This World Has Changed Much

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I don’t want to talk about religion

You have what you believe in

Whether you be a Catholic, Protestant,

Muslim, Buddhist, Theosophist

Agnostic

Anything

I don’t want to question anyone’s belief system

That is beyond me

I leave that to Metaphysicists and thinkers

You can read their essays, probe their wisdom

That is not my function

But it troubles me

If only we lived by what our religions taught

If only we strove to be Religion’s Teachings

The Bible,The Quran, The Upanishads,

The Gitas, The Key to Theosophy—name them—

All these, even Tolstoy’s Gospel in Brief,

Materially urge upon us to replicate goodness

So, why do we kill?

Throughout history, Nations kill in the name of God,

“To protect their sovereignty”, they claim

And as soldiers are dispatched

Religious leaders pray for them

“God of Love,” they pray,

“Protect our soldiers. Let them not fall in

 the harm’s way.”

It is as if when the bellies of their ‘enemies’

Blow into shreds, those are toy bellies

That haven’t fallen in ‘harm’s way’

We have glorified war

Little toy games orient our minds to bloodpath

We watch the scariest horror movies

Where blood, like geyser, spurt from decapitated heads

And as such, we grow numb, we become dumb

Tell me which war was worth human life?

Tell me whether men create lives, show me a cause for war

Then when we annihilated ourselves

And called it ‘upholding security’

Or ‘protecting strategic interests’

All that was wanted was your voice,

YOUR VOICE,

To say, “WE ARE GOING AGAINST RELIGION”

“TO KILL IS THE GRAVEST ABERRATION, SIN!”

But you kept quiet.

It was some contradiction, wasn’t it?

When you stood at the pulpit or in mosque

Or whatever hallowed grounds you stood

Preaching about Love even for your enemies

And somehow became decidedly mum

On the cannons decimating human population

Which fear overwhelmed you?

I thought you could speak Truth

Because you kept quiet,

Millions of lives are getting lost

Because you still keep quiet,

No one speaks against the war,

Because you keep quiet,

Commands are given to kill

Murder is rewarded

The nonsense goes on and on

But imagine if YOU stood your ground

And said, “My belief teaches me of Love,

My conscience WILL NOT allow me

To allow the KILLING and BLOODBATH!”

Imagine if you met the Presidents and Kings

And told them, “God has sent me to you,

To tell you that your hands are dipped in human blood

And that He has commanded that you STOP IT!”

May be by doing that, war will end.

May be, by doing that, war would have ended.

But you chose to be silent.

Two Sets of Prayers to the Same God

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The oppressor prays:

“Our Father Who Art In Heaven,

Imbue in me strength and will

As strong as the Jail Cells

To be armoured against

The little vermins nibbling

At my feet;

Give me strength, I beseech thee,

To thunder edicts to be followed

As sheep to the slaughterhouse;

Which rights have they, the Ingrates,

As to doubt the timber of my voice?

Don’t they know after you, I follow?

All I want is more fire in my bones

A certain deathliness to my voice

Let me be the source of terror”

In the same prayer corner,

The Oppressed whispers:

“The Silent One, The Great One,

Though I be at the shadow of the valley of death

To be crushed at the suffocating boots

Of my Earthly Master

Let my earthly whines be unto you

I don’t need explosives

All the pain within me, if I let them,

Can explode me

My mind is like an LPG tanker

A little scratch can detonate my brains

My heart is soiled with injustice—

A dark alley of blind rage against men

I have no prayer skills of a chaplain

So I will tell you of how depraved I am

Like an antelope with an arrow on its back

I have run here, weary and tired and dying

I have no grace to beat my chest

For I have no chest

All I have is a slab of embalmed passions

Nothing excites me anymore

I will not talk of freedom, though you grant it,

I will not pray for power, though you grant it,

I will not pray for revenge, though my heart seethes,

Your depraved servant (O, how ill-equipped am I to request)

Yearns for GRACE to live through

All your servant yearns for is GRACE

The injustices of this world are beyond me

Because I have no mind, resources or skill

To think of the misery I have been subjected to”

Two different prayers to the same God

And God’s mediator, exercising better judgement,

Invites the Oppressor to the altar

“To address the brethren”, he says

The Oppressor has the wits and fluency

Often quoting the Bible,

The Eternal Message of Love

Even for his brethren, the Oppressed,

O, how prayers unite petitions

A common cause to the God of Love.

