He had to be as sly as the hare

Because wherever he’d be there’d be a snare

Laid by the hunter anywhere.

He was also warned about the bear,

Who after winter left his lair

Sniffing about here and there,

Turning rocks around without  a care,

looking around for his meat everywhere.

He was told to be aware

That the big boys paws don’t tear

Off his fur coat and leave him bare.

He was informed that all the wealth

Came with heaps of worry and ill health,

That despite wits he’d need the extra breath

To carry him across the lands long length.

He’d need too extra mental strength

To help him fight regular thoughts of imminent death.

They told him it mattered not wether he did or did not bathe,

For he was one with lots of wealth.

wise men unto him would sayeth,

‘Never ever procrastinath’

Another million holymen would tell him by word of mouth

Straight to his face. Give to us just a tenth.

They told him it was nothing small,

To be a millionaire he’d have it all.

The beautiful girl and the wide shopping mall,

The ear of His Majesty down at city hall.

Although he wasn’t wide nor tall

People would get out of his way whenever he took a stroll

On the vast city’s streets with all showing awe.

but was warned that some planned his fall,

Others wanted to rob his beloved son of his ball.

The rest would love to see him crawl.

Yet all will pretend and constantly call.

Thinking he doesn’t rest being like an owl.

Was the dove,

Engaged with the teary

It’s eyes of love.

Sickly fat from immobility

Stuck in cages of nobility.

Was it ever going to be free?

Was it ever going to make colours agree?

Only it could bridge the gap of the classes,

Stop the stone throwing

at the house of glasses.

Through it we would grow,

We would get close enough to know

That in our veins the flow

Was one colour.

like an old and torn sheet of paper.

With it my kindred fell

into the stinking pits of hell.

I heard the sounds fade.

These sounds: PEACE, LOVE and UNITY.

Like the words on that sheet

torn and soaked in the blood we spilt.

I felt the Sheets texture,

once soft rapidly turn rough

as I haughtily, hastily rolled

it into a shapeless ball.

I tasted its poisonous ink,

smelt all its stink.

Spat it out in murky vomit

Along with all its hate and torment.

And after deep enlightened thought,

I picked my pen and rewrote

A poem filled with love and happiness,

A poem of who we were once.

Anene e polo k’ofuyo,

Mama agoyuo no tar

neee kakorachar.

We nindo e par

chung’ ine aguyo matar.

aneno aguyo mang’eny’

to gi te gi leny

gi te gi leny bwo chieng’

Mama! Aneno aguyo maler

bende aneno moro maber

an adwaro bedo jaber

kaka aguyo go

abiro bed e lo

ka adhier gi ber no.

Mama! Mama! aneno aguyo

e polo ka fuyo

aneno aguyo matar.

(Mama! Mama! I’ve seen a butterfly

I’ve seen it in the sky fly.

Mama the butterfly is bright,

see how it’s white.

Stop lying on the mat

get up and see a butterfly bright.

I’ve seen many butterflies

and all of them shine.

They all shine under the sun.

Mama! I’ve seen a butterfly clean

also seen another one pretty,

I want to be as beautiful

as those butterflies.

I’ll sit on the bare ground

and awe at that beauty.

Mama! Mama! I’ve seen a butterfly

in the sky fly.

I’ve seen a butterfly bright.)

they say life is a gamble

so choose how you tumble,

if you fumble

it’ll bring you trouble.

I wonder,

is that true?

Should the sky’s blue

be something to hide from?

Should our feet cease to roam?

I thought, thought, thought,

what are our chances

of beating the odds?

Should we cast our glances

in the direction of gods?

What gods? Whose gods?

If i may ask.

Gods whose priests

wear animal faces for a mask?

Gods wose proximity

is the beards length?

Or gods who are to us

a mystery?

Black gods or white gods

blue gods or snout nosed gods?

A big divide indeed

who we worship,

how we worship.

God turned warship

instead of his children unite.

In totality I seek answers.

All I get are questions.

like;

Why are you so sad?

Why are you so bad?

What! Are you mad?

I DON’T KNOW.

When did our world

stop being ours?

