Storm in a Tea Cup

Ella, at Poets United, has done it again. Wacky, last week and Weird this week. And she is brewing tea and making us feel envious of her cups. So, to be weird, I have run away with a plastic cup to the marketplace of ideas and here we have boiled chai. Please mind your lips. Weird is the codename.

~

 

It was a strong mixture of burnt tea leaves and water

From a cooking pot, steamy and lit,

Its lid chattered, unable to contain the heat

The boiling temperatures, exceeded beyond measure,

Could not relent

With a vengeance, perhaps to atone the cold outside

The lit firewood crackled, knotting up with fiery determination

Chai, as we call it here,

Would be served in plastic cups

Dexteriously handled by frozen hands

The steam whistling a warning

By the warm moist it exclaims on the parched lips

Ella, those expensive cups I have seen them

Though broken, dumped by the fences of my tajiri

By their reflection in the sun, I was reminded of

Fragility, the ephemeral being we all are

Not that I don’t have those cups, no no,

I have them and I store them in the cup boards

Reserved for my guests

My family could do with plastic cups anyway

Sometimes I think life is about chai

The temperature might be intimidating

But soon, its heat is lost

Who ever came up with the phrase

‘Storm in a tea-cup’ had me in mind

Now, I think I need to send him a memo

And ask if he meant my plastic cup or Ella’s

#WamathaiSeptember

 

Yours truly at a recent event, Wamathai September, performing two pieces, the Alphabet of Kenya and the Fool's Declaration.

My kudos to the amazing talents we have and to the organizers for giving me the platform.

Wamathai is a literary hub in Kenya. It has given so many budding writers, poets, musicians and artists a platform to showcase their talents and link up with contemporary colleagues in their genres. You might want to drop by their site and read what up and coming writing in Kenya is like.

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echoes of the hills.

Dear Mr. President

Dear Mr. President,

On behalf of the Kenyan child, I am deeply disturbed by the ongoing teachers’ strike. It is three weeks now yet schools have not resumed. Meanwhile, as teachers keep off from class and time is wasted, I feel that you alone can end the strike. Remember Sir that you are the one who promised Free Primary Education and save for some glitches here and there, it has been a success.

So, Mr. President, why should this success be tainted with the ongoing teacher strike? Why should the Kenyan child suffer? Is it worth it, Sir, that the children in public schools should bear the brunt of some collective agreements signed sometimes back or the aloofness that your Ministers and KNUT officials have lately taken?

Mr. President, I appeal to you to provide a solution to this unfortunate turn of events. Please do something. The ping-pong between the Finance Minister, Hon. Njeru Githae, and the KNUT officials is not helping matters. Certainly, Mr. President, you are an old, wise man, even a proverb could do at least we would know that you are considering the problem.

If this escalates to next week, Mr. President, the effect on the Kenyan child would be a disaster. The exams are one week away, we are fast becoming a “striking nation” and most certainly you would have dimmed the futures of so many children and stunted the growth of education in Kenya forever.

Yesterday, Mr. President, I talked to a 12-year old child. I asked him what he wanted to become when he grows up. Without batting his eyelid, he blurted out: a doctor. And I felt very sad in my heart. His eyes burnt with passion and certainty. But in my heart, I muttered, “Mr. President should have heard this”. But again, Mr. President, if our doctors strike and our teachers have deserted classrooms, what hope do we give to this 12-year old? Should he be doomed to a penury he did not help create?

Over to you, Mr. President. Think about that 12-year old.

Your dutiful citizen,

echoesofthehills.

I am not my hair

Ella, at Poets United, has invited us to write on the theme ‘wacky’ at the Wonder???Wednesday. I invite you all to write on the theme. Let us have fun.

~ 

Image culled from amazon

My idea of a wacky Wednesday

Is to sit meditatively in the office

As if I was about to stumble upon our company’s missing idea

Yet, if my boss peeped into my mind

I would be thinking about my receding hairline.

Echoesy Shop

 

The hills too are ‘timeworn’

Save for a few scratches on rocks

By cheeky monkeys

The paintings aren’t that bad

Are they, Vicki?

Etsy Shop? No

Echoesy Shop.

Fire Matters

Teary-eyed, we still sit at the “hearth”

Smoke never killed, we were always told

With grass as our roof and mud on walls

We live simply, this fire cooks our food

See me, pilgrim, creating fire

(Seen me yet? Well, I am the one in a black coat)

It is a ritual, on bended knee we almost ‘prostrate’

We draw air into our lungs, then

Aim it at the heart of the smoke

Then…then fire

And then we settle to tell each other tales