The War in Sudan Dafur region has left all leaders talking without much action. I resume my Poetry postings with the Love story of Fatima & Lino

The war in Sudan took over twenty(20) years to end, but long after the deal that was signed in Kenya's capital between the North and South, human suffering continues and lifes are lost daily. However, Dafur has never seen the light of the day several years since the power sharing deal.

This made me think about Fatima and Lino. This are characters in my novel and the letter From Dafur is one of the poems and songs in the novel that i hope to finish writing by mid next year.
SOURCE

"LETTER FROM DAFUR"

Dear Fatima,

You are fine I know
I should be telling
You how I am
But first, how is Khartoum?

Peaceful as always I believe,
Running taps and security as usual,
All that real life
Unfortunately, am aware
It’s not all that peaceful
I lost a relative
In the capital, I hear
They said a fatal accident-road

Am dubious thou
What kind of an accident it was
Fatima, my uncle’s death has
Only widened
The gap between us
Heaven and earth has never been that distanced

Look Fatima….
Can’t you see the shame?
See what your people have done
I don’t intend to hurt you
But my heart is already hurt

I was not writing to tell you
About my uncle’s death
It is his death that now threatens our love
He is one person who meant the world to me-us
I adored him

Look Fatima, my love is fading away
Look around you; cast your eyes far and wide
What can you see?
Peace, just peace
Imagine what you have…..
Roads, clean water, decent housing
Your lifestyle is real
Very human

Look again, look at Dafur
Its all cries and wails
Joy is no more
Sorrow is spread all over
Its people are bare and dying
Flattened like an envelope
By your brothers in the North

Do you too like it this way?
Life here is a nightmare
Its is no longer a living but
A mere existence
It is no-longer a hustle but a struggle
The wounds are un-healing

Few days ago, a mass grave was found North of Dafur
Bodies riddled with bullets
All smelling and shouting innocence
A fatal accident it was!

Not long ago,
Our camp was raided
Tenths of women raped
Men mutilated, driven to death traps
Our children battered
Whole generation locked off a future!

Fatima,
Can I say am fine with all this mess
Your brothers have severed our love
I can only say am struggling to love you now

I remember those good old days
When we shared a lecture room
Our-my, dream was cut short
I never knew that it was never my-our, dream
Someone had other ideas
To our hearts

We no-longer hold to our destiny
Your brothers in the North do
My papers are long charred
Masters wasted and projects uncompleted
Today am teaching young children the basics

Your men talk
We die
They talk
We die

Dafur is a land of uncertainty
No haven for sanity
Let me hope you receive this letter
Chances are it disappears in transit
Before yet another accident
Fatima,
Please write back
Let me know how you are doing
I love you, I truly love you
Its only you who can make my face shine
However, each day in Dafur tests my love

I hope the accidents shall come to an end
That I can visit you freely
And dance to the tunes of your sweet whispers
I love you Fatima.


Your love
Lino Mario Bike

Hi everyone...! How does it feel to loose your treasured copy of your Un-published work? I lost tenths of my poems (soft copy). My flash disk missing.

"I ASKED MY SOUL"


My Soul's Conversations; 'I asked my soul'

Did I care too much
Too much that i forgot about Me?
Did I share too much
Too much that I was left without me?
Did pair too much
Too much that the only left partner is me?
Did i stare too much
Too much that my eyes blinded me?
or
Did I scare too much
Too much that u left me?

SO I told my soul

do care
do share
do pair
dont stare
dont scare
and only bear the rare
so breath in fresh air
and forget their

Lord I always fall shoYou shine a ray of light
I refuse to call it my light
And keep walking in the darkness
You bring a cloud of rain
I refuse to call it my cloud
And keep living in dryness
You send me a guardian angel
I refuse to call him my angel
And I keep walking in the worldly ways
You whisper the word of life
I refuse to uncover my ears
And let death to engulf my life
Oh Lord I always fall short!


