Let the Woman Go.

Haven't you heard her cry?
With a heart so swollen, like a turgid cell,
With poignancy, prejudice, and suffering.
She'd been pulled out of class-- with a hot iron rod;
Still with childhood innocence,
Whilst her little breasts were growing:
Steadily, like an avocado fruit.

Thence she'd never smiled,
After being bartered to a brute.
Hers is to bear dozens like a rat;
And endure beatings from the grandhusband
Whilst his ghosts of liquor are excited still... 

'' Food?.... Not these leaves...''
'' I'm ain't a rabbit...''
But where from?
Thence she's to warm his bed;
Massage the thorny chest,
For another live shot!

My clansmen,
Her matrimonial cell,
Is the devil's sanctuary:
Unchain her; let her go!
And grasp the last rays of the sun,
Allow her to find solace in books--
Open eyes
Thin mind
So she can teach the world,
So she can stand before you,
And vomit sense....

Song of a Lover Boy.

My lover is shy,
She smiles with her heart,
Whilst staring at the sky--
When we chat.

From me she hides,
Beautifully arranged teeth--
So white like milk.
And her eyes...
Ignite my insides-- they're hot like hell's hearths!

She retracts with excuse:
'' Oh, naogopa....''
Whilst we kiss,
As if I'll suck her life!

But my juicy fruit,
Should I die of worry?
That feelings don't meet,
Why so hard honey?
And I'm in dire need...

Young Heart.

Down slow, son,
Today,
Roaming like a stray dog,
Is no good.
Salivate at women's thighs not;
Fold the itchy fingers not to fondle their bare chests...

Let erection determine direction not,
This wagging tail,
Shouldn't splash water into every pot--
It will make a sad tale.
***
Daily he comes--
Wearing expensive smile,
In flashy cars...
Eating words with a tongue foreign,
My daughter, your heart hold.

Lick not the sugary tongue,
Let eyes open;
Whilst listening to his song,
Read his mind,
Before you do...

Tuned to a Fine Pitch. (for Obiero).

Just friends you were I thought,
Whilst we sang:
Hatia and other hymns- all night,
Hustling for where to belong,
Till you licked her lip,
And started dancing to her heart's rhythm,
As she gave in to your grip,
So you became an item...

You moved in one file,
When it bored: sun,
As my chances reduced to nill...
Trapping termites,
Naked you plunged into the rain,
Whose beatings are so sweet--
Only to unlikeables...

She smiles when you do;
Sings softly when you listen,
She responds when you call;
She's learned to respect men,
And always she's there:
In rain, sunshine and nothingness--
For you brother...
And whilst thirsty below,
You're cooled in a way I less know.

Two of you are,
Of a mind rarely bred,
With a dream stretching far,
To the land yonder, where only gods reside...
Shedding a tear for each other,
And sickening quickly if she does:
And none goes further,
To flirt with false divas,
For there's a thin thread bonding you two:
Once cut ends you...

The Sailor.

Alone ashore,
Sit I, upon the very stone:
We kissed bye before,
The long voyage,
Waiting...

On bristled buttocks;
Time's trying tirelessly,
Scratching the wound--
Your departure in my heart left.
The scorching sun tans my skin,
Thence cruel cold cracks my bones...

Oh, anxiety rises with every tide,
And warring waves whisper,
Elegies to glorious times,
Long gone!

The monster's back!
Vomiting blue-eyed angels;
Obsessed with our accursed soil...
What wonder lauds you,
Cling onto the wreath,
Scattered on their blessed soil?

Whereto you sailed, Udiah;
How are waters taking you?
Mine grew wild and cold, when our sun died,
And from my lonely presence:
The moon withdrew its glare...

Elegy for Auntie Nanjala.

[15th Nov. 2014]

To us it has again set,
Snatching you from our midst:
The rain has refused to fall,
The moon has refused to shine,
Birds have refused to sing,
And baobabs and irokos stand still, forever still,
Cold and hunger to wrestle us down.

Sister of my father,
Beloved one of my cheerful cousins,
You whom I saw not at birth;
And couldn't see off after death,
I'll live singing your name-- Joyce Nanjala!
In darkness you've abandoned us...

