Poems

Lake Victoria overlooking Homabay Town

The suffering of Atieno – Part 1

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Your heaviness weighs on me,

Like a rough nam lolwe water on a small engine boat.

Anxiety!

 

The waves slap the shores with hurried mischief

Most think about death, the fear of it

But me; I think of you.

 

Five kids in tow,

Crossing the lake on a dark night, in a small boat

To a further land that might not have shown you mercy.

 

The mother-hen very weary but determined.

But I can’t know your thoughts,

Your thoughts, when you have to beg for support that never came.

 

Am slow,

I could only dream of my own things,

Never attaching to your mindset, didn’t understand your suffering.

‘if I meet you I’ll remember you’, I replied prophetically when asked if when I grow up I’ll remember you.

It was a moonlit night in a land far away, forgotten.

Pulpy tomatoes and Ugali was the menu

I couldn’t grasp the pain, the lack.

 

This night in Mbita is dark,

I’m alone, broken and lost…

Pain and tears

(It’s like the first time I fled Nairobi, to the place of parched plains
Where my dreams fondly casts)

I haven’t been treated well!

From my hotel room;

The only sound is waves slapping on the shores.

A bit calming,

Raaaacha, softly

 

I try to imagine your suffering, oh Atieno.

 

I cough and fear,

There’s blood in my breathe,

I rush to my good morning syrup and vitamin c tablets,

The age of darkness is here.

 

Argh, I don’t care!

 

This hope I carry within me,

Ignited by strange things, that only seers can fathom.

I’ve entertained thoughts of going away for long.

 

I haven’t been treated well!

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A place without which I am not

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I hurriedly pack my bags, for in the morning time I’ll need to catch a bus to the lakeside town of Homabay.

Homabay the place of my mother’s birth,

Her appendix was buried here.

A soothing place of waters and lands separated,

Scattered like the thoughts of gods.

This calming breeze from the lake takes away my breathe,

It is here she first breathed; without which I would not

For me, it is a plus, a great getaway from the bustling Nairobi

It gives me ideas of going away for long,

A missing person’s report.

What was it that led me to part with a lot of money; to no man’s place

A land so deep in the waters where people hesitate before venturing

I braved the deep pale blue waters to reconnect

With the spirits of my ancestors

The calming sun that rises over Nam Lolwe

Sending brave rays over the great deep for sustenance

The waves slap hard on the boat’s body; sounds like a hammer hitting plastic.

pa-ta! pa-ta! pa-ta!

Will I be lucky to have fish?

What was it that you fed me at night?

Was it mbuta or ngege in Mbita?

I enjoyed it.

The world continues…

 

Ying yang

death and resurrection

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sometimes,

life spells too much emptiness

the distance of time ahead promising nothing

nothing at all,

like a parched river bed whose comeback depends on seers

a time of high drought

that lasts for years

 

other times,

life blinds one with goodness,

thoughts of suffering, only fleeting

‘I have no time for pain and suffering’, the soul whispers to the spirit

every dream capture in exact tranquillity

no opacity,

clarity of enjoyment

 

death and life,

one must complement the other,

an end signals new beginnings

 

in between the struggle to be happy

 

some, get stuck inside the emptiness,

it is their choice to manually terminate existence,

no judgement.

others, fight hard to entangle from emptiness,

this is the true meaning of living

continuous entanglement from emptiness.

 

this is how it is.

everything is still everything

 

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You should too…

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when I pray,
i talk to myself,
i envision myself in a new better.

my dreams i wish to align to my mission,
hoping that things will fall in perfectly

i’m talking to myself
because I am.

You should too

Armageddon 1

of peace, few are endowed

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In my sleep,
I will travel with my spirit guides…my gods
To further lands,
To find solace,
Or even capture death; in its peacefulness,
Scary not.

In the third realm,
Times tarry,
Yet, the distance left, is never known.

Ataraxia attained,
Requires great ingenuity,
Few are endowed

Africa as one by Fanon Kihu

Book Review: Africa As One by Fanon Kihu

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Fanon Kihu’s 16 paged poetry book can pass unnoticed and indeed it should, but only for one well-written poem Create A Job You Must and some shreds of brilliance in phrases in some other poems here and there.

The book Africa As One contains eight poems that speak about what is wrong with African but also exalts the beauty of an independent Africa.

The first poem A Book It Is feels more like spoken word than poetry due to its many use of rhymes.

The African as One poem is good, it weaves a web of words that showcases how the continent has been raped and looted.

