N. SIMON KAGIMA

N. SIMON KAGIMA

QUEST OF MOTHER NATURE

Those days, mom narrated to me

Cats and mice had broken cords

None saw the other in common arena

Had pondered it to be the renaissance

My African mom had driven point home.

Those days, dogs and cats had broken cords

They never communed neither entertained presence

My African mother told me that we

Resembled the latter

When our ‘Lord’ haunted on us;

Every side and region, guarded us against knowledge

By a watchdog so wild.

We played and danced watched

Our knowledge streams had scrutinized

Misfortune reprimanded their nights’ prey

But my seer—our seer had instructed

Resistance was essential for survival

Therefore, we ‘mice’ and ‘cats’ acted

The watchdog humiliated shook our hands for

On Lords’ heart to motif pleasantness

A resultant was distilled liberation

In castles they always wish to dine with us

Our ancient black castles full of vive and goodies

Deprives! No more

Only fashioned sanctions on necessities to have us en-shackled

But own black pots cook best.

Shauku la Mama

Enzi zile mama alisimulia

Jadi paka na panya hawakuafikiana

Tazamana singe hata chuanoni

Yamkini miamko

Mamangu wa Kiafrika katanguliza.

Mbwa na paka katu hawakuafikiana

Hata maangweni kutizamana

Wa pili tulielekea kufana

Mamangu mwafrika alidonosa

Punde bwana hutuwinda

Kote kuzuia hekima kwenye bongo zetu

Kuwana kwa mbwa gali

Tulikata viuno mwangani

Chemi zetu za arifa kakachero

Lakini

Bahati mbaya windoni mwao kakithiri

Kumbe mwonaji alibashiri

Kwamba sharti mkinzano ili kuishi

Japo sisi ‘paka’ na ‘panya’ walishirikiana.

Mbwa aliitwaa mikono yetu tokana na aibu

Ili kuiremba michongoma kwa mabwana

Hatimaye uhuru uliochungwa

Kasirini hutamani kuungana nasi

Kasirini mwetu ifukayo kwa raha

Pasi na hunjuma

Ila tu adhabu zilizokiuka kutuzuia

Bali vyungu vyeusi ni bora zaidi kwetu.

TRAVELLERS’ TAVERN

A bushy path spilling with dust

Twigs and elderly grass

That inhibit a strolling heel

That meanders to rest on soft earth;

By and by vicinity clearing

The path opens up to

An epochal site on top of 

African Aberdare Ranges.

A site to behold indeed

Beside it a chimney fogged with

Thick smoke.

Birds humming Carols; Owls hooting,

Hummers knocking on barks

Butterflies in their swarms massing

Vultures and eagles gyrate for catch

High up yonder; above winds

The after mid sun rebuking small clouds demeanour

Proposedly to scotch off dumpy environ.

Steps close to hasp

A first folded repeatedly clamour on door

Chubby cheeks with elevated hem of Mini

Hulls open the wooden chariot of a door

The gap between fore teeth melt the ego

With a salutation.

Kituo wa Wasafiri

Vichoro tanda kwenye nyasi

Miche mikavu miongoni mwa majani yaliyopepesuka

Yanayotandikia nyayo za viguu

Zimakinikao pasipo na kivumbi

Punde anga hung’aa.

Kijia chacharia huchana hadi

Kuelekea mji wa kale

Titsi usimamao peoni za vilima Abadea

 Sanaa yenye sinzaa si haba

Barazani dohani hurembwa na mfuko uliokiuka.

Nyuni wakighani, bundi hulia

Huku nyundo kwenye miti gome

Vipeo wafurahikia umoja wao kwa wingi

Tai wakiviringa angani

Urefu wa maelfu ya kimo huku

Kuvizia lishe

Jua la alasiri hunong’onea viwingu tanda

Mkinzano unaobatiliza ukali wa umande

Karibu langoni

Ngumi huelekea kutahini miimo

Mara tu kimada mwenye shavu liviringao

Hulegeza bano mlangoni gari

Mwanya kwenye meno hutamausha

Huku amkuo likinogea kwenye sikio.

