Monday 28 November 2011

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.


Friday 18 November 2011

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 )


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


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.




Thursday 17 November 2011

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.


Tuesday 15 November 2011

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 HillsTM (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 HillsTM (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.


Tuesday 8 November 2011

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 14th 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,

Friday 4 November 2011

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.






Tuesday 1 November 2011

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.

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