The Looming Darkness.

Owls hooted,
As the sun hurried west to rest--
Long its eye had closed.
World insects chorused their taunting songs,
Whilst to roost fowls retired;
Women from shambas;
Men from chang'aa dens;
Boys from cattle fields;
And girls with meals from mills,
All sighed with relief:
Another boring day was ebbing...

Streaming with companions,
The path reminded me,
Of the adventurous journeys we made-- in angles;
Trees around echoed our vows, made with glee...
Oh, those blissful days my love,
Left behind:
Remain a false sense of hope!

A cold welcome I received from the guard of my privacy,
The tongue-tied souls therein battled with silence--
Puzzled...
My roaring appetite waned,
Soon a mountain of Ugali before me was put,
At the thought of you...

And off went the lantern,
After a bloodless battle with the wind.
The loud silence sent a cold shiver down my spine;
The cold whacked me, like a refugee in an open tent,
Whilst searching for you, in the empty space,
For warmth, and to feel your pulses...

A Maiden's Lament.

The Fallout.

I'm ever on the move--
Like a travelling scholar:
Every day, and every night;
Somewhere in gutters,
I will away my unpalatable sleep,
With street masters--
Darlings of fate!

I'm burdened with misery,
My head's heavy like a sack full of cement!
I have nowhere to lay it,
Even the pen wherein was I birthed:
Needs me no longer,
Neither do I...

*
Into pieces, taboo I smashed--
Denouncing and evading our way:
Bartering little lasses to their grandfathers' agemates,
What an archaic and barbaric honour!
Maybe ancestors and gods of the land I annoyed...
But I fret not,
Should they me offer a hearing:
My decision I will justify,
On the thresholds of the land beyond,
Where grapes of justice are in abundance;
And are out dished--
Regardless of race, tribe, and what wonder between our legs lies...

*
The man from whose seed I sprouted,
Is angry like a tiger.
He is spitting venomous threats,
And cursing every soul under his wretched roof.
For once, I made him lose,
After wasting time salivating,
For a bunch of wealth--
And another title.
I ruined him,
He blurts.

The tiger has befriended chang'aa;
To appease anger and burry shame.
But when they violently disagree,
He crawls home like a baby, whimping and whining,
Like a bitch on heat.
He rains on mother,
Fists and abuses,
Oh, poor woman!
She must pay,
For bearing bigheaded girls.... 

   *
In the name of hell,
He curses,
Mother--
She wasted his energy,
Upon forgoing sleep,
In a losing game...

Countless times,
He wishes,
His seed fell among thorns,
Or on a rock.
I wouldn't have seen light!

The fate of his lineage,
Remains bleak.
So,
Thirst for heirs--
Just enough to make a football team,
Persuades him,
To buy many a woman,
Sleep less;
Worker harder,
But bow out,
The saddest man in the world!

His simba,
Is a women's no go zone.
Countless times,
He's divorced mother,
To accompany me to nowhere...

Women,
He swears,
Are bad.
Damn bad.
Venomous pythons,
Concealed in rusty cloak of beauty!

*
By the knife,
That ate his childhood,
Father solemnly swore:
My throat he'll slit,
Thus throw a feast for dogs;
If on his soil I step...

He lauds Nanjala,
Even when he's numbed by chang'aa!
In the night,
Staggering home:
In sand signatures he draws with urine,
And competes with owls to hoot!

Nanjala had not,
Given him a headache,
When he salivated...
Some awful creature,
On a golden chariot emerged,
And she said nothing;
She just left,
Throwing dreams into darkness.

Still innocent she was,
Her breasts were mere protrusions--
Two pimples!
And village boys,
Busy hovered around,
Eavesdropping,
Timing,
Like a hawk,
Ready to snatch a chick.


  Robbed.

I found refuge in a house of christ,
When wandering at first.
His handman therein seemed kind...
Well. He assured us to find,
Invaluable treasure,
From the kingdom above,
Which he seemed disinterested in!

Desperate eyes,
At him stared expectantly--
Therein for seasons had camped:
Tilling, weeding and harvesting,
To nourish the man of God.
For nights on end,
They sing, dance and chant prayers--
Till stars and the moon out bow.
To have a bite of the bread of salvation,
Oh, is no easy brother!

Virgins of my salt,
To him appeal most.
They have ripe breasts-- ever erect,
Like a clock's arm,
Indicating 12 noon...
He sexpiritually caresses them,
During exorcing!

