First Words
Page 3
Yesterday we used to cobble together
Today he sullies the unwashed, me
Maybe this is it,
I am a leader for tomorrow
And I gonna have my own Lamborghini
I do search for it
And I have it; Money, Money, Money!
Death of Humanity
The men and women with white coats
The blessed minds that decides who lives or dies
Have declared themselves gods.
I saw this sisal-haired kid
Pot-bellied, eyes popping out; in great agony
The poor thing died because the mother
With maternal instincts wanted to save her offspring
But was pushed away, told to go back to the queue;
This largish matron of a nurse
Left her desk at ten o’clock, went for lunch
The doctor had left his white coat
Hanging on the chair in his office;
People started talking, complaining
I heard one say how his first born had died young
Because the man with the key to OR was away
Another one said he’d contracted cataracts
Because there were no, and couldn’t afford, gloves.
I almost threw up, when the woman beside me said
Bodies at the morgue are piled higgledy-piggledy
Because the family of the deceased didn’t pay.
That evening the day grew bleaker
The paedophile was acquitted
My little sister failed to testify, and there was no evidence.
The man who had spitefully robbed her of her innocence
Had bought breakfast for the corrupt-riddled judge.
And a man who knew not where Africa begins
And the European heaven turns hell
Had been shot, trespassing the ranch:
The killer said it was self-defence.
Humanity died
And was buried
A long time ago!
Weep Not Mother
In my search for freedom, and peace of mind
I’ve left the futile struggle behind
I turn to the sharpest of all swords, pen
And the largest of all auditoriums, paper
to write and sing for mother, pray for my country.
I compose love songs, and odes for mother;
and for the people everywhere;
O mama, weep not; fret of nothing
It is painful
To watch our home, land
Being plundered, my heritage looted
By foreign marauders.
I’ve left the blood stained struggle behind
and embarked on another struggle, the painest.
We’ve been invaded by a fierce enemy.
I’ve seen him rape you, Mama,
I can’t stand it anymore:
O mother bereft, let no hope mirage away
I come to your rescue from this enemy
the alien in the land of my birth
Who has slain all my brothers,
and inaugurated himself my leader
Made himself the president, the Commander-in-Chief
busy taking what belongs to me, to you
To satisfy his greed, and avarice.
These ghostly black marauders
have enslaved us, Mama.
Sometimes my high hopes fade
To salvage ourselves from this bondage
Yet I hope I gonna do it, I’m now armed
I shall fight to the end of time
I shall fight till I win this war,
My armament is the most superior
than their WMDs and NBCs
And when the victory is ours, mama
We shall dance to the tunes of Rhumba and Mulembe
The tunes of the lyre and fife.
O mama, be calm, weep not
They’re invincible, Mama
Mine is a small stratagem
Yet I hope I gonna do it
Believe in me, it gonna be mama
So, weep not mother.
Angel of Death
He dines and sleeps with us, lives with us
She prepares meals for us, cares for us.
My brother was murdered last week
He had tracked and arrested incorrigible criminals;
Seven-year-old little Liz died today at the hospital
The paedophile was positive;
Dad was the man who stood against injustices
He was sentenced to death for treason;
Then Mom, she was Transparency International agent
She had an accident, her body was never found;
Political ragamuffins hired gangs to cause mayhem
The whole ‘hood is quetching of insecurity;
There’s a terrible mow down, worse than Rwanda’s
Many’re maimed and torn by political bullets
Because the political whales differed;
For how long shall we die, kill each other
Yet claim it’s the will of God?
Blame the Angel of Death?
Born of Death
I am dead; I was born dead
Buried deep in the ground,
but no grave is deep enough
to restrain my dead voice.
I was in the first trimester
Life was nirvana in the womb, until one day
I drank this strong salty water
Breathing was difficult
I struggled and convulsed
Before I knew
My skin was being burnt and stripped away
Layer by layer it was peeled;
I felt weak and succumbing to feebleness
Then I was lost to unconsciousness
Yet I could feel being pulled out of my home.
I was trapped in astral body, a phantom
I materialized to the world I was to be in in nine months,
what a beautiful world!
I saw Mother sprawled on a makeshift bed
I did not want to leave her, my sweet mommy
I stayed with her, she did not see me,
Two days later she went in to labour
I was long dead when I was born
From salt poisoning
The doctors called me a Candy Apple Baby, a CAB.
