I was not there

(for Louis Rivera)

I was not there

When my hero

Feet and hands bound

Landed heavily on a Black Maria

Tired, beaten but determined

Remember the Past

WE WILL NOT FORGET THE PAST

Debated, written about, contested

It remains

An enigma to younger generations

We still want to know

Who was it

To whose credit

Is Uhuru

Atapara of old

I long for you

The Atapara that I never knew

Peaceful land and people

At ease among beautiful boulders and trees

If I could but momentarily experience you

Listen to your legends

Herd you cattle

And till your cassava farms

Then I would be at peace

Confession of a thief

Can I teach in brief?

I am about to hang:

Was a ruthless thief,

Mastered a deadly gang;

The highest in street ranks.

Robbed choice foreign banks,

Gave money to the natives.

Probably poverty’s an old motive.

The Ghosts

They died of poverty fighting for liberty,

Victims of a white wild malady,

Ever seeking for remedy,

Now they are back causing others to hack,

Pangas rise in the dark

Screams then a sudden smack!

Silence.

Behold, the hosts!

Behold the ghosts!

Anger and hatred knows no comrades,

Soldiers parade,

Crush and invade,

The land turned red many fallen dead,

For the hosts were here,

Within us or near,

Everywhere, fear,

But we will shed no tear, because

All this crime visits us penta-time.

Langat Japheth, Senior Editor, Utafiti Foundation. Find him on Facebook!

Soccer Mania

I mourn for Manchester City, my team:

Thrashed by Arsenal, five-nil

Yesterday at ….field;

I forget the playground’s name!

Slut me?

Please don’t take my sadness for sickness,

When with sore rage and madness I

Slap your slanderous lips,

Bang!

Into sullen shriveled silence.

The Common Stranger

Twice had I met with her,

On the second she said she

Had never met me before.

On the third she will ask,

Who are you?

Have we met before?

I will laugh,

Bitterly;

Believe me you.

Langat Japheth, Senior Editor, Utafiti Foundation. Find him on Facebook!

Night colleagues

Calmly creeping towards the house

Tap-a-tap, tap-a-tap, tap-tap,

The memorized knock;

The password;

Hoping she will open before the dog barks,

And bites like this night’s cold.

Clouds are shadows in the heavens,

Trees make shadows on the ground,

For animal and me to ghost under:

Bushmen of the twentieth century.

The moon doesn’t blink,

Time tick-tocks on,

The colonialist couldn’t civilize,

The Son Of Man couldn’t be accepted:

Africa, the land of stones and flesh,

The rocks and hearts,

The visible darkness.

Langat Japheth, Senior Editor, Utafiti Foundation. Find him on Facebook!

Searching for me

I am searching for me

Among these broken clay things

And these dusty broken gourds

I strum the adeudeu

To see

If it will remind me my voice

Suicide note

Is this rope tight enough?

Like life?

Always messing me up

Squeezing itself out

At the meeting

It’s the nearness of the rumble

That involuntarily

Puts my hand on my stomach

Yes, it’s empty.

Mere statistics

Dawn:

A fleeting memory of black robes and hoods

Of teeth with various degrees of whiteness

Of hope, of ambition, of dreams

Enough to feed the hungry

Of celebration after success well earned?

The sun sprints from wonderland

Soon it will scorch shaved heads

Of tie-strangled, suit adorning,

Brown envelope bearing hustlers

At an IDP camp

It’s the jump-around spirit

Possessing these kids

That makes you forget,

Even once, that this is an IDP camp

We are still here

It was on a day like this

A bright December day

When I took out my card

Went out to do my patriotic duty

And came back home, to my family

And sat, watching the news, waiting

For results of the democratic process