Poetry

Kaba Ûngîanjîrîte

Mûtûrîreinî ûyû maûndû nî maritûaga,
Ûgagîtebeba, ûkarigwo nî ûrîa woî,
Ûkageria ûrîa ûngîhota ûmîrie mbere,
Mîhûko îgagûkararia, bengi igakûmena,
Arata magetua matiramenya.

Ûgathirîrûo nî mawîko,
Ûgatigîrwo o matanya, hinya ûkaga,
Na ûngîciria kûûra njîra-rî
Gûtirî ûngîkwîra agûteithie,
No mûthia-inî, no ûkaigua,
Kaba ûngîanjîrire.

Athiritû arîa maunanagîra njûngwa gûgûcambia,
Arîa maugaga nî weremereirwo,
Arîa mendaga ûtûûre kwao,
Ûkîhoya, ûkîhûra mabuti,
Mangîonana na mûndû auge nî agûgûteithia,
Metuuaga matiroî, atî nîwahatîrîrîkire,
Makauga, ona ti kaba angîanjîrire.

Warwara macamanagia mbere ya wîtie ûteithio,
Maugage kaba ûngîcokio mûciî,
Atî mbeca cia thibitarî ndûngîona,
Atî no kûmagia ukamagia,
No rîrîa ûkaremererwo rî,
Mokaga kwanyu gûkwîra, kaba ûngîanjîrire.

Mawîrainî namo, makwîhithagîra,
Ona mangîigua kamweke ûngîingîra,
Wacamania nao makehahûkithia,
Kaba ûngîanjîrîte nîingîagûteithirie.

Poetry

Where Their Eyes Rested

She had many words, she had songs,
Written, unwritten, but very rich,
Rich in words, worth a fortune,
And yet know one robbed her,
No one cared to read her.

Then came them with loads of cash,
Them that splashed mud and expected a sorry,
Them who knew cash as numbers,
And in amusement people read their lives,
Lives sprawled by media.

For her worth was a million dollar penny,
For her knowledge was a thousand years wiser,
With her was a museum of amusement,
But again people lazily thought she should beg,

He pegged his pride on people’s sleeves,
Those who quickly believed,
On a power that comes with wealth,
They talked of emulation of that path,
But a new generation would know little of him.

She brushed off the onlookers,
Ate a humble pie with a shy eye,
She knew her books could outlive her,
A generation would know of her,
Someone would read her even in future,

He reached his climax, took a bite and a bow,
What followed was chaos,
Tears were for the torn pockets,
Fights of who to  inherit what,
And again people lazily walked away,
To spread a rumour, one that would die like dew,
A story left for the known, dying with the unknown.

Her climax was worth her fight,
Her bucket kick was a splash of anointment,
People rushed to view her books,
Her stories got reviews,
Like an atonement of seen sins,
Her goodbye was quiet,
No one cast fights on what to take over,
But generation would read of  the naivety,
Of people who abandoned a treasure map,
Just because someone else had a shouting story.
What a society, that would be a signature of her.

Poetry

Who Am I?

You feel comfortable asking me,
Pierce my face, a stance that means, you!
Yes you!
And I tell you, without flinching,
Because, me knows me,
Yes, you came to the right person,
You see;
I am that last word in the sentence you never read,
Maybe you were drowsy or it wouldn’t change the meaning,
Tired enough to assume the word was irrelevant,
I am, that joke you heard in the other room and never cared to hear of,
I am, the thud you heard behind your room,
The cry that tore the night,
And yes, you heard both, but darkness isn’t your thing,
But remember I ate the darkness alone while you slept on the torch,
And in the morning you asked, who are you?
I am me,
The drink that made you think its over,
The friend that lied it would be over,
The lie that ruined your being sober,
But again, I am here after all this,
Like a life jacket you grasps me hard,
Like a belt you hold me tight,
And at dawn am still here,
To thank you or to think of you,
And if you ask me who I am,
If you run to learn whom I really am,
Don’t ask others, walk with me and learn with me,
Learn from me about me,
Listen to the joke,
Walk with the torch,
Unearth what holds me tight,
If it needs tightening, you will know,
If it needs loosening, you will know,
Because, if you are with me,
You will know me and not of me.
For I might be passing by or falling off,
Just to remind you that its you, not me.
Stay with me. Don’t judge me,
For what I hold is a mirror, and you see you,
Know you, and you won’t ask me, who are you?

Poetry

Maitû Wanjiarire

Maugaga gûciara kunaga irigû ngingo,
Makauga waumire ona gûciara,
No ndakûrora maitû ngakena tondû niwajiarire,
Ngagoca tondû wee niwe maitû,
Ûkîrî Ngatha nyina witû, Ngai akûrathime na agûtûrie.

