Thursday, June 28, 2012

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

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!
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,
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,
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

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