Live Each Moment As If It Was The Last

Ninety years of life, ninety years of sigh

Apprehension, depression,

Life rushed for that perpetual bliss

Always futuristic

As if the magic of Now was a mirage!

Ah, what waste! What loss!

All you would have needed were seconds

Nine seconds in every nine seconds

To watch Akorinos dancing bare feet

See them sweating, beating drums

Or watch the earnest face of a child

At Aga Khan Walk learning skating

Or keep your eyes open to life’s humours

When sorrow befalls you

Let that moment occupy your heart

Cry, feel that pain, experience it

If you are keen enough

Out of sorrows and man’s darkest hours

Were man’s dawn of morning birthed

I watched somewhere

You trick your heart when sad

You tell it, “All is well”

You repeat it

Thinking back, I say those words

They are my mantra

The taste of life gets bland

Soon when we dream of a magical garden

When at our doorstep is a rose;

We dream of amassing esoteric knowledge

Yet we never ask why we can’t sambaza phone battery power;

We dream of houses and cars

Yet our hearts are decrepit shacks

Lacking in the essence of Truth;

We postpone our lives till everything is ‘perfect’

Yet fail to realize the imperfections of today

Make life worth living

So, let the Wheel of Time spin,

I will catch all its pleasures and sadness

I will live each moment as if it were my last

I will not rush anything, I will not be afraid of living

I have realized the magic of Now.

Let Us Piggyback Today

Let us

Piggyback

Today

Let us throw

caution to the wind—

And be children.

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Pact With the Sun

New Year, 1^st.1.2012, greeted my face

On the plains of Kacheliba

Surrounded by Kacheliba Hill

Shabaha Hill, Kadam Hill

As if I was in a kraal

Protected from the uncertainties

Beyond the walls of my Reality

There is something about Sunrise

The death of night, the birth of day

The ball of energy rising above the hills

Cold gives way to warmth, darkness to light

The morning sun is like millet porridge

You sip in bits—you can’t have enough of it!

So, with such a bright new year

Land illuminated with radiance and energy

Who was I, Lorot Son of the Hills,

Not to be bathed in her caressing beam?

At that moment, I made a pact with the Sun—

Not that she could fail me, nay—

That whatever positive energy she lit me

I will carry it through my day

At sunset, I will watch her

To be renewed in her Rejuvenation Phase

That there will be no sunrise nor sunset

That I will let the glory of my life be dulled

And if the Sun burnt my skin

I will remind her, “Love, go easy on me,

I have the whole day of my life,

How will I feel your rays when my skin,

Like a leper’s, is dead to the Truth?”

I will remind the sun

That I will need a piece of her “fiery ball”

Just an iota imbedded in my heart

For sometimes when my heart is dampened

I will need some fire to sparkle an inferno

In a world full of flooded fireplaces

Of dreams that never sparkled, intentions that

Never lit

Some days, I will urge upon the sun,

Like sunset, to watch life’s mysteries

Repose

That I should remember that

Even the sun dies everyday

Sometimes all I will need is to

Realize the frailties of this life

I got a portion of positive energy

The sun of my life is up

I have a pact with the sun

The year 2012 will be a radiant year

The joke in town is:

People’s lives will be so bright

They will need some sunglasses.

14 New Year Resolutions from Echoes of the Hills

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Tororot has seen fit that we see this beautiful year 2012. I had been away for the festive season and now I am back. New Year Resolutions are all the rage now. For the fans of my poetry, this is the New Year Resolution from Echoes of the Hills:

1.       As a continuation of the Echoes, in 2012 there are wonderful things lined up for you. What makes it more exciting is that I made pilgrimage to the Shabaha Hills on two occasions. I am renewed. And when I say I am renewed, I don’t say it lightly. I sat on a boulder, drank in the sights of Kacheliba, did some soul, nay, hill-searching. The echoes will reverberate.

2.       It gets better. I am a better person today. This will reflect in my thoughts and words.

3.       I will try as much as possible to comment on my friends’ blogs. With hindsight, I realize that there were times a comment would have stropped our creativity.

4.       I will continue accepting criticisms. These will make me grow.

5.       I will continue with my child-like curiosity. It is by asking “why” and observing things in a new sense that will bring originality within me.

6.       I will try as much as possible to write my best.

7.       I will follow my heart and write what I deem fit for the moment. My poems are my inspirations.

8.       I will use my poetry to speak for the voiceless. I will use them to praise virtue and ridicule vice. I will use it to educate.

