Poetry

I wish I Could Tell You.

I wish
I wish I could tell you
Tell you that a friend is all you need.
A friend that won’t be swallowed by greed.
Tell you a friend has to bleed and plead.
For you indeed,
But I am afraid,
I wish I could tell you.

I wish religion still fights.
Fights for your breath, bread and soul.
I wish my words about it don’t smell foul
But the truth, my truth,
Take your yoke.
Travel the meanders.
Be that wanderer.
Avoid being scandalous!
I wish I could tell you.

I wish I could tell you of our Nations.
Show you how we gear up preparations,
Before alterations and altercations ,
I wish,
I wish I could talk,
Talk of your heart
But the much to be seen will be your hurt,
Though due to my love in part,
I will decorate your hurt into art,
Confused?
I wish I could tell you.

I wish you looked at the sky,
Take a pie and ask why,
Why the world is skinny,
While everyone is busy building it,
But the eyes it throws at me,
And everyone moves on,
Moves on in a limping ground
Just because the earth moves around,
And their hearts still pounds,
You cease being useful,
I wish I could tell you.
I wish.

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Poetry

Hit me January, heat me!

Kîrimû kîahûna gîciragia nîkîanora. (When a fool eats to a fill he/she thinks he/she has gotten fat. After eating avocado with anything and everything, it was time to press forward. December had been such a short month. Precisely, it got shorter after Jamhuri celebrations. What was left between me and Mama mboga was greetings alone. For the first time I had that craving of fresh vegetables. They do well with nyama.

The countryside was epic. We were all there. Denominations, religions, races, colours and last but not least, people with language problems. ‘Twengs’. Hard to classify them.

Unlike other times when what we carry from home versus what we took there got the mathematical status of inversely proportional, this time the villages had a cold shoulder. This has led to our current situation. Since I got back I say hi to Mama Diego of Kiosk and her counterpart Mama Siemens wa Mboga. I don’t count how many times. But it’s a lot. A joke in here and a reminder of loyalty there. The way the tariff is headed, ‘Niko karibu kuitumia kama bonga points.’

Yesterday evening I happened to take my neighbors son back to the house, I said a silent prayer and closed my eyes. The bones to the sheep he had heinously slaughtered were still fresh. But here he was looking viciously as his wife poured tea into a sugar dish like a Naija ritual.

It would be good to note I am a very generous man but I had to return the boy before supper. I accepted family planning since the return from Ushago. Family meal planning so don’t get me wrong.

Stepping out I heard my friend giving a wise counsel about soap. She was washing clothes but no foam nor lather was present. According to her, her church pastor had told them that soap is causing cancer. Good Lord. How did we find ourselves in January. Did January had to come immediately after December. And we are only in the fifth week of this January. Hit me again January. I am saved. No weapon you raise unto me, to me and on me shall prosper.

Repeat after me, You January!…. “Aki bundles zimeisha. Hey nani ameona koromboi. Ati stove inafanya nini? Leak? Mayooo!!”

Poetry

Dear Future

It’s 12.am yeah seems early.
In my heart it sounds 12. Yeah.
Midnight it is. Am awake
Otherwise I would not have noticed.
I shudder but am still pleased.
Oh my dear future.

I lie in between, twisted reality
Open to any reason of clarity.
Am between yesterday and today.
I mean today and tomorrow.
Just because its 12 am.
A time that calls me names,
Tells me to reflect, plan and accomplish.
Oh my dear future.

Tomorrow awaits, my boss awaits.
My future starts at 12am
Time is a number, start with 12.
Time is making me run,
Deadlines and targets,
Expectations and decisions,
Oh my dear future.

With all this, am I limiting myself?
Hiding behind 12am
Creating a notion that time waits.
But life in itself is a reality
One that removes imaginations
While age is a cover-up
Of what we can or can’t accomplish.
Oh my dear future.

My future is in my hands
And the idea of how things stand
You should stick around
Count yourself proud
And 12am will make me proud
Time, age, life in present and future.
All running to limit my expectations.
But after 12am they are just perceptions.
Oh my dear future.

Poetry

The Orphaned Bee

She came flying into our car,
A place new to her,
Unknown to her were eating miles,
Soon she would be lost,
She would die in the worst.
But what could I do?

It was a forest, but a rare one
The scents and fragrance,
The whirls and the buzzing
The good looking Flowers
All these were foreign
They repelled her.
Amazed and dazed her,
But what could I do?

I could offer my hand
But the idea was as bad
Or I could offer my head
But it was all bald
I looked as she fought
She looked immense at it
But what could I do?

Not understanding where she was
Would she be missed?
Was the family looking for her?
Soon we would arrive,
I hope she will survive,
A new situation,
Will she know her way back,
Had we made her an orphan?
What was I supposed to do?

Poetry

My Imaginations.