Every time sin comes my way
And I always fall its prey
Because long I’ve forgotten to pray
From your path to far away I stray
My heart fills with sins so much it weighs
More and more and more everyday
And my legs get so weak and I sway
Till I fall down and there I stay
My ears hear the fray
Of my three lives white, black and grey
I know this might even slay
Why don’t I choose your heavenly way?
Oh Lord I always fall short!

Lot of times I try to fulfill my needs
It causes me so much greed
Blindly I let this be my lead
And I forget all your Good deeds
Lord your laws I fail to heed
And unto the worldly ways I concede
My heart pains so much until it bleeds
And still in the wrong way I proceed
Thinking that one day I will come to succeed
And you never fail in my heart to plant your seeds
But Lord my sinning chokes them just like the weeds
Oh Lord I always fall short!


All over the world I have restlessly wandered like Cain
Looking for a cure for my endless pain
I have not found anything my heart to sustain
My sins are just tying me up so much like a chain
And why do I keep walking down this lane
Am so tongue tied I can’t even explain
Now I think its time for me to refrain
I need something to purely cleanse my heart stain
I have tried the waters of the rain
But oh Lord I have seen no gain
My God I am ready to join your campaign
Lord to your holy words I say Amen
Oh Lord I always fall short!

Now my heart, God unto you I surrender
Forgive me for all the times your way I followed never
Make my heart so strong and yet tender
And always lord be my only defender
Help me always to beat the devil my contender
Cause my life to gracefully slender
And lord let me not be just a pretender
But a representation of God Forever
Use me lord to change other lives to better
And grant me enough strength for all my endeavors
Don’t let me go for I will fall short
Oh Lord I always fall short!


POEM BY JUVENALIS G. KARUMA
ALL RIGHTS TO THIS POEM RESERVED
juvgkaruma(o)2009


Quick Reply
To: karuma gitau

"The Shine Set" is a poem written by my one time school mate Juvenalis G. Karuma. I never knew he had become a writer since moving to the US........!

"THE SHINE SET"

The shine set
It's the shine set of the shimmer

Now that I have lost all the glitter
Life has suddenly become so bitter
I was known as the hardest hitter
am just getting worse instead of fitter
Am the new cause of their daily titter
I will give up and let them call me a quitter

It's the shine set of glamor

Now that my life has become such a drama
I can no longer enamor
and they will not listen to my clamor
I feel so ashamed like a revealed scammer
Somebody hit me on the head with a hammer

It's the shine set of my smile

Now that i have lost my style
my name will appear in the losers' file
and my number they will never dial
They were friends but now they are too hostile
To them am more like a vile
I will walk so far and jump into the Nile

because this is the shine set.



ABOUT THE AUTHOR- BY HIMSELF
JUVENALIS G JUVI KARUMA

Now that am spending alot of time by myself. I'm going back to my old favourite hobby. I have been writting poems and short story and a novel by the name "Father Of Sin" is in tha making though it might take longer. I will be posting some of my poems for all of you to comment and tell me how you feel bout my writting. I am hoping to publish my poems before I turn 25 though am just doing it for charity not for money. Anything else ask me at info Juvenalis Gitau Karuma I love fine art and good music. You can also find me at Welcome to my space and enjoy my work..

MEET "DR MENO; THE VILLAGE DENTIST" IN THIS HUMOR SEGMENT, I ONCE AGAIN FEATURE MY FELLOW UP-COMING WRITER & HUMORIST PAUL KIBE.....THE DENTIST!

THIS WORK OF FICTION IS SOLE PROPERTY OF PAUL KIBE. RE-PRODUCTION IN FULL OR PART IS STRICTLY RESTRICTED. THE SAID AUTHOR HAS THE RIGHTS TO THIS PIECE OF WORK. 2HRS BEFORE B4 DOES NOT HOLD THE RIGHTS TO ALL WORKS BY PAUL KIBE AND APPEARING ON THIS BLOG. HOWEVER, THIS ARE ORIGINAL AND UN-PUBLISHED HUMUOR WORKS. INTERESTED PUBLISHERS CAN CONTACT PAUL KIBE AT pkibe79@yahoo.com

All Rights Researved(o) Paul Kibe 2009


DR MENO; THE VILLAGE DENTIST


One fine morning,I reported to work as usual. Like all junior clerks,I hang my coat on my chair and pretended to have gone to spit saliva. I ended up in Rumuruti, some 300KMS away instead of the unisex office toilet.

