Bakacheli Forever II

Tuwa wa Bakacheli, dashi koi piwa?

Nambo nyi tuwa mnambeate maka Digo

Atawatai shoke?

Nambo mnakasiri rebu ni maka mmembala mundi?

Nikimbeate Bakacheli utanao sou ya tuwa

Maka taha ni waju, tuwa lazima wakache dokoka



Dashi koya itandashi Bakacheli liukwe?

Kiche jima tuye ay Suam, tuwa wakigao labi dashi ya jima

Tumu akimiatu bunisa ya nite teyo

Fuhala unamase isis hatuna sape?

Mbeate kusi ya koso Bakacheli unao malomedo

Wakizau ma-mbeng’o wakibuhesa mafuele-fuele jamo kwa gumuu

Fuhala unamase nahaku sape, liukwe mendu?

Umewai nao tumu niga akinywaku icha kwa lihote ya lubuu

Fuhala anywaku jiu na zindama ndo asichinje sape keya ya fuele jamo?

Ka yohi si liaki, mi siwiju tuwa wanaliaki siba!



Bakacheli ni siple utaak Ngemwe na ukiasi risto maka hii:

Unakiasi yohi amam anambai anatwai Saida Karoli

Namwaju, aliwaku chanamsi Dichko nilimnao aki-grow

Utakiasi B.B.C. mendu kwa Ngemwe fuhala upali nite uchiwo news

Ka si tuwa hatuna sape, siwiju tuwa wana sape Nyake!

Ni siple utatapa towato wanawaju Chelsea, Man-U, Arsenali

Ukimzauli Torres anazache muti niga atakumbiamwa

Ukimzauli Museveni wa Nyake ni nina atamase hawiju

Ama umzauli First 11 wa muti ya Nyake hawiju

But anawaju ya Arsenali!



Bakacheli ni siple lomedo atakungadu na lukup keya

Ukimbeate kwa koso kusi ya Chicha

Ni siple tumu atawanunu daso buyas fuhala azamali kuusi

Akilaku raami na jima na kugapi risto

Mi nimejizauli: waha tuwa wanamali mbasha nambo wamendako

Na waha tuwa wanaak Ngemwe wamenano?



Bakacheli ni siple utateago mude kwa koso

Fuhala ummbiamwa utamptapa akindae kuchato jima nimto

Coz hukita risto ya waha ma-amam kubuhari buhesa koya

Kuhu Binairo utagapi mude ma-giha, kohu ukinyafa vyohi

Watamase umeteapo na fulai yamba ya Binairo umetale kohu!

So utanao chanamsi akiwaku rimzu, next time utakiasi ametapa libo

Kwani libo utatapa ukiteago janaki?



Ni siple utawanunu difu ya nihamsi

Tuwa wakiriafi ulitapa bujo!

Rock, inin itatibi Rock na Sambusa oya?

Nikindae Bakacheli nikiwaku na oos jamo kiwi jamo imim ni simdo

Lubuu utamiatu kwa ditcre, lubuu kwa icha ya mandifre koya

Fuhala lei imekiba ingachu komfu—huwiju lei kusi chanamsi

Atakata umwanunu wami ya nite

So, imim Mlesa mbokita niliwaku nikichinje oos jamo

Iwe manito ya miku, lekobo, lubuu ( Unakambuku yoi manito?)

Fuhala chanamsi akikata lubuu, utawato Lletwa koya

Fuhala uwato lubuu kwa lletwa imerafu malekobo na lubuu

Ah, tumekato limba tumu nguya



Hii ni risto inaninyafa kundape Bakacheli

Shenmi, Rolwo, Dichko, Nyaoko, Lalea, Laikonge,

Bakacheli Forever

Forever Bakacheli. 

R.I.P Maloe

“Bakacheli ilisatepo tumu nguya Maloe. Yuhu tumu aliwaku na risto ngimi nasa. Angendae leshu, yarabi mustahara, yuhu tumu angewaku tumu bwamku nasa. Maloe aka-die Lodwar. Wangemkazi Bakacheli tungendae rikabu keya na kumtiapa ramii, na saabu dokoka na kum-tell risto teyo ya Bakacheli. But tumu aligo na hatuwiji walimkazi piwa. Wherever you are, Maloe, tuwa wa Bakacheli wanakusimi nasa.”

                                                                                                         -- Mlesa (28/11/2011)



Mendu, taha maka umego

Nitakaandi risto koya paha

Mendu, tuwa walikuwau

Wangewaju levi tulikundape Bakacheli

Walahi yohi suki wangemiatu kundau njapa ya riga



Kamwa maka tuta vihi mendu

Nilikiasi Gordon umego

Tuwa wamekumacho suki

Nini kwa waha tuwa hawakutuzauli ewew ni nina?

