Tuesday, 26 April 2011

Through My Own Eyes


          I

           I sat with my child today
           Yet I was depressed:
           His eyes were dimmed
           The shrill in his voice disappeared
           The inquisitiveness subdued
            Shocked I was of the child’s
            Lethargy and lack of oomph
           His eyes I peeped into my own sorrow
           Cries of his friends raped by fathers like me
           Filtered into my ears
           Through my child’s eyes
            I  saw his friends selling groundnuts in the streets
           Deep into the night, I saw them washing dishes
           Early morn, I saw them carrying mountains of books
          On their backs, braving the morning cold
          Sipping sugarless porridge, skipping lunch 
          For life is rough, for fathers like me make it rough

 II
            Thrust upon the cruelty, my child’s remorse
            Alerted me of so many of his friends
            Who watches upon them?
            Who fights their small wars?
            Who protects them from early deaths?
            What generation do we lay for them?
            How do we explain our inconsistencies
            Of paternal affection, yet we defile our 3 months olds
            Of breadwinner title, yet we haul our children to the streets
            To parade their misery on the footsteps of man’s mercy
            Yet, in our lofty speeches, we talk of economic emancipation
            Emancipation amidst paedophiles?
            Emancipation in face of robbed future?
            Emancipation amid the screaming headlines?

 III
            But to appear ‘reformist’, fathers like me
            Throw in piecemeal reforms, call in on televisions
            Call the acts beastly, write to the editors
            With screaming curses, animatedly talk of the vice
            Then when some other sensational news pops—
            Say some love potion in Matuu
            All is forgotten, love is the catch word
            Thus the cycle continues
            Children whipped to death for urinating in beds
            Children stressed with Homeworks till 10 p.m
            Children made robots of learning without play
            Girls raped by fathers like me
            Girls sold to prostitution by us, their fathers
            Children fed on adult entertainment
            But, as lethargic as we are,
            These are mere statistics, some media fodder
            Till our children are the subject

      IV
            I looked through my child’s eyes today
            Yet despite the sad theme in his eyes
            When he smiled, I saw my pride swell
            His sadness is fleeting, not like mine
            Which simmers for years, when he is joyed
            Not even a century of woes bogs me down
            His joy is my joy too
            In some big way, thought I,
            These little joys spark the world
            These buds need to blossom
            If you think about it,
            This is the time, my child’s eyes
            Should brighten the world
            No more remorse
            This is the time.

            C) Lorot Salem 2011

13 comments:

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Absolutely wonderful. You speak the ills and the wrongs, yet end with hope. For in a child's eyes lives all the hope there is for a better future. Lovely, Salem!

Salem Lorot said...

Thank you so much, Koko.

annell said...

Lovely and sad, heartbreaking.

Salem Lorot said...

@ Annell, in a special way you are welcomed to this tent. Appreciative of your comment.

Raining Iguanas said...

Salem, I am glad that Sherry Blue Sky shared your interview with the world. You certainly have a story to tell. We all have stories, yours is quite special. I wish you well.
Peace to you and your family,
An old-new follower

yellowhousecafe said...

Salem ~ very much enjoyed the interview with Sherry Blue Sky. I thank you for sharing your insight both via interview, but even more so, via poetry.
Write on, for your words spread peace, much like the planting of seeds, or trees "thayu, nyumba" ~ peace, angela

Salem Lorot said...

@ Raining Iguanas, thank you so much. Yes, you are right: we have stories to tell. I am humbled that I was given the opportunity to say it. Welcome back and it is great to have you here. I am your fan too.

@ Yellowhousecafe, I will write on. Thank you for sharing your thoughts on the interview. Welcome to Lorot's Poetry. I am your fan too.

Promising Poets Parking Lot said...

rich words..
well done.
:)

Happy Rally.

Salem Lorot said...

Thank you so much Promising Poets Parking Lot. :)

bttrflyscar said...

I read your interview! Very interesting!!!


http://bttrflyscar.blogspot.com/2011/04/selah.html

Salem Lorot said...

Thank you so much Bttrflyscar. I am humbled. Thank you for stopping by Lorot's Poetry. Have followed you and look to read more of your poems. :)

raivenne said...

Heartbreaking and simply beautiful!

Salem Lorot said...

@ Raivenne, first welcome to Lorot's Poetry. I have looked at your cute blog. I love it. Definitely I would be reading more of you. Thank you for your kind comments.

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