Song of Glory.

I can't break down and weep,
Even if my glands rapture.
I have to see the beauty,
And feel the fragrance of tomorrow,
Once the night dies.

Could somebody curse the sun?
It has done us evil,
It has kept rain at bay,
Tanned our beautiful skins,
Razed our fortune to oblivion,
And warmly welcomed famine; and hunger...

But someday somebody:
Will tickle the sky,
It will laugh and laugh;
It will cry and cry--
Never to shut up.
Thence forth shall come tears,
To wipe dust from our itching eyes,
We'll regain composure;
Thus know where to step--
In fire, mud or warm thresholds...

Wagtails shall sing and sing,
Sweet hymns-- long drowned by guns and groans,
Whilst dancing and love making, on sprouting olives,
And a cold breeze whirl by--
Away taking oduors of today.

Children everywhere shall,
In unison sing:
Odes to heroes fallen,
Whilst naked, dancing Ndombolo...
Stomachs-full of yams and fish.

To their Simbas, men shall return,
After seasons of whoring and warring...
Women will be rendered pregnant--again and again,
Thus recover from the bout of barrenness,
And the toxic conjugal thirst...

Women shall no more writhe in cold,
But moan and gasp--
Amid sensational cuddling, kissing, caressing...
Their thin and flabby breasts,
Shall no more sag;
But swell and distend with colostrum,
To nourish gallant sons and daughters:
To spark violent revolutions;
And buy freedom for our people.

Our girls shall no more desperately linger,
In bus terminals, and filthy streets-- Koinange, Sodom and Gomorrah...
Whilst adorning in belt-cum-skirts,
Their hives wide open for combers.
Our girls shall no more wander,
Like criminals and fugitives:
Just to away keep their vital clitorises;
Beyond reach by the butcher's knife!

We shall derive pride from our lads,
As they morph into men--
Full of reason and wisdom,
A reminder of our past sweet...
Thence wardens would jobs lose,
As prisons will be locked.
Police shall busy idle, and snore,
As many a bullet will go unfired,
And the monster of violence unawakened...
(c) Wafula P'Khisa.

Naked Woman Dances.

I've learned to wear,
Things that leave my things bare,
So men can see,
Salivate, and die to feel-- at a fee,
Whilst temperatures are high.

Whilst temperatures are high,
Onto my back I lie:
Wide stretch limbs,
And wriggle my butt to receive; and... oh, screams!
Wasting away...

Wasting away...
In clubs,pubs and brothels: I dance all day--
Loading my handbags,
Whilst they siphon and suck juices like bedbugs,
Satisfied...


Satisfied...
Muscles exhausted,
I rush for pills--
To prevent obvious ills,
Before dawn-break.

(c) Wafula P'Khisa.

Lost.

In the heart of darkness,
On our transit to Canaan:
Our star disappeared,
We got stuck--
Way less,
Enveloped by the mist of hopelessness...

(c) Wafula P'Khisa.

The Witch.

I love hating her like shit,
The engorged jigger in my toe:
Slows my race to fortune.
I am by-passed by continental snails,
By the roadside weeping;
My feet swollen and painful...

She's cushioned herslf,
On her lord's head.
The bug whines nights on end,
Whilst she tightens her grip,
In the rain he dissolves;
In the blazing sun he melts,
To realize suicidal dreams...

By the road she sits,
Thighs apart:
Selling honey to those with eyes to buy,
A halt to admire God's art,
Elicits infatuational violence...

***
My penis she ruined,
Plunged into impotence;
I missed a score--
In the matrimonial pitch,
My lover I failed!
So with the wind of lust, she vanished.
I sit on a scrotum engorged,
With something unfathomable--
Giving doctors nightmares!

This evil woman,
Wastes her life busy crippling mine.
It worries her to know,
It shines on my path.
She's eternally on a starvation diet;
Supplicating to gods evil.
On the ground are her elephant ears;
Thirsty for good bad news!

I cry; she laughs,
I starve;she feasts,
I am a grass; she is a pig,
That way should be life,
She prays...

***
The sun has tired, and retired.
Into nests fowls have retired.
In the luring moonlight,
Lovers play on wet grass--
Bowing and arrowing...
Unperturbed by painful bites of ants.

We have converged for a dance,
Drinks, gossip and free women:
To ease the gnawing woes of the sun...
But with nudity she's armed,
For an Olympic night race,
In my homestead...

(c) Wafula P'Khisa.

I Want to Kill.

To Satan I've written,
Of my desire to court sin:
For a chance to dine,
With some men, so great;
And godly in history...
At the bloody table of fame and wealth.

I want to kill!

Herein on the periphery,
Earnings are damn deadening;
Worse than ages ago,
When our forebearers--
Overwhelmed by thirst and crave for the loaf of freedom:
Volunteered as sacrificial lambs.

I want to kill!

To crown my name,
Like Hitler, Mussolini, Amin...
Overnight rise to fame,
Lords of strives in Africa.
To haunt like a yesternight's nightmare,
Unfadeable from sacred pages of history,
So women beat their flabby breasts, cursing;
And men starve, fasting:
Praying for me to die,
But expire long before my time's nigh!

I want to kill...

To save our ailing mother,
Blood must be shed.
To rid bugs off her deathbed,
To rid lice off her undergarments,
To rid jiggers off her crippling feet:
Thence restore her true image--
Beautiful as before,
Some people must die...

I want to kill!
(c) Wafula P' Khisa.