Tumu akikata kukukill si ndifre koya, liukwe!



That day, ewew ulimase

“Why Black Man Suffer”

Tuliwaku na Ziko na Shikla na Ndiomo

Levi ulindape Super Eagles

Na lei wongu koya ya Eto’o

Ah, Maloe, nini kwa walikukill?



Waha tuwa wangewaju levi ulimase

Ewew kou “Par” na Babake

Tukindae chicha na ewew

Ukamase nchii ya nguwazu nahaku lekenge

Ati wanawaju mutai

Levi ulimase chanawasi wa furisa wanapaka “Rays”

Kwa guumu oya na yohi mbivu ya Bakacheli

Ah, Maloe, tuwa walikukill hawakunyafa wapo!



Mendu, usilija

Bakacheli doba ni wapo

Red Bullets ilidie ( hii risto si wapo, nawaju)

Masti imemuka Bakacheli, tumu koya Babake,

Todo—waha tuwa kowa wapo

Babake alirima, Todo alitaak sakabi sakabi!



Nazauli maka jiste koi kou nimbingu mendu

Unatapa 10% koya ma-a nahaku risto ya Par?

Tuwa wa Bakacheli wanakusimi nasa, Maloe

R.I.P. Maloe

Bakacheli Forever I

I now turn to poetry in a language that will lock out most of my readers. This is regrettable. The language is in corrupted Kiswahili. I christen it Likiswa. This poem is to appeal to a select clique. Much apologies to my regular readers. I had to let these out.

*******************

C) Daniel A'Vard

Mamendu, hii si risto utamaso kwa bukita

Hii risto ni risto ya ma-old men wakizame tapa

Hii si risto utatapa jiste ma-a Ngemwe

Hii risto ni risto tuye

Si risto nguya



Bakacheli—inin inatumbuasu?

Nini kwa tumu akukiachu

Na eyey hakushali?

Sijanao waju ikimacho tumu jamo ut

Ikitumacho Bakacheli

Inamacho fuchi, limumwa, tomto, ritaji, nimaski—

Sijanao waju ikimacho tumu jamo ut

Ikirain, mendu, nambo hijarain Ngemwe fuhala hijashanye

Kwa amam Peitum?

Waju na wamvu inatutibi tewo!



Aanj ikijaku, mendu, nambo hijakupae?

Aas basa ukindae lihote, nambo aanj haikukuchawa?

Ma-a buyas ukikaamu, nambo hukuchanawa na icha?

Waju, Wamvu, Aanj—nahaku tumu inamguacha kumchanawa!

Ndo nazauli, nini kwa tumu akukiachu rebu?



Dashi koi piwa ukitapi nimtiha koya?

Nambo tuwa wakukiachu rebu, si wangenyafa yohi nimtiha?

Liaki ni koya, ukikaamu buyas ni ewew, ukialal tile ni ewew

Nambo wakukiachu nazauli, mendu?



Bakacheli ni siple wapo, sijataak

Bakacheli ni tuye, sijataak

Ndo nimekaandi hii risto mkiasi

Kiriafi hii risto:

Bakacheli ingewaku piwa maka tuwa wangechanawa an ziupu

Ya kukiachu tuwa?

Bakacheli ingewaku piwa maka towato wangendae leshu

Dalaba ya kungachu mbeng’o ay ma-abab oya?

Bakacheli ingewaku piwa maka tuwa walizamali Form Nei

Wangetapa sape ya kundae lejco instead of kulaku ramii na sabuu ma-keston?

Bakacheli ingewaku jea maka tumu maka Kamlesh angengaje nitau poha jiste?

Bakacheli ingewaku jea maka sape ya D.F.C wangetiapa tuwa fuele yami jamo jamo vihi?

Bakacheli ingewaku jea maka Red Bullets ingetapa sape fuhala muge tuwa wazache?

Bakacheli ingewaku jea maka furisa ingewaku na tilai?

Na risto ya kuwao mafuwai nei nei ishai?

Na risto ya kuwato mbeng’o nihamsi ishai na ukapele maka zimbu nota vihi?



Kiriafi hii risto:

Risto ya ma-amam towato oya ku-die wakindae siho ishai?

Risto ya kusako bujo Bakacheli ishai?

Risto ya maziupu ya mangouwo ishai?

Kiriafi risto ya tuwa kufaku aanj ishai?

Rain ishanye, tuwa wanavu ndihima na gambo

Maka tuwa wa Mesopotamia (Akiriamet)?