On him I spat,
When into mine he slid,
During exorcising!
Obstinate demons,
He deems are best conquered,
By caressing women's milk bags...

Loose again I broke thus,
Away from our Father I ran:
Plunging deep into the city's dark heart,
Thirsty for a juicy living...

Oh, my people,
Herein:
Life leans on loose threads of fear--
Bullets and batons sing;
We everyday groan and mourn!

And to appease the god of hunger,
Everyone must eat from their plate.
Whoever has no papers,
Grapple for crumbs with paupers in bins...
So for a meal:
I barter my virginity...

If men's thirst,
Isn't at home quenched,
We make a kill!
They dance,
They pant,
They scream,
As we relieve them,
Of their notes.

Somewhere,
A degree holder,
Earns by engaging brains;
Anywhere,
A sex merchant,
Earns by opening thighs,
Tax-free!

Woes of Westernism.
My people are up in arms,
Demonizing all good we deem:
Miniskirts, tights and micro-tops--
Fashion trends of our time...

Folks at me stare--
Disgusted. And with wonder eyes,
As if on myself I've shitted...
Women hurl stones of abuses,
That a slut, whore and bitch I am,
Because with passion I've embraced:
Westernism... 

So out I let milk bags pop,
And expose my sacred thighs,
For the world to see.
But I'm just a helpless slave to fashion,
As they are to culture!

Men whimper like dogs on heat,
When they glance at my breasts-- full and firm;
Unlike their womens' at home,
Which dropped during independence--
And are ever skinny and flat like slippers. 

Their spears itch;
With uncontrollable erections,
And their adulterous eyes:
Everywhere escort me!

Village women cry out their hearts:
They mourn the generation they sire,
Now thriving on menacles of falsehood,
With no point of departure,
Between vices and virtues,
Between a truth and a lie. 

Heads they burry in shame,
When sons around walk;
Whilst out stick their buttocks,
And their baggy trousers sweep the ground like brooms,
So swaggerific eh!

A current woman I am:
Immune to dictates of culture.
Unlike my grandmother,
I can't wear long robes like a nun,
Or ape muslim maidens--
They dress like ninjas,
Hence concealing the obvious beneath,
To appease the gods of culture...

 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.

Tanzia za Afrika..

Chants and rants I hear,
That ruin, herein, tranquility.
Teachers, medics, whores and cane-cutters...
Afar, frail and hungry,
Carry forests and placards--
Ravenously chorusing,
Anthem of the oppressed:

... solidarity forever,
Solidarity forever,
Solidarity forever!

So our state they irritate,
As its balls they tickle...
From sweet slumber, owners awake--
After decades of loud silence:
Our wine gulping; venom spitting,
Thus loosen grip on heavenly dreams,
As voices grow hoarse, and sonorant:

... Haki yetu, tunataka!
Haki yetu, tunataka!
Tunajenga, kwa gharama,
Na kihali tumeinama...

Itakuwaje tumesoma, na tumesota!
Mapato duni, maisha noma,
Twataka usawa, tuache kulalama...
Haki yetu, tunataka!

Tu! tu! tu!
Rusty riffles sing;
Butts spit bullets,
Arousing tension thus:
Feet shuffle, a stampede!
Some bodies fall,
Groan, thence into silence veer--
Eternal silence.

Ah, here comes boys from Kiganjo!
Engorged with fury and distaste...
They are here to riot;
They are here to provoke violence,
To outlaw lawful demos!

Oh, run brother, run!
They are here to issue death:
To whoever is bored with life--
Thus dare toy with their father's testicles;
Thus dare hit their hand against the wall!

Whoever is bored with life,
With noise, degrades the environ...
Town criers, fish mongers, petty rebels...
Incite partriots to distabilise,
Our otherwise stable state,
Now are hunted like antelopes,
To feed angry and hungry prisons all over!

Come brother, let's run!
Vacate these filthy, and rowdy streets.
For pigs and vultures leave them,
Tired we are, sniffing glue,
Courting disaster,
And serving the devil.

Come brother, let's run!
Lest drugs abuse us to death.
Let us gather the only pieces remaining,
Of our lives wretched,
And flee, thus colonise the cool countryside,
There we could get pastures greener,
There we could get many Irokos, thus perch on,
To ourselves sustain...

Angels of death,
Have our abode invaded.
The city is under siege,
Moans and groans anywhere,
Are anthems of the departing everywhere!

So medics are adamant,
To at bay keep death.
In streets they're scattered, like locusts on poor crops,
Basking,
And with police, playing hide and seek--
Amidst blasts of tear gas,
And raining stones, abuses and rungus...