MY CHILDHOOD MEMOIRS 

During infancy, just after speech

Just after bosom lounge’s luxury eradicated

Had learnt valued wisdom

That of descent to swamps, then streams

Where the mystery of ancient laid

Naked eyes, glanced at the propel of tadpoles

Upon, learnt that harmless splendour was

The dragon flies close mount on dorsal

The colourful butterflies’ hip-hop across patches of clay

The crabs that haste-fully burrowed

With raised detectors

Shrimps that readily would attack

I reckon the bees that buzzed for water

The sparrows like pilgrims never perching at three

Insects meaning much

Wasps rolled mud into tiny balls for granary

The Nding’oing’os working rolls of mud with hinds

Ants ferried sugarcanes fibre into their mansions

A clue of pure innate wisdom.

Tafakari la Uchangani

Pale uchangani, tu baada ya usemi

Baada ya hatima ya liwazo penye titi

Mausia kajifunza

Ya kutua kwenye dimbwi hata vijito

Siri za kuenzi zilipokolea.

Uwazi kwenye peo machoni uliponogea

Nilijipasha umantiki

Tuo za joka-kuruka utosini

Vipeo warembo tuo kwenye undongo

Kaa wakijichopeka mchangani

Huku wameziinua gondi

Kamba walivyo kaa chonjo kuvizia

Nataswiria nyuki walivyong’ong’a

Ndege wasiotua mithili ya wasafiri masafa

Dudu wa kuenziwa

Mavu wakiviringa tope za bohari

Nding’oing’o kwa maguu nyuma wakiringa tope

Siafu walivyosheheni kwa ganda la muwa

Sanaa dhahiri hekima ya kiumbile

ETERNALLY TOSSED AFRICAN CHILD

An African woman takes to play

with her only child—her only son

Neighbours at distance watch envious

of the woman’s pride. Some with an

evil tongue with their heart’s instincts

mocking and cursing.

The woman unsuspecting puts on her baby

leaves and animal garments

as she tosses it in the air.

An emissary of evil—a dark spirit

looms. Danger that lurk in day

has eye on the baby.

A simple recurrent toss in the air turns

a myth—an eternal story to tell.

The baby, as if pulled by a force

of gravity to heavens, falls into the sky:

his stature gradually diminishes within her heart

as the baby kicks trying

onto the skirts—the hems of air to grip.

The mother shrieks: screams in attempt

to find an elevated dais for reach:

calls on every god’s name for pardon and mercy:

pleads never to do such

But,

an evil eye pitches on the African son.

The woman wails—no attempts to console suffice

her bereavement and anguish of

her son’s where about, which

would but be an eternal toss.

THE RICH DARK CULTURE

Like quakes at volcano rapture’s

venting vulgar as without refrain

hips gyrating successively as concordance;

the drum beats changelled,

the anklets brayed,

thick clouds of earth lifted

slow in motion after rhythm.

The environs—audience would jubilate

when thighs flipped open—

when nipples called forth

for a willing dancer from numb

From the drummers witchcraftsy,

just after the initiation culminated,

souls would perspire

craving for more

as elders witnessed the escalation

whose rich culture they were custodians.

The convoy would halt as

the prince pawed on the Savannah’s

humus. His heart throbbing at sight—

the sight of a virgin’s hymen which

meant to penetrate heart at all cost

upon sitting on the throne

lifts his ancient sceptre for choice

that would pour cold water on his restless soul.

The onlookers in full sight still:

The outside world marvels at such a scene

which be ancient dark culture.

WHY DO YOU?

Segregate my African family

as a hunter’s divide and prey.

Family once ambienced with laughter:

babies chuckling at their fathers, with

kins eavesdropping on bed squeaks

which rattled with rhythmical hurls

of flesh communes at midday

Co-wives heartily laughed

as brothers guarded against lions invasion

while kids conducted singing games.

Now hurts to see kin turn against kin,

flesh for flesh

with hearts of stone,

none minds look on another,

silence has abode in relations and villagers

like lost sheep hobble without sense.

A dark spirit dines within

as YOU proud religious

not remembering an iota of

This heinous revolution.

N. SIMON KAGIMA

NAIROBI, KENYA

N. S. KAGIMA is a Poet and an author. He has authored two poetry books and a novel. He also prides in authorship of short stories. His poetry has featured on Newsletters, magazines and online alongside being used in Kenyan high schools pedagogical processes. The poet is also the president of The Kagima Foundation where he intends to nurture upcoming poets. Kagima studied BED  in English and Literature for his undergraduate at Kenyatta University, Kenya.