Mamendu, hii si risto utamaso kwa bukita

Hii risto ni risto ya ma-old men wakizame tapa

Hii si risto utatapa jiste ma-a Ngemwe

Hii risto ni risto tuye

Si risto nguya

Bakacheli Forever.

Who Am I, You Ask?

“The question “Tell me about yourself” is one of the most difficult questions I can answer. I have the playful bit within me and the sombre one. I would desist from telling you what I do for a living or the high ideals. So in defining me, I will tell you about the attachment I have to carefully spun words or the creased look I saw yesterday at the bus-stage. The challenge I have is to solemnize the marriage between those seemingly contradictory personalities. Or may be to stick to the whims of my soul.”

-Lorot Son of the Hills (18/11/2011 4.26 p.m )


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Image supplied by Poets United

Who am I, you ask?

I am the comma in your sentence—

A pause in your thoughts

To be processed in your moment of reflection

I am that germ of idea that clings on your mind

Pleading to you to follow the higher cause

I am your breath floating in the air

The breath that is muted in silence

Of the refugee in a camp, the shackled prisoner

Of thoughts censored, the ebbing voice of a child

Who inherits the debts of the world at infancy,

The silent whisper of disinherited woman

Kicked out of the matrimonial home

I am an “Old Soul” trapped in a young body

My soul dwells with its kindred, feasting on

The Wisdom revealed by them

I am a pilgrim upon these sacred hills

From this vantage position looking at mankind

To write their memoirs for they don’t have the time

I am a flood of ideas sweeping across nations

I might not be able to fulfil them all

So I scatter them around human souls

I am a pastoralist boy learning the ways of the city

Many times I miss the goats and the cows

I miss the smell of cow-dung, I miss sitting in a smoky hut

I am the words you don’t find in books

They are the wisdom of the streets

Like how to duck in blind alleys or how to skip muddy puddles

I am that irritating sound of a man biting pepper

Increasing your appetite in eating this life’s knowledge

I am the psalmist, the quiet psalmist with the broken harp

Singing to this world, singing hope to this world

I am the recollections of life

(That song was a hit back in the days, that was in 1940!)

I am the drumbeat sounding from far villages

Dum dum, I sound, the ignored crier with an important message

I am the elephant, I am the hare, I am both

I am the ogre in your fable; I am the silly warthog in your narrative

I am that confusing legal provision from your attorney

I hide my meaning in notwithstandings and whereases and wheretofores

I am the angry howl of a conductor, the funny bumper sticker

I am the jutting neck muscle of an angry protester

With a placard turned up-side-down

Who am I, you ask?

I am a whole two decades of a sojourner

I taste this life with a teaspoon

I leave mugs to my seniors

I am that nudging thought buried deep inside you

I am the torn page in your book

Pilgrim, how do you tear a book?

I am the hardtalk of Atwoli, the soothing sermon of Joel Osteen,

The engaging tone of a sports commentator, the funny comment of a street cobbler,

The honesty of a mama mboga, the firebrand voice of a condemned man,

The cry of an IDP, the soaring hope of a refugee;

I am a simple soul in a fleeting world, churning out poetry

I am you, I am the universe, I am me—Lorot Son of the Hills.

Shared with Poets United in The Thursday Think Tank # 57 You and Yourself (I...)

I had fun with this. Thanks Poets United.

The Poem That Made Me Laugh

Smile.  Have you ever noticed how easily puppies make human friends?  Yet all they do is wag their tails and fall over. 

~Walter Anderson, The Confidence Course, 1997

The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.

 ~William Shakespeare, Othello

*****    *****

Link

So, you ask me:

Lorot Son of the Hills, what makes you smile

And although you expect an immediate answer

My little sojourn on this earth

Would not give a quick answer

It is as if you ask why a serial killer kills

Or why Malcolm X smiled before his assassination

Or about the Black Hole

Such things my mind grapples with

But they don’t weigh upon my heart

For like the eternal path of wisdom

They stretch to no limit

These things I don’t know

These things I continue to learn

But I remain happy.

So, you asked what makes me smile

Even when I am in a carjacked matatu

I really don’t know

Perhaps it is that appreciative smile

Even when our finances are in disarray;

It could be the curiosity of a child in exploring

The mysteries of this life;

It could be sometimes sleeping hungry

Wake up on the next day looking up to the sun

With a bright hope of a new day;

My spirit refuses to perch on the tree of misery

It dwells on the windward side of life.

I pray to Tororot, the God of the Rising Sun,

To retain Satisfaction within me

Whether I have or lack money

Because in Satisfaction I feel grateful

To eat, sleep, wear and sleep under a roof.