Khwakosela sina liloba lino,
Nyo likhumale buli busia?
Oh-ho-ho-ho...
Lost in time, and space; a man broken,
Drown in tears--
Painful tears of my people,
Painful tears of my angry self,
Tears for you auntie,
Who abandoned us in darkness...

Only little joy we shared,
Amidst the harsh dictatorial regime of time...
Sacred it was though,
Imagining that I'll miss you forever,
Haunts with passion.

I have no peace auntie,
I have lost taste of life,
Pain and sorrow gnaw at me thus,
Oh-ho-ho-ho...

My grandfather's beloved,
How dare you leave--
Whilst away I am,
Without whispering goodbye?

Across the great river, afar;
Herein, ignorant: who'll reveal to me my father's boyhood secrets?
Who will teach me ways of my people?
Who will redeem my lost self,
From fucking seductions of modernity?
Who will welcome my wife home?
Oh auntie, liloba liakhumala!

If it's only your name that is left,
My moons I'll name them Joyce Nanjala--
A thousand times;
So you could live forever,
And in them I see you,
Who abandoned us in darkness!

I haven't cried enough,
But my glands have ruptured;
I am about to bleed,
Walking on this rough terrain,
Abandoned in darkness...

Let no one wipe my tears,
Let them flow and overflow,
Into the bulging soil--
Beneath wherein you sleep-- forever!
Rest in Peace auntie.
..........................................................
*khwakosela sina liloba lino,
Nyo likhumale buli busia?-- what wrong did we do to this soil for it to finish us every dawn-break?
*liloba liakhumala- the soil has finished you (or us).

Men are Gone; What Remains for Maidens?

A woman,
Complete,
In my society's eye:
Must bear and suckle...

No honour's reserved,
For me, wandering afar:
If my parents I deny grandchildren,
If God's call to procreate I ignore,
And deny this soil statesmen thus...

*
I am bewitched by the scent,
And opulence of a handsome man--
A man of style, reason and substance,
Who can't starve me with stones,
When I badly need bread;
Who can't offer me a snake,
When I'm dying to eat Tilapia;
Who can't adorn in a chameleon's coat,
And wander aimlessly near men of class,
Who knows secrets of the land...

I desperately desire one thus,
Yes I do!
To hold and kiss me,
In the morning when it's cold,
In the afternoon when it's hot,
And in the evening when it's dark.

I've been waiting for one,
I see no one,
Oh, are they taken?
If men are gone,
What remains for maidens?

*
Sons of this soil,
Are trapped in thighs of cities,
They left looking for a life,
For soil isn't the only thing today;
Who has time to grow yams,
That will soon be eaten by moles?
It's been grabbed after all!

And man cannot live on soil alone!

They have been lured thus,
By wonders of civilization,
Big women of substance--
Sexually starved,
Have dragged them deep,
Into their bushy vineyards,
Forever working therein,
Who remembers home?

In the dark,
Others established,
Kingdoms and empires.
Therein, drugs and crime,
Bring surprises in excess--
Infections, madness and death are prime,
So men are too busy to keep women,
Can they even serve them well?

Most vulnerable men,
Have been enslaved by the bottle,
They drink like fish,
Worship it loudly,
And speak in tongues whilst,
In their veins it flows!

At boiling point,
They violently tremble,
Like a chick heavily rained on,
With drooping arms...

Their stained teeth,
Are like a grasshopper's mandibles!
Their spears have been gnashed,
They will never erect to pierce meat!

Some sold souls,
They walk with stones in their chests,
Their brains are full of soot,
Oh-ho-ho-ho...
Once bound to a woman,
She will never moan and gasp passionately,
Amid nonrhythmic thrusts--
Sex boring!

They batter and starve women,
Then butcher them,
When bitter waters of life,
Become hard to bear...
So where can I find a man?
If all are gone,
What remains for maidens?

(c)Wafula p'Khisa
-Thigh of an Elephant-

Deserted.

[for she whom I met, but lost before we could mate, Divvinah]

A whisper into my auditory window,
A tinge to a heart so pale,
A laudable surprise for a loner,
Were the best I earned;
Upon craving for ages...

That cold evening,
The warm embrace,
The unexpected kiss,
The rhythm of a feminine breath,
On my grasshopper-like chest:
Was all.
Just that!

See?