9.       I will use my poetry especially considering that it is an election year in Kenya to give some sort of civic education. I will mock hate-speech, tear at ethnicity and advocate for good governance. I will strive not to be mired in divisive politics for what happened in Kenya in 2007/2008 was caused by bellicose words that inflamed the hearts of a people. I am guilty. I would rather talk about butterflies and the sunrise which could form my Reality and are anyway universal than risk replaying the precursor of what happened during Post Election. I will exercise maximum restraint because my words, especially when carefully spun, have the potential to cause a brother turn against brother. But the same words could help build, restore, educate. All I need is the perspective and grace to do so.

10.   You will be the judge. This blog is all about you. I will respond to your encouragements, answer your queries, take your feedback seriously. If I falter, tell me. If I father ideas, tell me. If I don’t falter and I don’t father ideas, tell me. Sometimes all I need is a word.

11.   I will feed my mind this year with the best and purest thoughts ever known to man (and woman). It is by being a consummate reader that we become better writers and beings. I will feed my soul with books that extol virtues, teach me life skills and motivate me. I will work on expanding my collection of poetry, short stories, novels.

12.   I will wait for a surprise this year. Let us wait for a surprise. It could be our luckiest break ever. Meanwhile, fellow pilgrim, let us be ready when the opportunity comes. I will prepare for it continuously and when it comes I will know it, hold it and flee with it to the Horizons.

13.   Have you ever thought of writing something? Anything? Don’t feel ashamed. I write silly poetry. I will continue writing it. By the time I reach forty it would have made sense. I chose to make it public so that by exposing my limitations to all and sundry, I show to you that there is no bravery that surpasses that of a budding poet writing bad poetry in public. Good thing is that no one canes you! Ha ha.

14.   The other day I told my friends that I was staring at a circle and that I was wondering where the first dot was and that I was confused. One good friend of mine wrote: “Don’t be confused. A dot is itself a circle. Shade the nucleus of the big one and identify it as a dot. There you are!” I asked: ‘But what if the first dot is to solve some puzzle—like to find out where the circle starts?—I know I am moving in circles’. Upon which they said that it was a ‘wild-goose chase’ and that it sounded ‘like a roundabout’. My other good friend responded: ‘Stop this circle business. Who the hell cares where the first dot was placed or whether a dot is a circle? It is like half full or half empty. Put your mind to something constructive.’ Which was sensible. I thanked them for their indulgence and pointed out, at least from my own thinking, that the mystery lies in the first dot and the last. That when one starts drawing, more pressure is applied at the tip. That the same also applies to the last dot and that therein lay my quaqmire. How I wished we continued beyond this. Who knows what we would have discovered. And when you come to think of it, poetry is all about silly things—emotions, stars, moon, wind, waves.  Great things like gravity were about silly things like an apple falling (surely!). There is a level we limit our minds to. We should never let this tragedy befall us in 2012. What appears to be a circular argument could be a nebulous one.

As you would have noticed, the Resolutions are very broad. That assists both of us—me, from your claim of being “short-changed” by me at the end of the year; and you, from having a lot of hard and fast expectations which will disappoint you. Unless something very drastic happens, like my failure to pay my premiums to the Muse or I am kidnapped by aliens (UFOs), you will continue enjoying poetry here.

I don’t know what my first poem this year will be about. Let us see what will echo. Please don’t descend from the hills. You may sit on the boulders, if you must, but don’t descend from the hills.

Your Servant on Muse,

Thank You Tororot For This Year

As we draw close to the end of this year, I have so many things to be thankful for.

I thank Tororot for speaking to the hearts of three kindest souls who paid my fees at Kenya School of Law. God demonstrated once again that He is the provider of all that we desire. Up to now, I have not figured out how I came to the Law School. To these vessels that Divine Providence used to expand my horizons, I speak blessings to their lives. I don’t have gold to offer but a heart that will touch other people’s lives.

I thank my mother, brothers and sisters, relatives, friends who stood by me all this time. The path I took is a bit difficult to understand. It gets complicated when I mix it with some writing and poetry. One day you will fully realize the import of all these.

I thank Sherry Blue Sky, my Koko, who has been my “koko” always encouraging me in my poetry and fundamental issues in society. She has let me grow in wisdom. She has had a tremendous impact in my life. Never had I figured out that a blog could unite two souls from such diverse backgrounds and geographical locations. I owe it to her of learning the word “bioluminescence” and “Yippee” and “Yay” and “Wowzers” ( And “argh”, ha ha).