We've no lambs,
We could our doorposts paint with their blood,
At bay keep them thus...
So poverty and diseases,
War and crime,
Fear and illiteracy:
Are busy killing us,
On the morning of our death...
(c) Wafula p'Khisa.

Woman of My Dream.

Whoever spots her;
The undisputed Miss Universe--
Clad in purple and scarlet,
In variable weather: fine and filthy,
To my abode summon her,
She's the woman of my dream.

The angelic gem,
Adoring, and of her roots proud:
Tans her skin not,
And forsakes where she was born,
Thirsty for foreign identity fake...

The canon of our secret code,
Enshrined in our ways noble,
At peace is with her.
She tickles not balls of taboo,
By arousing my father's appetite;
By for free selling nakedness,
Like some girls of the city.

She by the hearth sticks not,
To be painted by ash,
Or roast in simmering flames.
The woman of my dream:
In the sun melts,
In the rain dissolves,
Subsidizing my meagre harvest.

A sturdy and brave woman like a lion,
She's shaken not by threats of thunder.
On the forefront with me,
she fights fiercely,
Thence whine not at a foe's spear!

The woman of my dream,
Is not a news seller--
A darling to gossip maniacs.
She is a bee and an ant;
Ever engrossed in her duties.

She has unwavering faith,
In the doctrine of the Almighty.
Not idols of wealth, power, fashion...
So won't we falter on the narrow path...

Her elephants ears,
Can well hear:
Imprisoned whispers afar,
Thence offer a shoulder to lean on.
The woman of my dream,
Has no membraneous bells,
On either side of her head for beauty!

She's eyes clear like a crystal,
Unblinded by fallacious make-ups and scientific wonders.
Through my heart she peers:
To read my desires, hopes and worries.
Through the solid empty tomorrow,
She envisions what the future holds...

My sweetheart, woman of my dream,
Is best schooled;
No task dares challenge her, however abstract!
Thus, she differs truth of lies;
She differs virtues from vices,
And maneouvres, like hare,
Through life's hurdles.

She's a musculine woman!
But less a stinging tail and beard.
She's endowed with an enormous butt;
And ripe, full, sagless breasts,
She's kind, loving and forgiving;
With a vineyard so fertile,
For unending bearing...

She has appetite for kids,
The woman of my dream.
So we'll reproduce like weeds!
Drunk with bliss every day...

She has a flexible heart,
The woman of my dream.
So well it dances to tunes of time...
It hardens to bear turbulence;
It softens to love and soothe...

My beloved woman,
Has an honour for my folks;
And is a credit to hers.
So she'll save some for me, at me click not,
Keep our dirty linen indoors,
And go not with the wind;
When my basket runs out of wheat.
(c) Wafula p'Khisa.

We Lost, Minayo!

I pray we return, and gather ruins.
We could a fire light; thus warm aching bones,
When hearts heal,
Time will tell.

*
Excited, we grappled for the sun
Aside tucking our star, forsaken
Wanting; thirsting for care.
But apart fate had us ripped!
Surging to clear scholarly assignments...

Oh, Minayo, we lost!

For a season, and many a reason,
In noisy chambers of Mukuyuni; you're locked up...
Whilst deeper in the rift I plunged, to gather madness,
The return remains astounding,
Apple of my eye; finding its lustrous beauty gone.
Village madmen, parrots and prostitutes had,
On it spat, shitted and urinated.

Oh, Minayo, we lost!

To the wise, silence is a virtue.
I thought, whilst into manhood blossoming,
Our violent laughter we surpprassed:
To settle debts with life.
Who knew we could rebel,
Sooner, before the First Harvest?

Oh, Minayo, we lost?

*
Sadness rests on my sullen face,
It knew no grief-- once upon a time.
Echoes of receding footsteps,
And lyrics of a love we under the moon sung:
Resonate with my dying heartbeats...

In miasmic loneliness herein thus,
I wander, blind.
The future afar is bleak,
I can't even grasp the tune of time,
And dance to songs, the wind whistles;
The cold has my bones cracked,
The rain has my flesh numbed,
Without a should, I'll never stand-- upright.

But afar, a nolstagic feeling recur,
My desolate heart still hum:
Oh, there lived a woman,
There lived a woman...
Beautiful Minayo.

But who killed the woman in you?
Leaving a heartless and inconsiderate tormenter.
Daughter of my in-laws, your warm embrace I lost;
And sweet fragrance of your breath,
The night my mat you left for his bed.