The past, the painful & unknown,
You drown in sorrow,
Get downtrodden all of a sudden,
Ask questions,
Fight emotions and situations,
Disown yourself,
This, I can only imagine.

Grief with no reprieve,
You try to sieve what you receive,
Numbers are more,
As if it was a destiny,
How you stay strong,
How you remain calm,
How things move on your palm,
This, I can only imagine.

You are out there,
Ever smiles
Bright sun days,
Hopeful pay days,
Deaf on what world says,
Playful and prayerful,
Your joy, I can only imagine.

After all these,
Closing my eyes with ease,
I imagine how much you love,
How much you changed,
I hope you won’t be charged
This, I can only imagine.

Are things better there,
Restful and peaceful?
Full and cool,
Warm and firm,
I hope they are.
But, its all my Imaginations

Poetry

Avocado Christmas

The land echoes honey and milk. Free shadows and crystal clear running water. An epitome, an abode for the runaway brides. The ones who believed the villages, better known as Shags were too little to accommodate them. Us. This is a place where history of our footprints is embedded.

A coin, a note and a wrinkle less cloth start getting baptized. “Hey, hii ni ya Chrisii.” Mind you all this started in January. Struggling the whole year to clown December and strife to make ends meet in January.

My time came. I didn’t have enough water for the baptism. But at least I made it home. Lucky enough for me, I am a frequent person when it comes to home. Not a visitor. At least not to everyone.

Chapati’s aroma confused the local airwaves while animal rights were canceled right and left. Choma, Chemsha and fry. Personally I was looking forward to a lot avocados.

The problem was avocados are the ‘thing’ now after collapse of coffee and exit of macadamia season. So my request wasn’t that welcomed especially after asking for the green ones. Everyone was shocked, “unajua hass vile iko na bei?” “Unafaa utoke Nairobi.” At first I was almost asking them, “Kwani Hesy wa Dandora amefika huku?”

At one time I was with a duthi guy and he stopped and parked his motorcycle in the middle of nowhere and was on phone for like ten minutes. The only good explanation he had for this was, “me huwa conscious sana na sheria.” And here I was fuming and had to pay to get late.

To make my point clear on avocados I had to eat everything with it. Chapo-avocado. Githeri, rice and others. I told them I was experimenting because my governor had seen potential in avocado market and needed a testament. My mom was quick to note, wewe umeleta hasara tu. Hii avocado hukuliwa na utaratibu. Saa hii ata broker hawafiki bei.” That’s how much the much neglected crop has changed.

Before leaving I visited my friend and to my dismay there was a warning on the path that leads to the shamba.”Take any other fruit for free except avocados. Nyinyi watu tunawajua.” I didn’t even try my luck. I left a dejected visitor.

Am sure merry making was fun but to be limited not to carry avocados was a mark we shall be quoting on phone calls until Easter. I had to withdraw all selfies I had taken near the avocados trees. Vile nilikuwa na orders. Aki Christmas.

Poetry

The Naivasha first’s.

Acha niwaambie, maji baridi si poa.

So, its in Naivasha. Merry making & bonding.
I am up Sunday morning and I was really looking forward to using everything I had carried. Special interest was in shampoo. By the way hio ndio nini?

After dreaming of being a guest to a thousand hippo’s, for those who don’t know hippo ni hippopotamus. Hippo. Weird enough I had carried a bucket. Don’t judge me kwetu maji ya mtungi ni dhahabu.

I looked around and saw no one was carrying a bucket. Nikaambia beshte yangu nataka kubeba samaki nayo. I walked to the washroom. I mean washroom. But funny enough washroom haikuwa ya kuoshea mwili. Hii dunia!

I successfully beat the dew, at least you can tell I woke up early by that.

When naivety met ushamba I was their mediator. Now I kept pointing out how I wouldn’t fit in the tent. My buddy then asked me, “kwani wewe hulala kaa umesimama?” I swallowed hard. We had to experiment. I kept postponing my sleep. Just when I thought my eye socket had engaged the parking light, I found my space was already taken. Who does that. Alafu he was without a blanket. Like seriously, even if you were born in Limuru. Justice of a blanket was imminent.

Ever woken up and you love what you see. A scenic view. Calm water, sleeping hippos. Don’t I love hippos. I promise not to mention them again. And the colour of the fleet of cars. I love my job. Don’t you. Haha.

As mentioned earlier, it was a time of the firsts. I reached the ‘birth room’. People wear birth suits. I was directed on the regulation of the shower. So it was called.
The first few drops on my fair skin, oh I saw heaven up side down. I felt like I caught pneumonia, malaria and another deadly disease. All I could ask was, “tumeshikwa aje na kanju wa Nairobi?” Immediately I realised I was supposed to wash. Wash me. I unsuccessfully did that. At least I had the shampoo riddle to settle.

Kuoga siogi.

I remain.