My visit to Rumuruti was inspired by some Lucifer waters I had consumed at Kwa Maiko's the previous night. Kwa Maiko is a watering hole in an estate that answers by another person's name;Kwa Maina. It is in this devil's birthday party in the heart of the city of many lights that the idea of eradicating poverty was conceived.

After irrigating my throat with some liquid that had the power to propel a locomotive, Kwa Maiko's liquid started whispering some wisdom to my naked ears.
"Son of Maritha, he who sat on a spear one cold morning by the riverside and faced a knife without blinking an eye, you got a finger for making money. "The voice intoned.
"Wa Maritha tell me;didn't Maritha exchange her only cow for your ticket to kambi? Didn't you chew all the books without constipating? Wasn't the entire village present when you graduated with a Bachelor of Anything(B.A)Degree? What can you show the world for your toils except an advanced plot to send Maritha to the next planet minus her cow?" The inner voice chortled.
"Listen carefully." The words were as if from an oracle. "Go to Rumuruti and declare war on all the rotten teeth."It commanded.

Now you know why I landed in Rumuruti armed with pliers,cotton wool and some liquid calling itself local anesthetics ready to face teeth of all shapes and sizes.
Thursday happens to be a market day. It is the day when all Rumurutians worth any salt became mobile world banks after selling livestock. To me it was a day for them to give Caesar what belonged to Caesar.
Like all other Kenyans, Rumurutians prefer foreigners to locals.That is why I erected a poster that did not read, "Daktari wa meno kutoka Dundori." Instead,the poster screamed, "Daktari wa meno kutoka Zanzibari. The very one capable of sending a tooth to the next world by just staring at it!"

The news of my arrival spread like bush fire on a hot season. In no time, I was cutting sweat from counting real money bearing the diagram of the former state house tenant.
I had just pocketed the first coin bearing the image of the man from Othaya when people calling themselves medical practitioners and dentists board paid me a courtesy call accompanied by Kiganjo boys.

In a flash, I found myself staring at a real judge clad in a head gear made from the hide skin of Rumuruti sheep. I was charged with attempted massacre and robbery without violence.
The judge seemed to realize that sending me to Kamiti in eternal peace was of no value to her mission of crossing the valley of poverty.She ordered me to surrender my ill gotten wealth to the honourable court instead.

The enemies of development had yet again conspired against my idea of eradicating poverty.



One may ask why I have decided to feature Mr Paul Kibe soo much on my blog, however, the first time i read his work i was very impressed. Surprising thou is that my fellow upcoming writer has not been published either. He tried a blog and unfortunately it didn't take off. This has convinced me to just make the world know that there is still unexploited masters of good Humor, their works gathering dust or going down the drain un-noted. Myself am NOT published beyound this blog and have thus thought about giving my fellow up-coming writers the opportunity that remains very elusive to many of us.

I believe the greatest gift one can give a writer-artist, is recognizing, accepting, appreciating their works. It really gives one the drive to do more and actually improve on their various fields.

Next week I am resuming my Poetry. Keep tuned and you will enjoy reading each posting on this blog. To all my fellow bloggers, THANKS for your continued support and very encouraging comments. We got a long way to go but so far so good. I wish ti further inform you that the Poem on Kenya About To Burn Again has received an award and a peace initiative identified it for its activities in its Peace Initiative.

Yesterday i posted a very interesting piece of Humor written by Paul Kibe, today i have published yet another in the series.....Laugh...Laugh...Laugh!

HUMOR BY PAUL KIBE




MY FUNERAL !