I pray that I would not apologize to anyone

For painting the solar system in my heart;

Or have the milky way painted on my face

These mysteries I want to experience myself,

To perceive them;

In them I find delight

And not even a mountain-load of money can replace it

So, fellow pilgrim, let us stroll upon these sacred hills

To see what will be manifested

We are here for a reason

Never let these fleeting shadows of life

Blind you to the beauty it possesses

For I have seen beautiful faces bow

To the cowardly challenges this life throws

Give me a smile, give me a laugh

Let us light up our problems in a pyre

And see their smoke rise up

Let us be ready to fail and learn

I slip so many times, some times hard,

Some times light;

Every time I dust up myself and say

“Lorot Son of the Hills, your knee-caps feel

Good when they touch the ground

Pain feels so good sometimes”

And I walk and smile

I could kiss the soil

For I get intrigued by the rough edges of a stone

They are my learning stones

They keep me at the edge

They keep my mind sharp and alert.

A Love Letter of Noise to Silence

"I would write a love letter to silence, to praise adore her of her virtues. I will mix my poetry and charm to woo her. She is the most noble woman I know of. Where all else is caught up in the confusing tidbits, she still remains. If only she knew how much I love her and care."

                                 -Lorot Son of the Hills^TM (Eon to eon)


"There is so much noise in this world. The greatest challenge is not to add to it but on how much we are able to reduce it. You can switch off the radio. This is not a heroic act. The most heroic act worth a little praise is to find silence within you, to hear your heart beat, to hear your ideas vibrate in your mind, to watch a thought and never lose it."


                                -Lorot Son of the Hills^TM (Eon to eon)

^**********

Link

Link

They said that the loud din that is my trademark

Booming from loud speakers

Of burst voice boxes of street hecklers

Raging in the clanging market wares

Of hawkers shouting “ua mende ua panya”

This they said was noise

So they cupped their ears to let me pass

But the headphones of a youth

Sang to him, yet they called this noise

In the prayer hall

With priests and brothers and sisters

Clutching at the rosary

They recite Hail Mary

A metre away is a soft piano sound

Floating across the room

And settling on opened hymnal books and misale

Inside the mosque

The iman of the muslims

Resides in their lips

As they bow to Allah

Long after the muezzin

Has called them to prayer

So, silence, calling to mind

All my boisterous ways

The many times I have been unnecessarily loud

Caught up in empty prattles

Escaped in a furious decibel of expletives

Or banged tables without a cause

These are the times I needed you most

For, you, you silence, scare me most

In your cold aura of tranquillity you

Remain the most powerful

Forget the brawls and the hard-talk

I once ranted to a monk for one hour

All that time he looked at me

Never said a word, never lifted a finger

I froze one hour later and made as if to go

Upon which the monk told me:

“My son, some times you can speak

Other times you can keep silent

It is wisdom to know when to

Speak and to keep silent”

Silence, I am tired of my loudness

Sweep my soul with your virtues

Even if I have to kneel before you in the streets

Trust me, silence, I could do this

I am ready to make peace with my past

When I have been wrong yet talked most

When I shouted in the forest and sanctuaries

When I engaged in Latinisms and legal talks

As if by being plain I would have been any lesser

All these I will find within myself to forget

So, I implore you, my queen silence

To accept me as I am

I am a changed man

Look, I now wear a flowing rob

I don’t carry those small ringing gadgets that stir the soul

I want to learn your ways

To see a thought, sit it, watch it carefully

And never let another thought overbear on another

I want you, silence, to come into my life

I am a changed man, silence, teach me your wisdom

Perhaps this world needs you more than me

Perhaps you have right all this time.

They Forgot to Frisk My Mind!

I went into the exam room

With a prohibited material:

My mind.

They confiscated my phone,

My mwakenyas, my prayer notes,

Looked at my palms

So as to be sure I hadn't written anything.

But they forgot to frisk my mind.

In it I had stacked volumes and volumes of books

All the audio files of my lecturers

All the exam questions

All the possible twists and turns.

And it was written all over

It spread from one wall to another

Of my mind.

Unbeknownst to the good invigilators

My mind should have been the prohibited material!

So, in the exam room,

With my mind sprinting like a deer

And as graceful as a dove

I threw in a dash of my self esteem

A sprinkling of my poetry and humour

And the airtight logic of my thoughts

Such is my mind, Invigilator

Such are my thoughts.

I have been doing these as long as I can remember

Pursuing reason in dim-lit pages of legal clutter

Walking through a labyrinth of a professor’s strange thoughts

Sizing up opinions, humbling proud edifices of theses and antitheses

But long after collecting my script

When the pressures have died down

I will go back to the library and read

That is how I operate

Books were my first love

They still are, still will remain.