I believe in love at first sight
I’ve loved Mother since the day I set my eyes on her
I love her very much, so much that it hurts
Though I now live trapped in astral body
I never leave my mother’s side;
I am no longer the foetus she never wanted
I grew up the instant she had me poisoned.
I am her shadow, even in the dark of the night
I go with her everywhere
even when she goes to visit her boyfriends
I hate to watch all her shenanigans
but what can I do? I love my mother so much.
My brother was in his second trimester
I watched the whole operation;
My brother was crunched with pliers
They couldn’t even think of anaesthesia for him
He was torn apart slowly until he was no more
His spine snapped, skull crushed; he died painfully.
Mother is a nympho; pardon my language
she’s not married, yet she has an array of lovers
she always conceives every time she does it
she never gives my siblings a chance to live;
Last month I saw some tools being inserted inside her
She bled profusely;
I wonder whether she feels pain
Barely two months later was she taking RU-486
The doctor had told her it’d kill the zygote—
She had missed her periods.
I never tire of counting the passing of time
Seven months later she went to this doctor
She was taken to the OR
My twin sisters were about to be born
I don’t what got into her, my mother—last minute change of mind perhaps
She had the umbilical cords cut;
Lil’ sis suffocated to death
The other was dumped in a bucket; she died of exposure.
For the umpteenth time mom is pregnant again
I hear her tell her best friend, Winnie
that she’d keep this baby this time round.
Winnie tells her of how she drank papaya sap
And got rid of her two-month-old pregnancy;
Mama boasts that she doesn’t use crude methods
It’s dangerous to drink detergents and chemicals
Like Margaret her cousin; Maggie died two days later
Winnie tells her of her friend Valerie
Val inserted a bicycle spoke insider her
Stupid Val caused herself grievous harm;
The doctor said she’ll never have a kid.
O my poor brother born of death
My mother decided she did not want him the last minute
It was too late for that; on the 36th week
She went for a caesarean, have him done away with
I was there, watching;
The doctor used the scariest hypodermic I’ve ever seen
He stabbed Jimmie seven times in the brain
Thank God he did not die; the poison failed
Three days later he was born at the Nairobi Hospital
My mother did not want him; he was adopted.
I have watched Jimmie grow; incorporeal
He’s a cute guy, handsome; he’s smart, a genius
Jimmie my brother is very special, exceptional
He’d be a great man; a hero, a saint
But James is disadvantaged, incapacitated
He’s blind, yet with acute hearing
He’s crippled; and has never spoken to anyone
But lovely Jimmie does smile; he smiles
What a radiant smile!
Conspiracy in Death
He was a man of rare countenance
Idealistic and realistic
Rigid yet affable:
He was about to cross over
He bequeathed his eyes to his blind niece.
She was a scientist, a botanist
Her research was life-threatening
She’d have wiped out the whole planet
She had a terrible accident, a terrible cosmic collision
But it was in her will
She had left her body
For the college
Medical students got a real specimen.
The father of the nation was hospitalized, dying
It was to be a big blow to the nation
The world couldn’t afford to lose him
He had live; somebody had to die:
Joseph, full of youth, and vitality, disappeared
He was the donor, the benefactor
The dead yet alive Commander-in-Chief the beneficiary
Of Joseph’s organs.
Lil’ sister, Angie’s her name, hasn’t been found
Three years now, February’ll make it four
I know Angie is a victim, will never be found
I better stop mourning her
Her organs were sold to the highest bidder,
Or maybe she was shipped to Bangladesh
And vultures of lust scavenge for her flesh.
My preteen daughter died naturally
Why the autopsy then?
Moreover, what’s the need
Of knowing how she died
She’s gone, long dead
The autopsy will just kill her more.
Why don’t they let me die?
They want me alive. Why?
For what? Of course I shall die
Why then try to save me?
I have no kidneys, blame it on my alcoholism
But doctors are looking for a kidney, for me.
God should’ve given me spare
If He wanted me to use the spare when one was punctured.
Auntie Mona was killed today, mercifully
Why did they’ve to kill her?
It was still her; her life to live
or was the money much more important
when they switched off the machine?
My brother connived with the doctors
His wife died peacefully in her sleep
He wanted her dead
the church doesn’t allow divorce.
O! Conspiracies in death.