The other day i coughed like a tractor all night long.To make matters elephant enough,power had taken a vacation to the land of Museveni.Meaning that all my neighbours suspended their sleep and other nocturnal extracurricular activities to listen to the music of my lungs.
Next morning,the same neighbors who had acted like strangers for years were bonding in small hushed up groups.I did not need a college diploma to know what they were deliberating on.I had seen such sombre scenes before.In short,they were organising for my funeral!
With the economic melt down reality looming large,i knew my neighbors were incapable of meeting all the cemetery expenses.When that truth sank deep in my grey matter,i immediately made an emergency courtesy call to my third rate doctor for a self paid postmortem.
A few minutes later,i laid on the doc's couch going through a thorough interrogation.Don't mind that my doc was once a sweeper at a government dispensary but discovered his medical talent after retirement.As he was taking measurements of my urine and stool,i kept asking him if i were still alive.Of course he begged me not to depart to the next world before settling my bill which was meant to settle his overdue rent.
Finally came the verdict."Smoker's cough is what is chewing you!,"He eulogised.He went on to assure me that it wasn't a dangerous disease for the worst it could do was send to me to the next world prematurely.He also said things to the effect that i was in fact lucky to be the owner of such a coveted ailment for i could sue B.A.T and hence meet my maker with a fat wallet.
Biting my postmortem result slip between my front teeth and with a molar to molar smile,i strolled back home puffing my B.A.T stick.All what i need now is a third rate lawyer to be able to meet my funeral expenses all by myself.

THIS WORKS PUBLISHED ON THIS BLOG WITH KNOWLEDGE OF THE AUTHOR, RE-PRODUCTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED All Rights Reserved. Paul Kibe (o) 2009

Hi, am back from Nyeri and with a beautiful trophy too. Our CDF stand was the 2nd best Nationally, thus i literaly met the President.

Anyway, thats enough for the show, this weekend I am hosting one of Kenyas' newest humorist who is not published or read beyond his facebook notes or this blog. Paul Kibe- I read this piece of art and could hardly avoid sharing it out with my followers and visitors to this blog. He is certainly the new kid in the humor arena. Sample this......



ABEDNEGO

I salute all motor vehicle surgeons alias mechanics.It takes great courage and determination to attempt to resurrect dead automobiles.Being a proud owner of a car that is supposed to have rested in peace decades ago,trust me i know what i am talking about.
I remember vividly that fateful day when i acquired that piece of misery.Early in the morning before even money could open their eyes from the night's slumber,i strangled my bank account with the sole intention of buying safaricom shares.
As i queued waiting for my chance to be a shareholder while clutching my life's savings nervously,my throat suddenly felt like sand paper.I decided to obey my thirst first by rushing to the nearest Ruaraka watering hole for a swallow.
I had only taken a few rounds when my head started telling me things to the effect that a real shareholder doesn't attend annual general meetings in dusty shoes.In other words,my grey matter was asking me to acquire a logbook before owning a CDS account.
That unholy idea propelled me to the nearest car graveyard instead of Nyaga stock brokers' offices.Of course by that time i was seeing double.My hands were also like reeds on the steering while my feet felt like jelly on the pedals.
Now you understand why i anointed Abednego to help me chose a car that was not very dead.Though a stranger,his name suggested that he had a plan of meeting his maker one day.His oily outfit was also a clear indication that he had dissected many more dead automobiles.
Abednego who also doubled as a security consultant alias watchman seemed to know all the cars by their local and christian names.He was also conversant with all the ailments that had converted those lovely machines to past tense.

It took a few minutes for Abednego to lie his hands on a yellow coloured hybrid automobile. Without much ado,i exchanged my entire wallet for a tattered logbook.
I had hardly pocketed that piece of paper when Abednego started calling the engine a devil,the radiator a lucifer and the gearbox a shindwe.For three hours,he tried to bribe that image of a car to breath on its own to no avail.
Finally,he emerged from under the belly of my newly acquired wealth with a list of items i needed to purchase in order that he could discharge it from ICU.In other words,he was asking me to buy another new car to revive the old dead one!
Frustrated,i left it in the same position i had found it.I now visit it once a month to see if it has decided to stir from its coma or whether another foolish Kenyan has decided to bequeath my misery!