The ground has between us broken,
Our linkage filled by narrow a void,
Forever, you're nowhere for me;
Yet every sun I see you:
Incessantly chatting and chattering,
With dubious devils!

The moon has died in our midst,
We see each other no more.
But again I wanna see your face;
Your assuring metallic smile,
Not the cool emptiness before me!

Endalo emalilisi yekhima kimisala kiosi kimiukhanga
[all trees become slippery on a monkey's last day]
Damn I'm the accursed monkey!
I scream at you;
But your auditory windows-- thick-waxed,
Hear not,
I sing my roots' best ballads;
But you can't even wriggle your big buttocks!

I've opted to a mask wear,
To smile when I'm to frown,
To laugh when I'm to shed big waters,
To cower when I'm to strike,
To patiently wait, whilst dying of impatience,
Oh-ho-ho-ho
Dove, do you even look at me?
I am the faeces left behind,
Still warm and fresh though...

I write thousands of epistles,
They for ages lie unread, unanswered...
I'm busy chasing a shadow,
Leading me not into a meadow,
But khushangalamwe!
(a dry bare land).

Can't you see me again?
The last time perhaps,
Quench my thirst,
Wipe my worry...
I've no treasure marks on my body,
But I can be your donkey,
If I ever find peace...

Salute Brother!

[for he who tickles my rib: Charles Khisa]

The road you have walked,
The long dusty road,
Whose beginning and end are obsolete,
This permanent scar on earth,
That hardly talks to whoever on it walks;
Thence them surprise with misfortunes:
Deserves great honour.

It ushered father into manhood,
With a brain to wire our manners right,
And to quench thirst of knowledge seekers for ages.
To the heart of the Great Rift,
Wherein a fine poet I'm blossoming--
Upon gulping several glasses of madness,
It guided me,
The road you have walked,
Deserves great honour!

The road you have walked,
Brother, isn't for all,
Though it's written otherwise!
Many have opted out,
For they lack shoes;
With which to crack murrams,
And break thorns on the way...
But you, son of my father,
Lock of my mother's womb,
I salute you!

You who defied the cold,
At a time when cockerels were too weak to crow,
And frogs couldn't croak:
To withstand embalu,
Have done us proud.
I salute you!

You've walked in the rain,
Waded in the mad,
Survived the scorching sun;
And still stood amidst violent winds...
You've ingested lots of nonsense,
And worshiped every useless god,
Till the planting season...

For success we pray,
When comes time for harvesting...

embalu-- Bukusu for the circumciser's knife. 

A Cry for Obilo.

[tribute to our fallen comrade, Obilo Kobilo].
 27th Nov. 2014.

They say men are traveling scholars;
Guests of the grave,
So we forever wait, for trying ages,
Mother Earth to us receive--
Once fully ripe perhaps...

Oh, lo tieko wa!
Owadwa, before we could sit,
To drink our sweat and blood under a shade,
From our hands,
From our world,
You sooner slipped--
Crossing the Great River yonder...
Why go before us, owadwa? Why?
Wuod lo, at crossroads you've left us,
Troubled.
Disturbed.
Your absence gnaws at our bones,
Giving us no peace...

I want to forget you, ruoth--
Perhaps to rest,
But our past times haunt me, every minute,
Times when all walls knew you by name,
And news-maniacs sighed-- satisfied,
Each time a pen you held;
And I, a toddler, crawled to touch your hem,
To bathe in the glory of your artistic genius.

Now many stories beg to be written.
Who is to write them?
It's Obilo, wuod lo to write them.
But you're gone, owadwa!
Who will edutain us,
Amidst storms of boredom and ignorance?
Who will write about us?
 At least for the world to know we exist.
Ruoth, who will see, hear and write for us?
We lack eyes, ears and the skill...

Tears overwhelm us,
But let no one wipe them.
Do not ask us to stop crying;
Do not console us,
NO!
Our eyes shall swell and redden,
Crying for Obilo,
Wuod lo,
Our beloved comrade.
Rest in Peace papa!

Translations (from dholuo):
*ruoth- chief.
*wuod lo- son of the soil.
*owadwa- brother.
*lo tieko wa- the soil is finishing us

(c)Wafula p'Khisa.
Thigh of an Elephant.