Thursday 31 May 2012

Through the Camera Lens, Somewhere in Nairobi

"The Madaraka Skies"


"The Nairobi Sunrise"






Nairobi skies:

1st Photo: Taken at 6.44 a.m. on 1st June 2012.

2nd Photo: Taken at 7.06 a.m on 1st June 2012.


C) Lorot Salem

Tuesday 22 May 2012

My Son and I



When I look at my son
Fingers flicking on the play station
I marvel

Some few years ago in 1967
When I was his age
There were no such gadgets

Instead, we played sheki and birkoli
And shot each other using jumla plant guns
Girls played kora, boys played lifundo
I liked pepeta, I dribbed the ball like Christian Ronaldo
We made clay toys at Kacheliba Mixed
We went to mtelezo at Shabaha
Hunted for hyraxes and hares

But my son,
My son shoots with his toys
I don’t get it—he shoots people!
Or drives fast cars by pressing buttons

We are world apart,
I, the old fogey who played in the dust,
And my son, who sits up all day playing video games
I once sneaked into my son’s room and tried them
I think when I saw a figure aim a gun at me, I ducked
That was the last I had with those weapons!









Photo credit: Google.

Sunday 13 May 2012

Mothers Day 13/5/2012


My mother, Mrs. Paulina Maya Choram, in her traditional regalia


"This is dedicated to my precious mum, Koko, and all the wonderful mother all over the world. This poem is to you all in as much as it is for my mom."
                                                              - echoes of the hills 
                                                                  


Tororot, I pray for my mum today,
Though I be far from her reach
I know that her love remains rich
Funny how, try as I might, the English
Language is under stocked of words of praise

When young, my mum chewed bananas
And fed me with them (there were no blenders);
She carried me on her back, metal box on her head
All the way from Kapenguria to Kacheliba
When water was scarce, she gurgled water in her mouth
Held me mid-air and sprayed water on my body
Back then, there were no handkerchiefs,
So mum sucked mucus from my nostrils
Then spat it out


“My son,” she always tells me,
“Good fortune is never pulled by a rope—
Be patient, don’t lie, and don’t steal”.

Whenever I see my mum
I forget all my problems; she is like a sanctuary to me,
She is like middle pole of a hut, holding my emotions,
There is something about mothers, I don’t know which,
Pulling us to the center of our existence

My mum is the uncrowned goddess,
The unsung heroine, the unrewarded achiever,
Other people have their achievements written on paper,
My mother’s are spread across the years of my life,
The referees to her curriculum vitae are Tororot and the
hills of Kacheliba,
Like all success stories, she knows pain too,
I don’t know where she gets her strength from—
most probably from Tororot— because her spirit
is sturdy like the bark of an akoretee tree;
Most mothers buy their sons gifts, my mother
Gave me hope and cheer, with it she always tells me,
“Mondanyu (my son), all my blessings are upon you,
Usichafuke roho (don’t get your spirit dirtied), utafaulu
(you will succeed)”

You all know this Tororot, so I pray to you today,
To thank you for keeping us well through the heat of the day
For all along, no searing heat has burnt out our energies
And for my mum, she has always kept pace
You hold the future, Tororot, a mere pilgrim like me
Cannot predict tomorrow, you know how our graphs will rise
You are the owner of the Cartesian Plane
But if you will allow, Tororot, this Mother’s Day
Grant my mum a little more cheer, a little more of the echo,
And in your divine plan, one day, reward her
Through me or others (you work in mysterious ways)
With a little more of what other pilgrims have
This will be to your glory, and imagine Tororot
How that will speak more of the value of Hope?


Neighbours are Bad Friends



So, what is it with perimeter-walled fences
That barricades good neighbours?
On metal gates, there are warning signs
Of mbwa kali (fierce dogs) and 24-hour surveillance
What happened? What changed?

I thought if I came over and said my greetings
Like good neighbours do, the least I could expect
Was a thermos flask full of tea and perhaps
Little of suspicious looks
But not so

Instead, neighbours know each other
If their flowerpots are knocked over by neighbour’s children
Eye-brows knit, gates are opened for process servers
Suddenly, they know each other
If the other pumps over his home theatre’s volume
Of course to out-compete the other’s house all-night prayers

I stand in-between these Berlin-walled residences
I wonder to myself, wasn’t it a thief’s theory
That the higher the wall, the mighty the residence
Which equals more likelihood for attack?

In the past, it was my business
To know how many children my neighbor has
If his child sat while I passed, I taught it manners
If I try it today, they call it ‘assault’
If I find out why they are not awake on a Saturday morning
They call it ‘intrusion to privacy’

Is this the new form of neighbourliness?


Photo credit: Link


Tuesday 8 May 2012

The Bridge of God





this river flows, Pilgrim, down
to daraja mungu, the bridge of God.
upstream, the rushing waters chocked between rocks
some parted under the sturdy roots of mukuyu, the baobab
others, in a moment of youthful folly, broke banks
as if, like fish, they could live on dryland

so, the cool waters thus flow
many a drunkard tested their levels
not with sticks but their knees
the small curls, sensual yet unbridled
deep mangroves roots held tight
where this river leads, pray pilgrim,
we might not know; yet, it holds such
depth of conviction


Poem shared with: Magpie Tales




Sunday 6 May 2012

Wait, Where Did We Bury It? (Florette)


I promised that I will be back. Now I am. And what a great way than to try a poetry form known as a florette.

The challenge at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads  this Sunday was this:
 
Florette:


Rhyme scheme: a, a, b, a
Meter (syllable count): 8, 8, 8, 12
Fourth line requirement of internal (b) rhyme scheme, on syllable 8.
The completed poem should consist of two or more stanzas.


xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxb
xxxxxxxbxxxa

Here’s my attempt:


Pilgrim, across the cemetery of wasted
words, show me just one most jaded
by the tongue. Ignore the weed of orphaned
idiom, just walk across and tell me the wisdom,
such is my thought vested.

I want you, most fairly, to be judge;
though you be immortal, candour is your badge.
Exhume the words, then, go ahead fellow
Pilgrim, I have the Court Order fellow Pilgrim,
Will you budge?

Thursday 3 May 2012

BIO-LUMINESCENCE


Credit: Google


If I have to stand here and peer into the future
I can see next week resplendent in BIO-LUMINESCENCE
(Oh, Koko, that word, I love it)
I can see the ray that I clasped in my palm
Course through again in my being

For a good cause, fellow pilgrims
For after a long wait looking into the East
The warm beam has settled on me
So much has the skies given
So much has Tororot been favourable!

Here I am, sitting pretty
And now, like never before,
I will consult my Muse—
After all, the echoes only reverberate—
And across the hills and caves again
You will hear the pilgrimage songs
The voice remains distinct, the message is still clear
What will change is the intensity, pilgrim

Did I say  BIO-LUMINESCENCE?
Yes, that’s right, BIO-LUMI(Rumi?)-ESSENCE.



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