Where did the striking beauty

Ms. Love go to?

Why did the value of ink

affect the letter writer

in that the written word

lost it’s immortal glow?

Dear reader,

help me understand

your mind and mine.

Make it easy for me to read

the authenticity of your smile.

Ms Love has many daughters

enough for you and I,

all bearers of the same surname.

Can’t we live together

forever and ever

sharing the glowing ember

that keeps our party

warm in the night.

The warmth not just

for the bearers of might?

How?

Not that question again.

Of a strong African Nation,

Of a happy African mother,

Of Africa not in damnation,

Of our republics loving each other?

Can I dream

Of wealth beyond measure

In this land full of treasure?

Of sounds of pleasure,

Of pictures of joy,

Where the gun isn’t a toy?

Can I dream

Of healthy boys and girls

Playing by fresh rivers?

Of a poverty free world

Where our seeds rarely shiver

In fear of death?

Can I dream

Of a colour filled tommorrow,

Of perfect examples to follow,

Of an Africans, fore sight to borrow,

Of a dream

Filled with enriching cream

Of a stronger team?

To places with names ill derived,

Twas true, i always almost arrived.

If only I could find gates without

nasty signs that read, ENTRY DENIED.

In my long travels; deeply I cried

For I saw signs saying, HUMANITY DIED

And met rulers of large egos and pride,

Men who governed without

Looking into their mirror’s other side.

In my long travels; I devised

Ametod of direction not ill advised,

A way to focus unsupervised,

And swan in oceans, climbed mountains without

Slipping or falling as I advanced.

In my long travels; I gave bribe

To one very unworthy scribe.

Unworthy how, I cannot describe

Except maybe say, he was without

Morals, values or a tribe.

Of a strong African nation,

Of a happy African mother,

Of Africa not in damnation,

Of our republics loving each other?

Can I dream

Of wealth beyond measure,

In our land so full of treasure,

Of sounds of pleasure,

Of pictures of joy,

Of a place where the gun isn’t a toy?

Can I dream

Of healthy boys and girls,

Playing by fresh rivers,

Of a poverty free world

Where our seeds rarely shiver

In fear of death?

Can I dream

Of a colour filled tommorow,

Of perfect examples to follow,

Of an Africans foresight to borrow,

Of a dream

Filled with enriching cream?

Can I dream of a Stronger dream?

Sitting desolate in the streets,

Your hands outstretched, I empty no bags.

Authorities come your way to mistreat,

Sorry brother. I’m too shy to give you hugs

But I feel your pain, I love you.

Out you come as the day turns grey,

In strategic positions like a bird of prey.

May many come your way

In disgust I hear you pray.

Flesh peddling to any that stray.

Sister I hate what you do, still I love you.

Young wild and daring,

You move from tin shack into the city.

The gun in your hand will have many scurrying

As we hurry away as soon as you’re in the vicinity,

We rush before women lose their wedding rings.

You’re a merchant of pain young one,

I keep asking myself why I love you.

And though my tongue will say,

“Take a bath, you’re too smelly”

“She’ll send you to eternal sanctuary”

“Watch out he’ll steal your celly”

I love you all don’t you worry.

Where lush green grass grew

To heights the jolly singing birds flew

Its rage we eventually knew

Was if anything true.

Deep in the cold dark woods

It took all of the hunters’ goodies

Sparking flames that cooked his foods

To cause infernos that ran mindlessly through he woods

Before the woods lies my village

Where wailing women curse gods of this age

How could fire cover such mileage?

Wise old men were heard saying, “This is a message

From the Kwere for our wreckage”

That’s the last of philosophy I heard

And days later I was sad

Since my ears opened to sights bad

I wasn’t anymore amongst many a lad

Truth was I added up to make a dozen in that land

Slowly the air clears of its mist

There we were three adolescents

The others all infants, I’m a pessimist

Surely parental love they have missed

Who amongst us is old enough to be a priest?

Not a girl in sight, and I’ve never been kissed

I see no sign of a book

For food how do we look?

No vegetation. These little ones are shook

Anyway look for pins to make a few hooks

Fish we will catch by hook or crook