I thank all my fellow poets and readers of my poetry especially Madhumakhi, TheUnknowngnome, Andy and so many other warm souls who have graced my blog. There are others who have always read my poetry and I may not know them by name but your presence means a lot to me.

I thank all those inspirational sites I call “mountains” to the Echoes of the Hills for their continuous  prompts, encouragement, information and dedication to our Muses. Their toil can hardly be compared to anything. They carry the love of poetry and humanity in their hearts. Such a virtue needs praise!

I thank all my Facebook friends, My Fanpage community, my twitter followers and all those friends I interact with in the social media. Whoever thought the social media would have united us all? Thanks for being there for me. Thanks for keeping me going.

2011 has been a tremendous year.  I have grown in so many ways. And with the grace of The Supreme God, I look forward to 2012 with a renewed vision, a child-like curiosity in observing nature and professional growth. If 2011 has been a window through which I look into my future, then how excited am I to sprint into it, marvel at its beauty, bring change with whatever seed Tororot has planted inside my heart and yet remain humble in realizing that we are but mere mortals and not greater than any other in this world.

God, you have a reason why I have lived this far. I trust in your Divine Providence. Create within me the desire to be a servant, to be your slave. Let me not harbour any resentment over anything. Let no anger poison my heart or mind. If I do anything, however small, let it be out of love. Lord, of your abundant Grace, that overflows in the path my life has taken, fill my heart with gratitude and contentment. I have not been any better than a beggar or a stranger with no house. I have not done anything special to deserve such mercy. If anything, Lord, I have fallen short of your Grace. You have let blessings chase me as if they were a mighty waterfall. I have not used my strength and where I have used I did not succeed without your hand. Where I have drank from the cup of sorrow, you have stretched a chalice full of encouragements, love and contentment. There is a path to all these, Lord. That is all I know. You are busy pulling the strings here and there. You have pulled me from humble beginnings and placed me among the privileged. You have not looked at my limitations but you have always expanded me. Tororot, I am not worthy yet you have made me a story of Your greatness. The limitations of our human tongue cannot express the height of my gratitude to You.

At that note, Echoes of the Hills wishes everyone here Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2012. Keep well, dear reader. If Tororot sees it fit that we get into the year 2012, we will do this again next year. It only gets better. O, the excitement to all this!

Your Servant on Muse,

Lorot Son of the Hills

(16/12/2011)

Elegy to the Dying Planet

Not many years ago
You could drink water straight from a flowing stream

Not many years ago
You could walk barefoot and be at peace

Not many years ago
We could say when it would rain

Not anymore.

Lakes, rivers, streams
Chocked with industrial wastes

Broken glasses, plastic, clothes, chemicals
Strangling the last breaths of the soil

Erratic rains, unsteady rain patterns
False clouds, the Met Guys know it!

Dangerous fumes let loose
Intoxicating the skies

Nations rocking bombs, nuclear race
Senseless experiments for “superiority”
And so, Nations converge in some Conferences
Waving the magical wand—we have the solution
So they recite the symptoms and hide the prescription
It is a power game and well guarded interests prevail

Meanwhile, the Climate Change is some exciting talk
You see, to cool off some steam from hot politics
Nations send their own to commit to what they won’t fulfill
Tell me, where is the panic
When all we see is a planet teetering off to oblivion?
Surely, there would have been some urgency
If “national interests” were at stake, right?

So, hyacinths literally suffocate lakes,
Oil leak into water masses,
Buildings are erected on streams,
Forests are depleted,
Wildlife poached,
Condemned buildings are built
Only to collapse and bury the innocent
In Naivasha, flamingos drank pesticides
Emitted from flower farms
Now, Naivasha is an Elegy


Ours is a world gone insane
Multi-billion industries raking billions
And wrecking havoc;
What is the “market value” of pure air?
What is the price-tag of a marabou stork perched on a tree?
Which money will buy Paradise Lost?
What of the Maasai Mara?
Yet, money will exchange hands
For a “private developer” to build on a stream
Where was Environmental Impact Assessment?
Who honours Kyoto Protocol?

This is the Eulogy to a dying Planet
Never in our history are we in much danger
This planet is falling apart!

