JUST A PIECE FOR PEACE

Grant me leave oh peace

To recite this humble piece

To make some literary noise

To break into your precocious silence

To positively provoke you

To stage a coup

Against agents of twisted truth.

Grant me leave oh peace

To recite this humble piece

Just to say

How much we need you peace

Midst these sectarian red faces

Decorated with withered red roses

Immersed in hateful dry vases

Hoisted on tribal aces.

Grant me leave oh peace

To place politicians’ inciting words

On my poetic sieve

To let through

Only what is fit

For mass consumption

Relevant to ethnic integration

Antidote for financial segregation.

Grant me leave oh peace

I beg you on my knees

To be patient with us as we stitch

Together our moral panties

Now melting away like cheese

On a hot pan of injustice

Ignited by our souls labeled “to lease”

In a balkanized political feast.

Grant me leave oh peace

To recite this humble piece

Solemnly requesting you peace

To please stay with us

As we sweep out

Injustice from our house

As we mop out segregation

Out of our nation

As we crush out corruption

As we eliminate starvation

As we flush out

The remnants of the hateful filth

We are fed on everyday

Please peace

Be here to stay.

Grant me leave oh peace

To recite this humble piece

In peace

To sew together the pieces

Of this coat of 42 hues

To provide you

With the warmth you need

To keep you

From taking leave, oh peace

SUGUTA VALLEY

Engraved at the core of nature’s beauty

Truncating hillocks and dipping valleys

A true manifestation of creation’s marvel

That such a masterpiece can kill

Is a reality that thrills.

Many venture here to prove their military masculinity

Others out of sheer lust for wild femininity

All oblivious of the hovering vultures

Eager to pick the little flesh

Left on their skeletons after the adventure.

Here wise counsel takes back seat

Bullet proof vests are just distracting weight

Uncomfortable beneath Suguta’s caressing heat

It’s romoured the heat offers a therapeutic treat

After all death is for soldiers to cheat.

So beauty too can collaterally destroy

Especially when devoured carelessly

Like a bee addicted to nectar, continuously

But still men cruise the seven seas

To explore this hive and till death won’t cease.

Suguta valley, where men meet death

I mean Sinorita’s feminine valley

Where men endanger their health.

Suguta Valley is a valley in Kenya's Samburu County where dozens of police officers were recently brutally murdered by cattle rustlers.

KSHS. ONE WARM HUG ONLY

That human can be valued

Really puzzles me

Is it the weight, height

Looks or colour that matters?

Show me this market

Where babies are traded

Like omena, are they weighed in baskets

Or like sheep, paraded?

Are you a party to the bargains

That set a life’s ultimate price

What benefit do you stand to gain

By ignoring that life is priceless?

Show me this up-market exhibition

Where children bear price tags

Then, I’ll tell you of adoption

Where a baby’s price

Is just one warm hug.

CHILD OF NO-MOTHER

I’m a child who dislikes affection

Who alike a lone leopard

Is untamable

I’m the naïve gazelle

Who strays from his herd
Into the cannibal wild

I’m the lamb that prefers

To suckle not from its mother’s tits

But would rather sip from a caring farmer’s drip

I’m one who searched

Vast hills and deep valleys

Amongst Christians, Muslims, atheists, Buddhists ….

Searched till I found

A million reasons not to search anymore

Searched for the keys to my home

While they were right inside humanity’s soul

Searched till I realized

I’m a child of no-mother

Coz n in your inhuman pre-occupation

You believe

Children belong to none other

Than the womb that bore them.

I’m a child of no-mother

Coz you all have forgotten

Mark 10:14

Let the children come to me….

I’m a child of no-mother

Coz you’ve forgotten Mose, Easter..

From your last Sunday summon.

I’m a child of no-mother

Coz you’ve chosen

To offer love selectively

As it suits your ungodliness
I’m a child of no-mother
Coz you are still a slave
Of your backward customs 

I’m a child of no-mother

Coz you’ve abdicated your duty

To be my fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters…

Family…………

I’m a child of no-mother

Who later found his no-mother

To whom he was all that mattered

I’m whom children of mothers evaded

Like a leaper

Whom their mothers

Had warned them about

One from the no-mothers tree

That bore no fruits

A harvest from a foreign garden.

