Tag: SNAPSONGS

Those who have food

Have no appetite

Those afflicted by hunger

Are in search of food

 

 

The tears from Kenimani’s* eyes

Can sail a ship

But deep in their hearts

Is a dire, derisive laughter

 

 

They have a long stick

And they know what to do with it

When they laugh like friends eternal

A sword waits behind their cloak

 

 

They ate the child for breakfast

And roasted the father for a sumptuous dinner

The wine which bubbles in their goblet

Comes straight from the people’s heart

 

 

Unhappy the land

Held hostage by cannibal rulers

But somewhere inside every subject

Is enough bile to blight their eater’s palate

 

 

In power all over our country

Are robbers who loot our commonwealth

With clenched fists we hail their crime

And surrender our backs like hapless mules

 

 

*Kenimani: Malefactor; ill-wisher; one who wishes all benefaction for her/himself.

 “I am a poet, seller of words”

     “Hun”, said the village wag,

“Why don’t you search the market

     For a basket of safer wares?”

Words have consequences

     The proverb may provoke a panga

The journey of a thousand wars

     Often starts with a small, incendiary word

The flower told the Wind

   “Spread my fame to the farthest places”

And the wind said to the Flower

     First, obey my song”

What the leaves say to the trees

     Only he branches can tell

But they know how best to honour

     Their oath of absolute silence

I have no mouth yet to tell

     What my eyes saw behind the wall

A dancing duo lost in the music of the moment

     Lost utterly in the concert of moans

The poet hawks his wares

     In the streets of absent ears

Words drop like golden apples

     From the wind which succeeds the rain

Ignorance and Arrogance

No idle sound mates

One says “I don’t know”

The other boasts “I do not need to know”

 

A foolish man sees a tree

And gets lost in the lushness of its leaves

The wise looks down, down beneath the depths

And enters into rapid rumination with the roots

 

He cuddles a pet tiger

Sleeps every night

On a pillow of pythons

His heart beats in dangerous places

 

Behold the strange farmer

Who planted a field of stones

Coming back at season’s end

Hoping to harvest a bounty of yams

 

This season’s rain

Makes me and my roof afraid

A ravenous flood usurps the streets

A mother loses an only child

 

A pothole swallows the Jeep

Of the rampaging Man of Power

He who once swallowed the people’s money

Rides now on a hell paved with his greed.

Superstition’s street is wider

Than the boulevard of Science

The silence of Unknowing

Is louder than the trumpet of Wisdom

 

The rain fell from the sky

It never reached the earth

Tell me who to blame

For the sadness of famished dreams

 

 

There is so much that is

Neither new nor clear

About the Nuclear Madness

A desert of bones, Apocalypse of Ashes

 

 

Dangerous fires in the hands

Of playful children

Live coals on the thatched roof

At the height of the harmattan season

 

Diligent servant, deadly master

Wisdom so foolishly deployed

Monster which quells its thirst

With the blood of its maker

 

But oh Science, Daughter of Light

Borderless Pathfinder, gem in hidden rock

Can we find our way through night’s jungle

Without your magic lamp?

My myth is truer than yours

My God is godder than your own

In his holy and mighty name

I kill and maim as an act of faith

 

The churchiest of all church people

The mosquest of all mosque goers

Deafening Hallelujahs and Allahu Akbars

In this holy land of righteous rogues

 

Some close their eyes while they pray

Others open them wide like an expressway

Passing Angels sometimes come with mobile banks

How can you grab your portion if you are blind in prayer?

 

Miracles fall from the sky like reckless booties

Haul home your own in a chariot of prayers

Tease your wants with a banquet of wishes

Live all day in your castle in the air

 

Scream and screech like one possessed

The louder the prayer, the faster the answer

Deafen the town with your thunderous entreaties

Ride heavenward on the camel of the chaos

 

“Ora et labora”, the golden rule instructs

But we pray the prayer and forget the work

The ears of Heaven are sore from our shouts

Yet our faith is foul, our ways so impure