Lamentations

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Once a full land teeming with heroic sons and daughters,

Feet sprightly, hearts full of love, humility at its best

We saw them being born to the land

And as we severed their umbilical cords

We buried them in this land

To unite them with our ancestors

That pain we buried, the soil bore that pain

We never cared much about the raging floods,

The occasional ilat, the scorching sun,

The mad chepkrrir that blew round and round

Spinning at the centre of our being, irritating

Collecting dust and blinding our eyes with grit

Yes, even that we cared less

Once or twice, in the baraza

In search of truth, anger could take over

And in that moment of blind fury

Elbow could brush against elbow

For we never hit another at the stomach

For if they died, we would pay lapai

But we always looked up to the sun

Whoever lacked millet, we gave

Whoever lacked milk, we gave

The barren couples, we despised not

Our children slept in their homes

For love defined us, Tororot gave children

Our brave sons were fed with k’soyo

Made to drink fresh blood and milk

Walk bare-chested in the rain

As if that cold was some initiation

To the warm company of our departed warriors

Thus, there was no thorn-tree, no forest,

No darkness, no danger

Our brave sons could not bear

And if some succumbed to death

We left them in the bush

Whispered silent prayers

And moved on—not all live through this life

Our daughters would grow at the laps of their grandmothers

Taught the secrets of making their men happy

They would grow with virtues

To be taught that the first shaft of dawn

Shouldn’t find her tucked on-top of a mud-bed

That she would jump from the bed, bolt to the river

Be back to milk the cows and be done with breakfast

Before the sun rays touch upon the brows of her woken husband

She would oil herself, sew her beads, thatch her hut

Scold a girl not seated properly, gather firewood—

All these in one span of a day and another and another

When we quarreled, we used our mouths

Not hands

And as we spoke, we traded no insult

We abused no one, we despised no one

Even a whisper of insult to a madman

Was met with heavy reproach

For madmen were angels Tororot sent to us

To test the granary of our tolerance

Thus we lived, the sons and daughters of the hills,

If a day passed with anger in our hearts

We were worried

For bitterness was a poison

That even milk from our cows wouldn’t neutralise

We had learnt to speak in the ways of our people

To bring us together, to speak of our dark skins

To unite us in the tongue our ancestors taught us

We knew that the Sun was a jealous woman

As she rises from kong’asis, she demands attention

So we always bolted from sleep, chased after our cattle

Walked miles and miles before she rose

We knew how to rise to our fields

To plant sorghum and millet

Have time for the baraza, have time to harvest honey,

Have time to make babies, have time to speak to our children

Thus, when a day passed, and as cows came home

We could rest knowing we did our part

Laziness was not part of us

We kept our promises, too,

When we married and never had cows

We said, “Kinsmen, please wait till the next rains

When these calves will feed on green grass and fatten

But first give us our wife”

And with our words, we married

For we were honourable men

Our words were like the words of a mondö

We learnt to speak our frustrations

If a Chief failed to include our names in the Relief List

We told him so, but we never abused him

For Tororot provides leaders

We gave him the opportunity to tell us

For in the ways of our people

You don’t tie an adulterer to a köndölo tree

Without first inquiring from them

For we also believed in justice

We could not condemn a man unheard

These have been our ways as sons and daughters of the hills

These have defined us

But what have we seen?

Ashes of cindered dreams

We failed looking up to the sun

Thus our sights have been on trees

Snapping at the slightest winds!

We ceased being word merchants

Speaking on the wealth of our idioms and proverbs

Instead, our mouths have been filled

With words more obnoxious than the fart of a honey badger!

Our words have become the distant cricket sounds

Announcing of death;

Like the empty snuff bottle

They hang on the chests of old men

Without use, not even the incessant tapping helps;

In the past, we made promises and kept them

But now we tell them and swear by our ancestors

Yet fail to keep them—tell me, the whispers were carried by the winds

The caves of the hills echoed them, will you lie to nature?

We ceased being honourable men

Our days are filled with irrelevancies

Men chasing money, ideals flushed down the drain,

Mannequins of still ideas, collective hopes of a generation

Hurled to the winds of penury, convictions without conscience,

Positions without responsibility, visions without convictions

Yet, you could expect, in the least,

That there could be some semblance of reason

To order this confusion into clarity

But none!

The sun still shines

It still rains

And every day,

You hear the hills sigh

The uneasy tension of the trees

Snap

But it is business as usual

Yes, it is business as usual.