Kûrî makunyanaga makauga ndwathomire,
Angî makauga wî mûgiîki,
No rîrî maitû, ngingo ndîaunîkire tûhû,
Waciarire njamba, cigîgûtûkia,
Koguo kinyûkia maitû, wî njamba mûtûrîreinî witû,
Ûkîrî Ngatha nyina witû, Ngai akûrathime na agûtûrie.

Maitû nginyûkagia tondû nîwakinyûkirie,
Maitû njangararaga tondû nîwacangararire,
Kaî gûkîrî ûngî tawe, angiuma nakû tawe,
Wî gîcicio kîa wîrirîrio wakwa,
Gîtîo na mwîtîo wakwa, amûkîra ngatho nyingî,
Ngai akûrathime orîngî,

Keki na mîcumaa tinjiganu kuonania riiri waku,
Ngemi na nyimbo tinjiganu gûgûkûngûia,
No reke irebeta rîîrî rîhumbe riiri igongona rîrî,
Ngwendithîrie ûgima wa mwirî,
Ngwendithîrie gîkeno rwendo na thayû,
Wîkenere Maitû, wî njamba,
Nî hingo ya gîkeno mami wanjiarire,
Ndwaumire ona gûciara,
Ngai akûrathime tûûtûre tûkenete.

Poetry

Reke Nemwo

Ndendaga kûgeria,
Ngîgeria na kwîrutîra,
Omûthenya ûndû mwerû,
No rîu ndauga, reke nemwo.

Ndeciragia nîhahûthû,
Ngarongorei manene,
Ngegûithania thîî nakwîrutanîria,
No rîu ndauga reke nemwo,

Ûhotekeku wa maûndû,
Maûndû marîa ndanarongoreria,
Maingî ngahotana, nî kîîo,
No rîu ndauga reke nemwo.

Nie nî ndî kîîo mûno, ndî mwîrutîri,
Ona wona ndîmûhunyûku,
Nîkwîgûithania ngîetha wagîrîru,
No rîu ndauga reke nemwo.

Ndauga nemwo, nemwo nîkûhotwo,
Ndirî wa kûhoteka, nîkîo ngeragia,
Na nînjûî nongaumîrîra kûrî nyeki nduru,
Twacamania rûcio ngakorwo hotanîte,
Onawe uga nîwaremwo nî kûhotwo, wî mûhotani.

Poetry

Usiugue Kwa Hiari

Najuta sio vile niliupata ila aliyenipa,

Sikuchagua, sikupenda, nilimpenda,
Hakunichagua, hakunipenda, alinitenda,
Haya niyafanyayo sio kwa kupenda,
Ila yalinikujia like a flash kimpango,
Nikaona dunia ya chuki ikinitenga.

Mi ni mtu, ninao utu, pia ubinafsi,
Kwa kujali najijali, hata kwa hii hali,
So, staki kukaa solo na sioni ukikaa nami,
Hivyo nategea inayonguruma kaa Mimi,
Lakini ukidhani kanitega jua mie kakupea.

Unakam kwangu thinking wajinice,
Yea, kwa urembo nakaa tu vinice,
Ndo maana huwezi ata think twice,
Ni mbio kurusha na kugeuza hii my dice,
Kwa roho nataka ujue but this is the price.

Mko wa young na wa nguvu,
But mkizipenda hizi vitu bila kitu mtaambulia patupu,
Mkikimbilia hii mali kwa hii hali ati juu wapewa kihalali na kwa hiari,
Maze kesho yetu itakuwa ni marudio ya karne,
Kilio, majuto, na kuwaza kusio na wakuwaliwaza.

Miche inaota maua, na wapanzi wako likizo,
Kwa hivyo mwafikilia kudunaduna maua,
Hamtaki kusikia kunayo maua sumu,
Ila baadaye watake upate wa kulaumu,
Vijana na wazee, mkiitiwa kalamu silaha mbebe ya kukata nyama,
Usije ukateseka baadaye, usijutie tamaa.
Ukimwi haukupotea, wakondoa macho, na pia unao mauti.

Poetry

Thuti Ti Ruuo

Ûnjîraga ndige gûcumîka,
Ona ndaigua ndîmûhacîke,
Atî nî ûthaka wa Waceke,
Na no ûî Waceke ti muceke,
Athakarire tûgîîkora haceke.

Wanjîrire ndige thuti,
Ûkînjîra ndige gûcumîkîra maûndû,
Kaî ûtoî thuti ti ruuo, ndîturaga,
Thuti no îkorwo îî mehia, no ti ûkunderu,
Ûngîanjîrire ndîhûûge na thuti njûru.