Black is rich, black my color, Mr Kihu in seven stanzas puts forward the case for Africa inhabitants to be proud of their color. He also digs a fight telling white people how without Africa, they are nothing. Which is essentially true.

In My name is corruption, the poet makes the case for pausing to see how corruption has destroyed the continent.

Steal a thousand shillings, in exchange for your head

Or use your head, make the one thousand shillings

Your head you can’t replace, it is not like bread

A thousand you can replace, at any world’s place.

-Fanon Kihu

The sketch that accompanies the above poem is really deep. Calls for reflection, it depicts a kneeling man before the scales of justice. On one side, the Sh1000 note, on the other the man’s severed head.

I paused.

Favorite poem, Create a job you must, delves into the topic where state officials and the deep state comprising of crooked businessmen capture the state creating no employment for the youths but always shout ‘youths must create jobs for themselves’.

On this one poem, Fanon Kihu got it. It set me thinking how, for example, the government of Kenya tells young people and indeed most Kenyans that they can find or start a business online, on the internet, but still the same government goes ahead and passes some draconian laws such as the Computer Misuse and Cybercrimes Act of 2018, whose sections have come from some laws that were declared unconstitutional by the courts of law.

Some of the jobs that youths (Kenyans) have online entails criticizing the government, that’s it!, there’s no other way about it. Why enact such draconian laws?

Thank goodness, at this point in time, the laws have been suspended by the High Court, but as a writer of deep means, I know it will come back to bite in 2022 elections, in regards to fake news.

I postulate that how then must youths create employment, why would a person who sought to be employed through the ballot or one appointed from a classroom lecture youths to create jobs or become entrepreneurs?

Kihu offers the answer in the following stanza:

A few people took all for themselves, failed to reproduce

To reproduce for the rest, fast enough to be fast,

They then say youth lack competence, to cover their incompetence.

There are other two before the author calls for a United States of Africa, “…it has been born, the poachers cry, they will be hungry…”

Poachers represent western nations and China, I presume.

Buy this book from Nuria Online Store

the sun and her flowers

Book Review: the sun and her flowers by rupi kaur

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i am a product of all the ancestors getting together and deciding these stories need to be told – Rupi Kaur, poet

The book, the sun and her flowers is a deep camaraderie of words by the lucky poet Rupi Kaur.

This being her second book, after milk and honey, she has not deviated a bit from her ways; short, pithy and thought-provoking poems.

This second book which has sold over 1.5 million copies, speaks about grief, self-abandonment, love and empowerment.

Rupi has a knack for capturing a lot in a few lines. For example, she speaks for the women, the loneliness, the awakening and empowerment.

She speaks about the role women should play in the 21st century very aptly.

In the poem progress, she says ‘our work should equip the next generation of women to outdo us in every field. This is the legacy we’ll leave behind’.

I call her lucky because she lives in a world where piracy is not a big issue. That one can get away with christening what can pass as Twitter or Facebook posts as poetry and make a lot of money from it.

From my calculations, the 1.5 million copies might only be in North America, not counting the sales in Europe, Asia and Africa. That alone at the price of translating to Ksh1500 multiplied, brings about Ksh2.25 billion.

That’s huge.

For her short, pithy and simple language poetry, she’s been criticised for being too plain, someone who cannot ‘rightfully’ earn critical acclaim or stand in the halls of poetry giants.

“Kaur produces bite-size, accessible poems. Their free verse poetry eschews difficult metaphors in favour of clear, plain language, and this accessibility is precisely what has garnered the new wave of “Instapoets” such a large and dedicated following”, Buzz feed writes in the problem with Rupi Kaur’s poetry

However, she is famous and appeals to any lover of poetry nonetheless.

As for me, I like her meaning, the deep meaning in her poems. Kaur speaks from the heart, makes it easy to relate, she pours out words that are hard to state in happiness and in sadness. She is a great!

the sun and her flowers, is divided into four parts ‘wilting’, ‘falling’, ‘rooting’, ‘rising’, and ‘blooming’. Which actually captures a bad start and a good ending; an overcoming of the hardships.