Have you loved this humor? Imagine this talent wasting away.....where are the publishers? Dont scout beyond "Two Hours Before" Email Peter Kibe


PAUL KIBE

THIS WORKS PUBLISHED ON THIS BLOG WITH KNOWLEDGE OF THE AUTHOR, REPRODUCTION IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED

This week I am representing our Office in a national Show at Nyeri Show Grounds. I have this poem by Joseph Kariuki from USA. You will like it

IDEOSPHERE


In the void wilderness of my barren skull,

Harbors the ideosphere

The bank of my ides

Where colonies of my ideas mutate



Until my brain sags,

And my brain sneezes

And my skull explodes

And my skull drools

Colonies of my ideas virulently spreads

Causing mayhem among the pavements of our daily lives



Faster than ants they migrate

Spreading the great aroma of victory

That therapizes the noble minds

While; their souls, their hearts, their lives, their spirits

Celebrates the fruits of their own bloody sweats

And the success of their daily toil



(C) 2008 Joseph Kariuki
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THIS POEM HAS BEEN POSTED WITH THE FULL KNOWLEDGE AND CONSENT OF THE AUTHOR. If you have read this poem by Joseph and would like to contact him, send an email to
Mwangi Muthiora

"Kenya about to burn again" I wrote this poem in mid 2005 several months before the Post Election Violence broke out, Very soon the frame may be back!

ANSWER ME MUMMY

Mummy, why are we freezing?
Why is everybody in our village outside?
Why did they do it?
Please mom tell us,
Why did they burn our house?

I heard them tell you to leave
Everyone in our village was forced out,
Why mummy?
Where do we go mummy,
Isn’t this our home?

Are we going to school tomorrow?
What will I tell teacher?
My books
My uniform
All charred!
Will I take my examinations tomorrow!
My lunch box is burnt too mummy.

You said they killed daddy,
Why did daddy and you build on their land?
Or grandpa took their land?
I remember him tell us a story about msongari river
How it was hijacked and
Its cause diverted.

That’s when they killed daddy in the protests
That’s when this village was widowed
I remember grand pa give us the story about
The big battle that orphaned him
We got uhuru though!

Is it really uhuru mummy?
We are shivering in this cold
Our house is gone
They drove away the few cows you had

Why have they changed this fast
A few weeks ago we were playing with their children
We laughed together
Went to the well together
Fetched kuni together
But we are together no more

Mummy, we need msongari river
We need our playground back
We need uhuru mummy!

Daughter,
I am sorry. We got uhuru,
That’s why they want to push us out
It is the vote that has made them hostile

They call us aliens
That is why we are now outside here
They want to see us leave
Immediately!

Daughter, we have to go now
It’s the only option we have
Let us go now
And meet our luck somewhere else
Or face our fate here





This Poem is dedicated to men, women and children in Dafur, Iraq, Somalia, Afghanistan, Congo, Tibet, and the rest parts of the world who are suffering in IDP Camps. Not that they deserve to be in that state but because somebody who has no place for mankind has deliberately subjected them to that fate.AUTHOR:MWANGI WA MUTHIORA

During the post election violence in Kenya, life was lost...but why? Will world peace ever be a reality for this nations? when shall our leaders agree to listen and reason? when shall we see each other as one people?

Who got the solution to all this human suffering that our leadership seemingly basks in? Just who shall listen to the "Cries For Justice?"

Copyright © Simon Mwangi Muthiora

Each one of us has friends, but friends are not equal, Hellen Mbugua is one such who can never escape a mention. "This a Special One For You Hellen"

THE GREEN ONE

Your green is irresistible
A hue that fables many
Too green
So green
As green as green

Oh the green one
Your green irresistible
In flood plains you flourish
In drought you blossoms
Green as green

Oh the green one
Hair as green as your face
Showing the abundance of your heart
A green smile you boast
Green, shinning green
Two green dimples
The oasis of your smile
Oozing nothing but
A green soft smile

A waist that is not
Navigable, too long for
A short brain
As green as yours

Two full thighs
Natty and guile
Very green
To entertain annihilation
Your green thighs
Hardly gullible

Your green strides
Leaving a green trail
A trail of originality
A trail of greenity
A trail of quality
A trail of ability
And a trail of deity
Oh the green one
Smelling green

Your lifestyle a cryptograph
Monastic though
Withstanding strong ultraviolet rays
Ready to destroy your greenness

A witty green heart you have
The envy of many

Your green thorns are alert
Protecting your green rose
That many wants to pick
Green roses are beautiful
That everyone wants a petal
Oh the green one!
Keep your green thorns alert
Or else someone picks your green rose
And your beauty goes with it.
Oh the green one,
Please, sample my greenness
Together we protect our green roses!