Dirty Money
The mind twirls, body swirls
Friends become enemies, enemies friends
Brothers and sisters, who once loved, loath
Saints become monsters, monsters saints
Winners become losers, losers winners
Pious become sinners
The obscure well known
The poor become rich, rich the poor
Governments tumble, nations rise
The impeccable become corrupt
The just become unjust
The innocent are convicted, guilty acquitted
Parents curse, parents bless
Parricides are committed
Pseudocides are committed
Wars’re declared, truce called upon
Husband divorces wife, wife husband
Just rulers turn tyrants, humble dictators
Shrewd managers become deceitful
Priest leave the vicarage, nuns convent
Bliss is attained, bliss is lost
Because of the dirty money!
Conspiracy in Birth
She has the most loving husband
She lives the most traumatizing life
She can’t give him a child
She wants to please him;
She has this phantom pregnancy
Nine months later she gives birth
The newly born bouncing baby girl
Suckles from a bottle the very minute she’s born.
They are the best couple in the ‘hood, successful career people
They’ve no time for buying, and changing, diapers
They’ve got no time for children
They conceive in another woman’s womb
Auntie Anne gets a new job.
They’ve been married for twenty years
Twenty years they’ve had no kid
No kid? They must have a child of their own
They go to see an obstetrician
walk hand in hand to the reception, sweet couple
The nurse tells them the doctor is expecting them
The following day the wife is in the first trimester
Seven months later comes their son
Ken’s stolen from his mother at birth
His mother believes it’s a miscarriage.
I Had a Dream
I am the president of America
Like the 44th President, I’m from Africa
First Lady, my wife, is Erica
She sleeps early, I work late
White House is not some holiday camp.
‘I Have a Dream’ speech
It’s in the US archives
It was delivered by Martin Luther King, Junior
I am not his enthusiastic supporter
I’m the 100th President of The United States
And I had a dream.
I was aboard Air Force One
No fleet of fighter jets’ escort
I wanted to see the country I was the president
The land of milk and honey
The land of opportunities
American dream.
Air Force One flew low and slow over the cities
I was wa
tching the Statue of Liberty;
Something was wrong, my instincts’re right
Colonel Gibbs, the pilot, was saying something
Air Force One was falling, plummeting
Air Force One was crashing; inferno, death.
I floated up there, or at least my ghost did
I was adrift; Air Force One was going down, aflame
I overcame the shock quickly, I was dead
I hadn’t said goodbye to anyone
Even to Erica, First Lady
I’m only forty-four, I thought, what a short life,
My career a brief tragic fiasco;
I wept.
Air Force One crashed on the motley quilt below
Volcanic orange flames erupted
The menacing flame burst, consumed everything
Everything reduced to black-white cinders
I pitied the victims, I wasn’t one of them.
I was no longer flying low-low-low
I was going up, up, up;
Flocks of birds flew beneath and by me
The sky a cacophony emergency helis whirs
Rushing to rescue the POTUS, me
What a waste of time and resources.
The clouds hugged me passionately
Only my dearest Erica did that---
I was high over the Atlantic
Water aquamarine, turning wine black
The calico quilt spread below beautiful, real
I was seeing the country I was the president
Mission completed
God Bless America.
Wind brushed my ears, the only sound
Mind was in astonishing crystal clarity
Images clouded in quartz glass lucidity
Former US President’s life retrospective:
The days with my Afro-American parents
All the teen horniness
The things I did in darkness
The forbidden fruits I ate
The clandestine cartels I ran
The black markets no one will ever know of
The secret meetings of the brotherhood
The people I ordered killed
The mistresses no one knew of
The whole caboodle of my life
Was in stupefying clearness.
Earth was growing below me
Landscape in minuscule
Quite a contrast of all NASA pictures
Filled the sky in acute topographical focus
Ommigod! The grandeur defied description.
As for me, formerly the President of America
Was a flyspeck of human consciousness
The once greatest man in the world
Reduced to nihility, I was going home
Heaven? No chance in hell
Hell? Heaven forbid
Yikes! It was just a dream.
The Prosecutor
I am in court, I’m a lawyer
Black funeral robes, well-polished shoes
I am the prosecutor, rids society of criminals
The prosecution is tense, uncertain
I have presented my case
Cold hard facts, the evidence
I should be the Attorney General
Or maybe I can’t stand the vetting
Let Wako keep it---
The moment of truth has come
Judge Korir is about to pass his judgment
I am composed, pregnant with gloat
I know I’ve won the case, that I know
The judge shuffles his papers