurative language to deepen the emotional resonance of the poem. 1.  Metaphor : The comparison of silence to a “locked vault” and a “graveyard” emphasizes how pain is hidden rather than healed. 2.  Personification : Silence is depicted as something that “knocks on the doors of his sanity,” reinforcing the idea that unexpressed emotions demand acknowledgment. 3.  Imagery : Vivi...

His lips, a locked vault, where screams turn to whispers, then to echoes, then to nothing. Pain folds itself into tight fists, buried beneath the ribs, like nameless bodies in forgotten graves. He walks like a shadow carrying storms, a thundercloud stitched into his spine, yet the world calls it strength, mistaking the silence for steel, not knowing it's a rusting chain. Every unspoken word is a ghost, pacing the corridors of his mind, knocking on the doors of his sanity, pleading to be freed, but he swallows them like bitter stones. At night, the moon listens, leaning close to his trembling chest, where sobs bloom like wilted roses, silent, unseen, misunderstood, a garden of sorrow no one waters. But even silence has a breaking point— a dam will crack, a grave will open, and the flood will not be gentle. For a man's silence is not strength, it is the weight of a world he was never meant to carry. © Bunguswa ™

I do not choose the storm within, nor the way the wind whispers secrets to me. I see the pulse behind your smile, the hesitation in your breath, the shadows trailing your laughter. Do not blame the fire for its heat. I taste the echoes of words unsaid, syllables dying in the hollows of your throat. Your silence is a language I cannot unhear, your absence, a script I have memorized. I read between your pauses, where truth trembles, afraid to be known. Do not blame the fire for its heat. I was born to see what others blink away, to untangle the riddles of your shifting gaze, to feel the ghosts in the space between heartbeats. You call it overthinking— I call it survival in a world that lies. Do not blame the fire for its heat. Every glance you cast is a tide pulling me under, every word a thread I must unwind. You do not know the burden of knowing— how heavy the air becomes when filled with unspoken sorrow. Do not blame the fire for its heat. I catch the flicker before the fl...

Suffering is a river wide, never meant for one alone. It drifts and sways from side to side, today it’s mine, tomorrow—your own. You cheered when I stood tall and grand, my hands outstretched, my pockets deep. Now fallen, crushed beneath the sand, your silence cuts, your laughter seeps. I gave when giving was my song, a melody both bright and free. Now I am ruined, weak, and wrong, for lacking what you seek from me. I won’t return to swallowed pain, nor feast on what I once let go. The past is past; I won’t remain where love dissolves like melting snow. Love is light with hidden scars, it warms, it blinds, it leaves a stain. It lifts like wings but drops like stars, shining bright, then lost in rain. Today it's me with heavy chains, my name a whisper in the dust. But fate is fickle, life remains, tomorrow bends for you to trust. I go in peace, though bruised and torn, my spirit still, my heart resigned. Let kindness bloom where grief is worn, let wounds be healed, let l...

In the halls of knowledge, you planted seeds, Fertile minds nourished by your deeds. Not just a teacher, but a sculptor of souls, Molding lives, making broken hearts whole. Your chalk traced not just facts on a board, But dreams and hopes you boldly restored. A coach in life, on and off the field, Harvesting strength where others would yield. With every lesson, your wisdom poured, A river of insight that endlessly roared. You taught us to see beyond the lens of books, To find life’s wonders in hidden nooks. Your voice, a compass, pointed true north, Guiding us bravely to bring our worth forth. And though you held a whistle in hand, You taught us that winning is taking a stand. Handball courts echoed your fiery call, Where teamwork flourished, and no one fell small. Victories transcended trophies and fame, For you played for growth, not just the game. Now, a principal—pillar of a new sphere, Inspiring many through kindness sincere. Your mantle bears both wisdom and grace, A ...

Water, a mirror to the soul’s ache, Baptism and flood in the same embrace, Life rises where its veins do wake, Yet death lingers in its calmest face. Oh, life, you ripple with tides unseen, A gentle stream, or an ocean’s rage, Your depths conceal what has never been, A boundless book with no final page. Drink deeply, they say, for life must grow, Yet the drought of meaning parches the tongue, We wade through currents we’ll never know, Where the old remain, and the young die young. Rivers carve paths, etching time in stone, Yet currents twist dreams into tangled lines, A force that binds, yet leaves us alone, In search of shores no compass defines. What is the taste of a life well-spent? Clear as dew or bitter as brine? We chase the cascade where joy has leant, But grasp only air at the fall’s decline. Water drips softly; it deafens the still, Each drop, a question the heart can’t ignore, Is it life that molds us, or our own will? Can the source be pure if the streams are wa...

They slit the throat of the night’s voice, Crimson spilled where truth once stood. Richard, son of our soil, A beacon of courage snuffed by cowards' hands, Now his song echoes in the silence, A whisper that thunders in our hearts. Oh, government of iron fists and deafened ears, Must justice bleed for your comfort? Must truth be buried beneath your throne? You, who wrap yourself in laws like a shroud, Yet your deeds reek of daggers and shadows. The wind has carried his cries to the mountains, The rivers murmur his name to the sea. Molo weeps, its soil soaked with betrayal, Yet the seeds of resistance sprout in every tear. You cannot uproot the will to rise— Even the most brutal storm spares the roots. His young ones will grow beneath this scorched sky, But their father’s dream will feed their hunger. For every voice you silence, A thousand tongues will rise, For every light you snuff, The stars will burn brighter. People of the soil, sons and daughters of defiance, Do no...