At the end of her book, she says:

‘And then there are days when the simple act of
Breathing leaves you exhausted. It seems easier to
Give up on this life. The thought of disappearing
Brings you peace. For so long i was lost in a
Place where there was no sun. Where there grew
No flowers. But every once in a while out of the
Darkness something i loved would emerge and
Bring me to life again. Witnessing a starry sky.
The lightness of laughing with old friends.
A reader who told me the poems had saved their
Life. Yet here i was struggling to save my own.
My darlings. Living is difficult. It is difficult for
Everybody. But we must resist the urge of
Succumbing to those difficulties. Refuse to bow
Before bad days. Bad months or bad years. Our eyes
Are starting to feast on this world. There are too
Many turquoise bodies of water left for us to dive
Into. There is family. Blood or chosen. The possibility
Of falling in love. With people and places. Hills
High as teh moon. Valleys rolling into new worlds.
Road trips. I find it deeply important to accept that
We are not hte masters of this place. We are her
Visitors. So like the guest that we are. Let’s enjoy
This place like a garden. Let us treat it with a gentle
Hand. So the ones after us can enjoy it too. And
When the darkness comes. Let’s find our own sun.
Grow our own flowers. The universe delivered us
With the light and the seeds. We might not hear it
At times but the music is always on.
It just needs to be turned a little louder.
For as long as there is
Breath in our lungs – we must keep dancing.’

She is a rebel, a good rebel breaking the glass ceiling.

She is popular for her words, because ‘her mass appeal lies in her perceived universality, with her fans often claiming that she vocalizes feelings they have not been able to put into words’.

I recommend this Sunday Times bestseller in your book shelves and I sure will buy, read and review her third book #MeToo when it comes to these shores.

it was when i stopped searching for home within others

and lifted the fundatios of home within myself

i found there were no roots more intimate

than those between a mind and body

that have decided to be whole

-rupi kaur

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Life is to be lived

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i don’t think about Covid-19 anymore,

the fear is gone.

death is death…

suffering is life.

for now,

life is to be lived

for one day,

death too shall die.

Emmy Chepkoech 1

Emmy Chepkoech Mitey

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Girls are beautiful,
Girls are tender.
Delicate like the flower on my grandmother’s garden

Flipside.

Women are unforgiving,
Dark, conniving, hurtful,
Tongue, full of spears

Grounded.

Women are wonderful,
Women are great,
A woman nurtures,
and holds together, a multitude.

Either way,
Life is precious.
Any life must be protected,
No one has a monopoly to life

I weep for Emmy Chepkoech Mitey,
Pain unimaginable.

Sometimes, girls give their hearts to monsters.

October 2020, 15th

Emmy Chepkoech story

Black Tipped Nipples - Mildren Ngesa

Book Review: Black Tipped Nipples by Mildred Ngesa

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There’s already a review out about this book done by the Nation Media Group – NMG, however, I’ll share my thoughts too.

As a lover of poetry, I found this book refreshing and entertaining at the same time.

The poet weaves words in the most impeccable manner, this is why I’ve read this 56-paged book thrice and also bought two more for friends as a gift.

At first, I thought, what a title, ‘Black Tipped Nipples’?, Who names their books that way? Is it erotic?

But as I opened the pages I was engrossed by the pro-feminine and pro-humanity thoughts. Some poems are radical but not radical-feminism.

But above all, it is a personal account, a deep feeling and expression. A web of words weaved through 20 years of knowing love, heartbreaks, renewal and self-discovery.

One particular poem, And time repeats not such profound beauty, the poet wrote this poem from 1987 and finished it in 2004. Or is it an account of all that period? Either way, that’s how I interpreted it.

The book tackles various topics such as racism, social stigmatization and stereotypes that people encounter in relationships.

She told NMG that “Many people are stunned by the title, and at face value, some immediately think the title alludes to something sensual or seductive, but this far from it.”

This is true.

But I wondered if the poem, “Chose your train” is about sex or about copulating.

Extremes of love

The poet also tackles the extremes of relationships.

For example, the poem Inside my heart and The man on the train, the poet moves from deep love to hate in quick succession.

The book is written in good English and the poems are easily relatable, I found myself, a man, in some of the poet’s shoes.

Mildren Ngesa is an award-winning author and motivational speaker. She worked with the Nation Media Group.

The sole poem, “Black Tipped Nipples”, from which the anthology’s title is derived, speaks of lamentations against oppression and racism’, she said.

The Soul of the African Woman is one of my favorite poems, I underlined many phrases on it.

The queens of earth defy time and space,

Their power confronts depression and oppression…

Then another part says:

…that even though the mirror is a liar,

the soul never dies,

The mirror lies everyday without shame

But the truth still remains; the body may fade at dusk

But the soul is reborn at dawn.

Serious poets should get this book. Check Nuria Store.

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