COPYRIGHT © MWANGI MUTHIORA
TWO HOURS BEFORE



Friends-true, are very rare. When I met Hellen Mbugua several weeks ago, I hardly expected to walk this journey with her. I first introduced her to my Blog when I had just five followers. Within the first week of meeting her, this Blog managed a membership surge and we have continued to have new members every day. Amazingly, Two Hours Before is having an average of five new followers each week and several comments daily.

However, this success has been possible with the encouragements of many other friends who find time to read my postings and leave comments. I would like also to mention the support of Ms Lucia Ndiba (Githunguri), Ms Caroline Njoki (Githunguri), Dr. Joel Chege (Gathanji), Ms Wairimu Kaiyeye (Dubai), Mr John Muya (UK), Emma Kabucho (Nairobi), Ms Beattie Wairimu (Karia, Kiambu),Winnie Njeri, Nikki Allasher (Nairobi), Ann Njugi (Nairobi), Loise Njihia (Nairobi) Joseph Njoroge (USA), Julia The Star (KIM), Simon (Copyfast) among other trusted friends. To my Facebook networks who have always visited my blog and left comments, cheers to you all.

Not forgetting my fellow bloggers whom I follow on Blogger or any other network.Dulce, Steve, Jol, Wakagwe Mburu it has always been a big pleasure to visit your blogs and meet you at 2Hrs B4.

"ANOTHER BIRTH" 24 GIRLS IN A CLASS OF 25 HAVE DROPPED OUT OF SCHOOL-ALL OF THEM PREGNANT.

Last week there was a very sad story on Kenya's leading newspaper the Daily Nation about the high rate of early pregnancies. This came at the time when there has been a debate about contraceptives and the HIV prevalence rate going up. The story on the Daily Nation was about this school that twenty four girls out of twenty five have dropped out of school because they are pregnant. This are girls well under 16 years and infact most of them are just 10 years or slightly above. This has made me think about Birth especially the young mothers most of them barely 15 years old yet expectant.

Could this be the new tread in the rest of the world? I have just one more question, how shall tomorrows birth look like?

Below is the Poem, " Another Birth"




ANOTHER BIRTH

Yesterday’s birth was good
The new born survived
There were pains- as usual,
Every woman cried,
Wailed,
Screamed, to welcome the guest
Many of them are used to this treat and test

Today there will be another birth
There will be more pain
It will be unbearable
The wails and screams will likely be louder
The first experience- more to come
Today’s birth will be different from yesterdays
Today’s birth may be better than tomorrow’s

Everyone is talking about it
The women are talking in whispers
The grannies are dumb
How about the men?
Only a few are shocked
After-all this yet another strike
A strike from an iron rod
That she handled without care

Young and tender
She let it tore her fabric
She let the ink spill on her fabric
She let the sword pierce the fabric
She let them, him, skin her alive
She let it happen nine months ago,
Innocently

Everyone is waiting eagerly
For tomorrows birth
To see the little thing
And how it shall look like
The day after tomorrow
Another birth
Then, the world might
Listen and reason
For the fruit is not yet ripe
For that birth

Simon Mwangi Muthiora
COPYRIGHT: MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009
AUTHOR: MWANGI WA MUTHIORA

The Woman In The Village

The Tablet Of Memoirs- My mother Purity



THE WOMAN IN THE VILLAGE


THE WOMAN IN THE VILLAGE

Contorted and wrinkled
Though last night’s bride
Kerchief well curled
Less the lustful eyes
See the raven hair

The woman in the village
An early bird
A yawn then a cough
Jumps over a snoring log- tired of a
Work well done,
Sowing on fertile land

A little shilly shally
She throws legs a part
Eyes half open
The right hand raising the skirt in front
Left pushing the knickers aside
To allow a jet of warm urine pass

Feeling withdrawn and tizzy
Woman in the village
Ready for life’s undying routines
A panga and a hoe
After all it’s the measure of her beauty
The village woman.

