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!
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Monday, November 12, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
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...
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
simonpoetically: MY ROSE FLOWER
simonpoetically: MY ROSE FLOWER: I envy a rose flower I envy its rosy fragrance I envy its splendid elegance I envy your angelic elegance too You're a rose midst...
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
HEART STOPPER
Eyes like blazing fire balls
Mesmerizing, killing, enthrallingPicturesque as snow fall
Heart stopper
Phenomenal male smasher.
Worth a million shameless gawks
Nipples hard-erect facing east
Heart stopper
Phenomenal male smasher.
Warm tender hands
Cuddles that cause a quiverStrokes that elude all guard
Heart stopper
Phenomenal male smasher.
Statuesque well rounded hips
Soft natural kiss-full lipsAt the sight hearts skip
Heart stopper
Phenomenal male smasher.
Mellow soothing voice
Heart innocently sincereTemper that rarely rise
Heart stopper
Phenomenal male smasher.
Friday, April 20, 2012
POETRY DECODED
It's conscience stripped naked
Bare truth under spotlight
Hatred unmasked
Love demystifyed
Hypocricy decoded.
It's politics
Painted in black and white
Economics in layman's tone
History in today's context
Yet jargon to the un-open minded.
It's dialogue
Between a liberated heart
And an enslaved universe
Yet a monologue
Only audible in a scribble
Of an honest quill.
It's you, me, us
All in a progressive discourse
It's life, death
Yet immortality
Beyond the pen's handler.
Monday, April 16, 2012
CHERISHIG YESTERDAY
I don’t wanna look back
My eyes can’t stand the scenesYet my soul and mind remains behind
Behind the veil decorated with tear drops
Behind the veil of nostalgic moments
Moments before death robbed my happiness
Moments I became motherless
Moments before I almost turned radar-less.
I just wanna forge forward
Forget the sorrowful nights
Face the life as she’d taught me
Conquer the world as I had promised her
Change the world around me;
Though she’s no longer there
From paradise she’ll be smiling
Though I still cherish yesterday
The tomorrow she’d hoped for me
Is what I cherish even more.
(This poem is dedicated to my dear late mother who passed on 23rd April seven years ago)
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