Friday, 3 February 2017

my faith is not dead

dear Lokwanale,

my faith is not dead.



the blood shed on the ndazabazadde,

the torture tree at Namugongo,

the leaping flames from

burning reed that

rose

from human feet to head

as Mukaajaanga’s men speared and axed

and executed



all for defying the King

and believing in God.



they dragged them on their bare backs,

dear Lokwanale.

their flesh torn

their bones jutting

the open palms of the pyre

welcomed their sore bodies

soon the cackling sounds of burnt flesh reeked



not curses did Mukaajaanga’s men hear

but the silent rising crescendo of hymns.



yes, my faith is not dead.

for where they died in 1886

is this poem now sprout.



at Busaale, where Ssenkoole burnt Lwanga

under Ggirikiti tree

at the very spot where the pyre lay

and a few metres where their ashes are kept



was this poem written in my heart.

C) Salem Lorot/echoesofthehills 2017

~





Notes:

On Wednesday, 1st February 2016, I visited both the Catholic Basilica at Busaale, Namugongo and the Anglican site where the Uganda martyrs were executed up to 3rd June 1886. A total of 25 martyrs were burnt en masse.

3 comments:

Sherry Blue Sky said...

This poem written in your heart is a fine tribute to the fallen martyrs. I am always happy to see you writing, Grandson!!!! I could almost feel the pain of their bodies being dragged along the road.

indybev said...

You've drawn a dramatic and soul-searching picture of that long ago tragedy. Beautiful wordmastery!

Sanaa Rizvi said...

Beautifully written :)

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