In the evening, nothing on hands but soil
After a days toil
Back at home
A sizzled husband waits eagerly
To rape her quietly
In return to add to her priorities
A son or a daughter
The village woman

Tomorrow comes
Only to find yesterday nagging
And the woman in the village
Waits quietly, to receive the ‘baton’
From the unfaithful husband

Yesterday’s bride
Faces the blade
Loosing her pride
As her life fades

The woman in the village
Exhausts her mirage
For that marriage
That she cannot manage
That woman in the village.


Copyright (o) Mwangi Muthiora
TWO HOURS BEFORE


Twenty seven years ago, My mom gave birth to a weakly son. Not even the doctors would belieave I would survive the miscarriage- Luckly, miracularsly, I did! Mother never left me neither did she regret marrying the man who almost saw me leave this world unceremoniously. A heavy boot had landed on moms protruding tummy six months to her pregnancy and what ensued was my longest journey. I Love you dearly mom!


2Hrs B4

I lived to see this day............The Foetus has made a come back!

RETURN OF THE FOETUS



Your cruelty sent me
To certain oblivion
Robbed me, the very basic
Right to life
Was it my error?

Why did you?
It was foolish of you
You are the one who messed up
You made me a runt
A victim of your selfishness

Smell the air, ooh
Smell!
Smell again my ‘mother’
Ummm, rich
Very rich
It’s saturated with my soul
And those of my fellow comrades

Remember the poignant moments
When you visited that killer
When you forced me out of
My haven


I resisted the overdose
You tried to flog match me,
I declined.
It was not for long however
You managed to silence me,
And I honorably gave up

I too silenced you
I did it for my likely sister and myself.
I carried our haven with me
The ocular proof of your selfishness

Och aye! Look…….
Look at yourself now
How many sons do you boast?
Where are your daughters?

You are an oddity
Who can entertain barrenness?
Who?
You are a total nonentity
If only you spared me
I could have spared you too!



Copyright: Simon Mwangi Muthiora.

Following my earlier posting on the return of the foetus, i promised to dedicate a poem to anyone who got the best picture to use on this poem.The winning poepix was by Hellen Mbugua . However, i received tenths of pictures and i must admit that most were very touching. I wish to also mention Ms Wairimu Kaiyeye among other readers who participated and commented on this sensitive issue. Thanks all for your contribution to this blog.

The Rain God seem to be 'dumb' in this part of Africa-Kenya. It has been a bad expirience to see polititians bickering about on the face of hunger.

When I met Joseph Kariuki Minai(Author of the following poem) online, he was moved by the news of Kenyans facing starvation in what one would refer to as a well endowed country that boasts expansive tracks of land. Irritating to him is the advert that has been running in major television networks abroad that market kenya as a Tourist hub. Kariuki who now lives and works in Boston poses; "Tourists are now making a funny joke, they wants to visit this country that has animals who are healthy than its people. That is Kenya."


"MY EMOTIONS"




My emotions

Am sick and tired of

My pains, my rugs,

My hunger, my poverty,

My insignificant voice.



Fighting for freedom,

Fighting for food

Fighting for intellectual thirst

Shooting to the wilderness

Searching for peace



My soul wails

Tears from scars hurt

On the outskirts of my abandoned soul

I feel the pain

The discrimation

The unjust laws





I will soar, spread my wings,

Fight till my strength quivers,

I see the victory

For the hopelessness

For orphans, for poor

I will reform their souls

I will celebrate their victories



(C) 2008 Joseph Kariuki
Joseph Kariuki Nai Minai was born in Kiambu Kenya. He was orphaned at a very young age and left to tender for himself barely sixteen. Today he lives and works in Boston USA.