My world turned upside down,
My heart inside out:
Whilst arms akimbo, a finger you pointed at my remaining piece,
Hurling at it obscenities,
Which abomination had I committed?
The road was tired of us.
The road doesn't tell whoever walks on it.

And scriptures lure me: forgive and forget...
Nothing happened to beg for forgiveness.
But to forget?
Tell me how,
A man deprived of life could forget it and live.
How could he forget,
In the face of emptiness,
That reminds, and forever reminds,
Of a treasure left behind?

*
Seeds of life we'd sowed,
Irrigated with sweat and blood,
Longed to see them grow, then bear,
Lost patience in silence,
And let strangers devour fruits...
(c) Wafula p'Khisa.

Re-imagining Tales of Faith.

I sing not a song,
Different from the obscenities,
You've laboured listening to all along.
This is another seed of worries...

I come not with something new,
Woman, I'm also a man; with a penis and beard,
Thinner and longer and bushy, see?
But could dig where others have failed.

I fold not my limbs,
At this age, to dance so awkwardly,
As if I've itching buttocks...
No, Waridi, take me not wrongly.

My soul I sing,
My heart dances along,
Strike your banjo,
Smuggle herein not maringo...

I have for long walked,
Along this narrow path,
Why can't you take me home?
I am really hurt and tired...

Let's not today live,
On a diet of yesterday's faults.
We could tomorrow starve,
Whilst others feast on fruits,
Of the word...
(c) Wafula p'Khisa.

Looking for a Mate.

My people think I'm ripe,
Enough to render a woman pregnant,
So mother's mad, seething in pain--
Thirsty for grandchildren...

Behind my father's threshold thus,
A simba I erected,
Into the wild then plunged:
Hunting for a woman, to warm it,
For lukoba lufumila omukhasi; nokona enjala bubi!
[a home's praised because of a woman; sleeping hungry is bad].

I wander, here and there,
Among big women with big breasts;
And small women with small and skinny breasts,
They drill extra holes on their bodies,
And stuff them with gold, diamond and silver...

For a mate I'm looking,
Among black women with pink skins,
White women with darkest hearts,
She-goats with raptured manners--
They naked wander in daylight!
Could she be here?

Bakoki, men of my riika,
Ages have seen you here, catching termites,
Has a girl passed,
A bucketful of water on her head,
Or collapsing under a bundle of firewood?

The woman in sandles,
Head clean shaven like an inmate,
In a long dress like a nun,
And afraid like a new chicken,
Is the treasure I'm after.
Where do I find her?

Women of the city,
Women of class,
The girl you the other day despised,
That she grows backwards,
That her tender thighs haven't felt,
The luring insides of a miniskirt;
And can't walk without panties like you--
Perhaps for aeration...
Is my mate.
Which way did she go?

She whose palms have cracks,
And her ugly foot befits no ladies' shoe...
So you evade her most,
As though her ugly beauty is infectious,
And she hasn't studded her nipples, lips and clitoris...
Which way did she go?

My clansmen,
Across great rivers and ridges:
I've journeyed--
On long voyages,
Searching for the bearer of your lineage.

I have met women.
Some thrash men like children,
Some sit on them--
Treating them thus, like pets and puppets...
Some see men with their stomachs only,
And couldn't single out my mate!

Women of the market,
You who gossip, dawn to dusk,
Till vegetables rot, unsold;
And your poor men sleep on empty stomachs,
Have you seen a maiden herein?
Selling grapes,
Or visiting the mill...

Here I sit, weeping,
Thirsty for my pie.
Women come and go--
Their astounding breasts popping out dangerously,
As though about to fall!
Full and erect,
Empty and sagging...

Over their mountaineous buttocks,
My neck I crane,
To view the dark alleys of the world.
Could my mate be somewhere, there...
Stranded?
Lost?

I will look for her in the vineyard,
Perhaps she could be weeding millet.
I will look for her in the fangs of pythons,
She could have been abducted...
I will look for her in our Father's House,
She could be dining at the table of spirituality...

Starve me not, cowboys,
Did you say she ran into the bush?
To marry not a man with a thorny chest,
Whose aged hoe's blunt,
Thus would groan and pant, whilst deep inside...

I'll follow her, therein,
Perhaps a home we could start,
Sire a clan of bushmen--
Immune to fallacial seductions of modernity;
And far from the witchcraft and madness,
Of science and civilization.
(c) Wafula p'Khisa.