Ndî cûkuru ,wanjîraga ngîe thuti ya mathomo,
Ndî kanitha wanjîraga ngie thuti ya Ngai,
Na mûciî wanjîraga ndîrirîrie arîa me mbeca, ndîmaiyûkie ta ngerekano,
Na githe ndwakîona ti thuti ciothe njûru,
Reke ndîrirîrie Waceke, ndahoota kwîhotanîra.

Thuti na meerirîria ma ngoro rîî,
Reke njuge kwî mega na mooru,
Kwi ma kûguna, kûhûûnia na kûhunia mbeû,
Wîrirîrie wagîrîru, wîhokeku na ûgacîri,
Mûthia-inî nî ûgakenerera ûhotani.

No ûngîtuîka ûrakenio nî kîro na ciero rîî,
Ûgûikio gîturengeinî ta kanyoni,
Ûmunywo njoya, ûninwo hinya,
Wanangîrwo megutha na rûcio rûhacîkwo,
Ûgîtigwo ûkiuga na arîkorwo nîwoî.

Thuti nî njega îngîtuma wîkîre kîo,
Thuti nî njega îngîtuma wîgune,
Thuti nî njega ûngîerûhia mûtûrîre,
No angîkorwo nî ya gûkwagania tiga,
Angîkorwo nî ya ûici, îyo rekania nayo,
Thuti ndîrî ruuo, no noîrehe rûuo na kwîrira.

Poetry

The Wrist


Unfold your fist and feast,
Rest on the wrist of Christ,
Pray that your efforts don’t go to waste,
For if your basis sits on Christ,
Blessings will come, pressed, shaken & full.

Never be afraid because of a choice you make,
Just because its different doesn’t make it wrong,
Just because its chosen by few doesn’t make it sinful,
At the end, it will matter that you look upon Jesus.
Upon the wrist the fingers rest, gets supported, gets strength.

Who are you, and where do you stand,
Are you saved,I believe you are,
You may differ on denominations, religions and beliefs,
But hey, look at your hand, your fingers,
Aren’t they many, but they don’t hold themselves.

Every finger runs to the wrist,
However much each finger looks strong,
The support comes from the wrist,
And yes the wrist brings the fingers together,
A common factor, a support system.

Poetry

The Little Difference

The Little Difference

It was hilly and I was weary
Tried to seek validation and acceptance,
None was coming my way clearly,
There were bills and no deals to seal,
Thus I had to make a way, my way,
And looking behind I fought to change.

By and by, a coin came in joined by a note,
I told the ones I had left behind to join,
Told them to hold on and work harder,
Told them anger would frustrate them more,
Told them a little change was good to start off,
And I knew we were headed somewhere.

On the way someone came and boosted,
A help that made my head turn, waiting for tokens,
But I knew the cycle, a trend that dug deep,
Within no time we would be starting again,
A path I had walked a million times in pain
Thus I chose to meet enemies of today.

I looked at my friend in a wheelchair,
Made a path of ease and safe movement,
He got to his errands easily and I mine,
Never asked me to push him again,
Gave me space and time, and him joy,
His smile of ease pushed his service and income.

I met with an outcast, enemy of law,
I sat with him, reasoned with him,
I shared because I wanted,
I shared because I found it,
I shared because it was worth,
What I wanted I found and made it worth.

In an estate that leaked all bad manners,
In an estate that leaked all foul smells,
In an estate that leaked dirty waters,
An estate where diseases struck at will,
I unclogged, and taught of hygiene,
Health was achieved, peace was embraced.

Poetry

The teacher with Milk

She always wanted to be a farmer,
Looked at the plains beyond the school,
Envied the young women farmers,
But her life was bent, her hopes pressed,
She wanted more, and time was now.

She looked as the children’s played,
So lost in what her mind played,
Her life was no child play,
Yet she had to always see children’s play
Her prayer and wish playing mind games.

A burden of the past crowded her mind,
The hurdles of the future made her timid,
But still grace followed her in kind,
Only that the agony to balance made her slide,
A hustle to top the teachers glass, she sold milk.

Waking up to collect milk, with no cow of her own,
Sell and be in class on time to teach,
A struggle to befit the future & lift the past,
On route to put books and milk to task,
Pray that the role play didn’t crush to job loss.

Roles, responsibilities and duty, chaos,
Pains, past and perfection plans,
Gallons of milk, chalk dust,
The ticks of sale and ticks if books, all red,
She knew what she was found, was ready.

If breakthrough was a sour drink,
If managing was palm wine,
This teacher was ready for both,
The society judged, still learned from her,
It was her path to walk, a race to run,
Not for fun, just to make a difference.

By
Tonnie Mugi