Just to let you know

As you might have noticed, dear reader, I have not been at my element lately.

I will be sitting my Bar Exams as from 14^th of this month.

In this regard therefore, I won’t promise to churn out poetry as I am wont to do.

What I will promise is that my mind will be alert during this period to respond to the surprises of my muse.

It turns out that my best poetry comes out in very solemn moments or at unexpected times. Whatever turns out, I will write them as they occur to me.

Sincerely,

Eyes Don't Lie

Link

Link

I can tell a million things from somebody’s eyes

Many don’t believe it

But believe it.

Eyes have a story to tell

A powerful narrative

A subtle, implied tale

If only you are keen to notice it.

Eyes can cry

Without crying

You see it on the faces of

Workers on minimum wage

Trying to hold back well-concealed emotions

Or you can see it on an orphan

Or the face of a widowed woman

Disinherited by the structures of patriarchy

Link

Eyes of a child

Those innocent balls of joy

That grab your sight

Those eyes which inquire

Those eyes which ask

“Mom, did I have to sleep hungry again?”

Eyes which love

Eyes which stare right into your heart

Unpretentious eyes

Eyes of a lover

Shy, those dim-lit eyes

Eyes which stare into the space

Dreamy; distant

Like the disappearing cow-bells

Heard from afar

Eyes which don’t look intelligent

Eyes succumbed to the emotions

Eyes sagging under the pressure of love

Eyes of a liar

Eyes which don’t rest

Eyes ducking from one falsehood to another

Like the feet of a wizard on a witchcraft spree

Eyes which betray the trust

Eyes which don’t speak to the heart

In eyes I can tell your past

I can stare into it

Gaze at it, look at the pupils

In your eye-brows I can tell a story

In the demeanour of your eye-lashes

I can tell your spirit

It will be a window

To peep into your heart

The eyes of a witness

Can unlock a death mystery;

The eyes of a slain victim—

Have you seen them?—

They have that pleading look

As if to urge upon killers

To spare them;

The eyes of a condemned man

They are dark, ghostly

Dim-lit, resigned to their fate;

The eyes of a conman—

Have you also seen them?—

They are like dangling ropes

On the roof-beams of a cobweb

Somehow they don’t rest;

The eyes of a paedophile

They too have a story to tell

They are half-truthful, half-lying

If you look at them hard-enough

They boomerang to rebellion

Never be caught in its pretence;

The eyes of a serial killer

The most calm, the most devious

They are moist with love

Teetering on the edges of mock-love

All you will ask yourself

“Did he really kill all those people?”

I once remember the eyes of a madman I saw

So calm, so staid

They could have been the eyes of any other

In them I saw reason,

In them I saw no confusion

In them I saw no demented mind

Until he murmured his abracadabra

I also saw the bushy eye-brows

Balls of eyes that scared me

But three conversations later

It turns out that he was the best soul to have known!

Eyes can be so deceiving!

After all, all that jitters is not bold!

Then there are those eyes of a hunger-stricken

Eyelashes dusty, pupils devoid of life,

Eyebrows scattered as if to symbolize their grim state

These eyes don’t cry

For to cry is to expend on water

And to expend on water is something their bodies

Wouldn’t want to risk doing

But such kinds of eyes make me sick

I want eyes that bubble with life

I want eyes that laugh at my heart

I want eyes that look me straight in the eyes

But have you been in the streets

And saw those squinted eyes,

Distrusting, as if you were a bouncing time-bomb?

Whatever happened to those warm, disarming eyes?

Well, it is a changed world

In the past, eyes met eyes, pupils met pupils

But nowadays you are intruding!

We have politicised eyes!

Some pair of eyes will see fingers in the public coffers

Other pair of eyes will ignore them

The rest will wonder which pair of eyes saw

The right thing!

Eyes have a story to tell

A powerful narrative

A subtle, implied tale

If only you are keen to notice it.

Next time you see a live butterfly smashed on a wall

Say so

Don’t say it was a painting!

Eyes don’t lie.

Writer's Block

Poetry Topic: Writer’s Block

I sit here with my pen

Here I am, a poet, almost

Writer’s block that comes

(Wringing fingers in frustration)

Idea 1. Capture what writer’s block is.

Idea 2. Write about it.

Idea 3. You have killed writer’s block.

Ok, here we go.

I sit here with my pen,

Here I am, a poet almost

Writer’s block that comes

ARGH.

I will write a poem tomorrow.

Shared this frustration with Poet's United.