I’m one who had no relatives

I was the uninvited guest

In a family feast

So I was fed on crumbs

After toiling like a beast

As children of mothers

Cheered me on.

But by the grace

I’m no longer a child of no-mother

But a child of no.1 mother

Who has turned out

To be the best mother

You all refused to be

I’m no child of no mother

I’m not an orphan as you presume

I’m just among the blessed few

Who had the privilege of dual parenthood

I’m not an abandoned child as you may think

I’m the cog without which

Marital bliss would not flourish

I’m the bud from which

A family lineage emerges

I’m the joy and laughter in kraals

Suffocating in the stigma

Of childlessness

I’m the living proof

Of the existence of  humanity that's selfless

I’m not an outcast

I’m just a hero in waiting

The future Nobel Laurette

The future miss world

I’m tomorrow’s hope

For the millions of children of no-mothers.

ANOTHER MOSES

Abandoned midst the reeds
Placed in an orphanage of bulrushes
Its after whom
A nation rallies
Much unlike other babies
From the annals of biology.

The stone
That the builders refused......
The sprouting bud
That was left unattended
Flourishes to be the big tree
Offering a shade in the desert
To all humanity for free.

Once suckling
From the tip of a gutter
Unaware there exists
The tit of a maternal mother
Is the undisputed winner
Whom many regarded as a looser
Not really aware
He was another Moses.


This poem is inspired by the story of Moses in the Bible who was brought up in pharaoh's home like an adopted child but whom God chose to lead his nation out of slavery. The piece is meant to inspire the children who were abandoned in the streets, who grew up there, in an orphanage, with foster or adoptive parents.  
All children are equally able before the eyes of God!

CORPSE-MAN OF NAIVASHA

Were he to tell his tale
Even Lucifer would shed a tear
He would first, tell of  happy old days
When all faces were innocent and gay
He would tell of brotherly love
Amongst neighbour's kids
As they played "karongo"
He would tell
Of ages old communal maize harvesting,
He would only tell
of border-less brotherhood.

He would then, suddenly
Adorn scary silent  look
Shake his head, staring blankly
His eyes would stagger here and there
Perhaps wary of something
Or perhaps ashamed of himself
He would then tell
Of that dreadful January day
When the mob landed on his shanty
He would tell of the agony
Of trying to persuade invain
His neighbours who then defiled
His ten year old
After they had been done
With what had been left
Of his expectant wife
He would tell
Of the shame of facing the cut
In his family's full glare
He would tell
Of how they hacked him to death
Without the least of care
Later forcing his son to carry
His detached head as a token.

Were he  to tell his tale
He would do it midst spasms of anger
He would tell of a tribal kingpin
Who had promised heaven
Were he to win
But who now belches bacon
From his safe obscene mansion
As the remnants of his dear family starve
In an Indifferent Despotic Politics camp,
He would tell
Of his mother's sons
Who denied his family access
To their ancestral land
He would tell of a nation
Where no one is his brother's keeper
But rather worship their egocentric leader.

He would tell of Mheshimiwa's seat
Worth 200 Grands
While his family was expected to manage
With a mere 25 Grand
He would tell of his tribesmen
Who now talk of justice to  the perpetrators
And empty sympathy to the victims,
Were he to tell his tale
The nation would call him a cry baby
Who is diverting attention
From a cashful political poduim
Were he to tell his tale
He would be reminded
Of innocent till proven guilty clause
For the affluent
And guilty till proven innocent clause
For the masses
Who eternally fight for survival
With bedbugs in remand prisons
Were he to tell his tale
A bill to send him back to hell
Would be quickly drafted
Passed at midnight without amendments
And the bill later invoiced
To the office of suspect-in-chief.

simonpoetically: DOVE I LOVED

simonpoetically: DOVE I LOVED: You would stare at me With blue serene eyes That would instantly melt my soul Many a nights you would embrace me Under your soft...