The Hanging soot

In my language-we call it Murari,
decades of wood smoke makes one,
a fire place with no makeover breeds many.
And so back then in the days,
Billows of thick carbon smoke made soot
And wood burnt as babes waited for yams to boil,
it also made a perfect setting for night stories,
stories of Cain and Abel,
and the swell of grudge between them.
so when a warning came not to go out at night,
it was that you don't dare move out in the dark,
lest you meet Cain in one of his transworld treks-
and accidentally steps on you.
Now,that sent shivers down our spines
and were' better of enduring the hanging soot,
in my grandmas' hut,
than risk huge Cain's step.

come with me

Come so we could see this place.
This place that gave birth to our dreams.
There are no dreams,
there are only valid dreams,
inspirations from the echoes of our ancestors,
Hopes eternal from God,
reverberations of strength,
that remind men of this conscious flow.
Come along this path,
this path of solitude,
where man discovers who he is,
where sinew's of thought are tapped.
Once when i walked along this path-alone,
i thought it was a mirage,
Then i heard a voice-and then a lush
I thought it was the flow of the stream besides
I teetered,
then i trembled,
And then an affirmation,
like the one you get from one who knows you well.
Come with me!
There was an urgency in his voice.
I heeded the call,
stepped forward to where the call emanated,
And followed.
From then on i just followed-no questioning.
Apart from an occasional sigh from my stranger friend,
nothing much passed between us-and i just followed.
And just like the way he appeared-he vanished all at once,
but not before saying thank you,
for agreeing to go along with him,
as he said in his own words- 'On a rough stretch in his life'
I went home that night,
and slept like a child,
peace enveloped-I had walked with an angel,
without knowing neither his authority nor his status.
Come along with me.

State of mind

To be the force in the wind,
or to be the grains of sand,
that gets carried away by the force,
is a state of mind.
To be in one position,
and not in another,
To immerse in the moment,
and savor the power of NOW,
Is a state of mind.
When the oppressor does his act,
and loads himself over the weak shoulders of the oppressed,
It is a state of mind.
When the oppressed flees from the oppressor,
Fearing one who can only maim,
and not take away the soul,
It is all a state of mind.

Am Inspired

Am inspired by the clock that ticks,
It reminds me of a different setting,
That nothing is permanent.
Even darkness gives way-to light
Am inspired by the odd moments,
Like when the mist appears at noon,
Casting an unclear picture,
Where clarity has been.
Am inspired when the laggard changes-
When he reforms and sings a hopeful song.

Am inspired when trees are cut,
Because from the decimate,
Will arise the shoots.
Am inspired when undemocratic regimes loot,
Because it means justice systems will find their place.
Every worry has its happy factor.
Every lack has its plenty.
Am inspired when i see these things,
Living side by side as bedfellows.
They-aren't strange bedfellows,
But the other side of each other.
Am inspired.

my dreams

My hope is to live to see the things i crave.
If the hope is a dream,
my dreams would be varied,
just as situations have been different.
To meet the loner on the road,
And gift him for his searching soul.
To meet the king in his palace,
And tell him of the life outside,
Outside of the high hedge that blocks his sight.


If life itself is a talking legend,
I would bother it -seeking answers
But since it doesn't talk back or even heed my calls,
I will dream,dream and dream.
I wont spare the loftiest of the dreams.
I will dream and make dreaming my only dream.

If dream rewards with more dreams,
I will write a book of dreams,
Pressed together in a cache to make a bundle,
A bundle of dreams.
I will make an effort to actualize my dreams.
But if the dreams shortchange me,
as if none to get actualized,
I will give up the chase,
And let dreams chase me,
Because that is my dream.

Looking back-The streams of old.

I remember one day i was moving downstream,
It was a habit born of curiosity,
fed with delight and maintained by youth.
It was what every lad did back then.
We cut pores of flowers and tossed them in the running stream.
Different colours they were,
each representing the cars we dreamt of.
Still,they were canoes going down the river.
And the waters were crystal clear,
sieved and purified by the grains of rock they passed through.
That was simply heaven to our eyes.
Time always stopped and a quiet serenity overcame,
the only sound being the rush and hurry of the water,
as it raced downstream,
the only focus being our boats-
being tossed downstream as we followed by the sides.
An occasional shriek of the wild birds ,
and the ducks that flew away interrupted our game.
And so when evening came,we knew not the time nor the hour.
so when mama called from uphill,
we knew her patience was stretched,
and we ran uphill through paths not travelled .
so we could avoid the scold but not the cold.
And that always marked the end of a day out,
In those days and times.
Its different now as the streams are dry,
and the catchments have made way for habitation.
The wetlands have been grabbed,
and the clear waters that quenched our thirst,
is but a running sewer.

The alien

Someone says i am an alien
a legal alien
one with a right to state and stay
Am from the wider circle.
I stay at the periphery of confinement.
Many say i don't belong
to the culture of my people.


So even though i have forgotten my native language
and i live among the custom less people of the city
i still have my roots,
where the chord was buried.
so don't call me an alien
because i don't sit under the mugumo tree
to give decrees in a kangaroo court.

Yet,i don't despise your ways.
it is the mental confinement i hate
i hate the procedure-and the rules
because they limit me.
i know these customs make you rich.
i know it has stabilized generations

So go on with the practices,
if only to shape the river waters,
so they wont break the banks.
Allow me to scout the world
and tell all about our people
these who are undefeatable under God.
These whose spears harm from far,
If only to defend the sacred creed
Hidden under the Mugumo tree
where slaughter and ritual took place.
So am not an alien,
I am one among you
whose horizons reach farther afield