You may want to call it Nationalism or even Patriotism, but would you change citizenship for money? "Stephen Cherono" So, is it Money or the Box

"MONEY OR THE BOX"
On 27th July 2002, Stephen Cherono lead a pack of highly promising Kenyans' athletes to a clean sweep of Gold, Silver and Bronze in the Commonwealth Games held in Manchester. With him were brothers Ezekiel and Abraham Kemboi who won silver and bronze respectively. The celebrations were however short lived; Stephen Cherono switched citizenship and to the dismay of many, he even changed his name to Saif Saaeed Shaheen! This is where and how my poem below was too born.....! Later, he appeared on track for Qator and so passionately trounced his 'Kenyas' compatriots to win the Gold. I have all the respect for this great athlete and this poem is intended to arouse the debate on Patriotism and Career. Remember the Qatars' offer of 100 million shillings to Denis Oliech? He thou declined the offer and as well became a hero at home. For the earnings, he still seems to laugh all the way to the bank!

KENYAS STEPHEN CHERONO: QATARS SAIF SHAHEEN

STEPHEN CHERONO

Poor lad of Rift Valley
I ‘hear’ you got a new name
They are calling you
Saif Saaeed Shaheen
What happened?
Just how did you dare?
To cut your own roots
Tap root in specific!

Poor lad of Rift Valley
I hear you got a new home
Qatar! Is it true?
You are now swimming in oil
Leaving the fresh waters of Rift Valley

Poor lad of Rift Valley
‘Mwacha mila ni mtumwa’
Just see how they are frustrating you now
Soon you shall be a nuff
Only then shall you know the extent of the damage

Poor lad of Rift Valley
Slavery is long gone
It’s forgotten!
Only that you are now reminding us
Of those bad old days
Poor lad of Rift Valley
Look back at your mother land
Look at your mothers tears
See how miserable you are now

Poor lad of Rift Valley
You got a brother in Denmark too
Kipketer is his name
Abroad a hero
At home nothing but zero
He too basks in the white gold
To your motherland you are big shames
Brothers, who are we to blame
Before you become lame
And they send you home
But not without some shame


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009
RE-PRODUCTION OF THIS POEM IN FULL OR PART IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. THIS IS AN ORIGINAL WORK; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MWANGI MUTHIORA.

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You may have heard about them, "THE ABORIGINES OF AUSTRALIA" I have felt it worthwhile Honoring the people with the oldest living culture in the World

THE ABORIGINES OF AUSTRALIA



THE ABORIGINES OF AUSTRALIA

Just like the sun dies a million deaths and
Resurrects every morning, the same way the
Aborigines gives birth and dies un-noticed
Discriminated, hated and ignored
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed

Blinded by trachoma, a disease as old as the bible
Preventable and with a known cure
Poverty ridden and disfranchised
No proper housing or clean running water
Burst sewers are now wiping them out
Chained to their death beds,
By the affluent white
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed

Diahoerra to the soils
Malaria to the soils
Cholera to the soils
Typhoid to the soils
Aborigines to the soils!
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed to the soils

Once happy hunters and gatherers
Reduced to despondent creatures
Soon, they may become the subjects of
Sydney museums

Poverty and dispossession
Diabetes, deafness and gastroenteritis
Has now finally crippled
Once happy hunters and gatherers
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed

Robbed off their citizenship
Basic services-health care, basic education, housing
And indeed a future robbed off
By the merciless affluent
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed

Their extinction has never been this real
Real people in a real predicament
Aborigine of Australia
Cursed


ALL RIGHTS RESEARVED
MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009

THIS IS AN ORIGINAL POEM. TWO HOURS BEFORE HOLDS ALL THE RIGHTS

Reproduction in any other media is strictly prohibited.
Several years ago, (may be five years) I wrote this poem on Aborigines of Australia. I was inspired by the story of the men and women suffering in the clear watch of the elite white who literally commandeered the lives of this vulnerable community. Though they are not the only vulnerable community in the world, i have felt it worthwhile raising the predicaments of the Aborigine Community to even a bigger audience. Back here in Kenya we have read about the Ongiek Community who are as well a threatened community. Listening on the debate on Mau, you may have heard how very affluent politicians and senior civil servants benefited on land originally allocated to the Ongiek Community.

Further to this, its only this week the grand corruption in implementation of the Free Primary Education was exposed. As we celebrate this years Christmas, let as also ponder on the future of Kenya. Our rapacious politicians continues to rape and disfranchise this great nation. And just like the Aborigines of Australia or the Ongiek Community, we might loose this Motherland that we so dearly cherish.

Finally, It has been a great year been around and i must admit that TWO HOURS BEFORE has really achieved alot in just under an year. It is my very sincere hope that next year we shall be bigger and even more entertaining. To celebrate our achievements this far, we have launched the TWO HOURS BEFORE brand and coming soon we are having the Polo Shirts in the market. Have a great holiday and may your new resolutions be smart. Cheers and thank you once again for your kind support.

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THE UNTOLD STORY, is a story you will love to read. It has no plot though, neither does it has characters, Its characters have no characteristics....!

THIS IS THE STORY


The untold story
The story of the past
The story of today
The story of tomorrow
The story about a story- untold

This story has no plot
Neither does it has characters
Its characters have no characteristics
Their characters already dead
It’s a utopic story.

It’s a story about everything
The story tells us nothing
No one likes telling the story
But everybody listens to it.

It’s not written anywhere
It has no narrator
Nobody knows its origin
The only story that makes one laugh
And cry at the same time

Its prologue is unending
Just like its epilogue
It’s a story about many stories
Stories about other stories

It talks about birth
It talks about death too
It’s the story about the righteous
It’s a story about the wicked

The only story about the
Past, today and tomorrow
It’s the story that compares men to beasts

This is the story about the unknown
It talks about America, China, and North Korea
The story is strange
It even mentions Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran and Israel
It idolizes Wall Street



However, the story is shy
It is the only story that misses the word Dafur
The story does not talk about Zimbambwe
Nor does it mention DRC

It’s about rape- fathers raping their daughters
Mothers fornicating with their sons
It’s a strange story
Where characters abuse human dignity
It’s the story that compares the incomparable

The story is set in unknown country
A wonder country
Where true stories are told in whispers
They are not written
Nor sang or narrated- only in whispers
It’s a story of sorrow
A story of bewilderment
Set in illusion

ALL RIGHTS RESEARVED
MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009

THIS IS AN ORIGINAL POEM. TWO HOURS BEFORE HOLDS ALL THE RIGHTS
Reproduction in any other media is strictly prohibited.

YOU ARE GIVEN 30MINUTES ONLY..........TOPIC; WRITE A POEM TO YOUR MOM AND DAD thanking them for what they have made you to be. Start now...........!

Well, I am not giving you an assignment but this is what a friend of mine told me last night. He called in very late in the night and told me that he wanted to prepare a surprise gift to his mom and Dad for what they had done to him. I felt stuck at first since a had very little myself to celebrate about my parents. If anything my friend who we went to the same high school together made me feel somehow bad.....reason been he reminded me about my Dad. Remember my poem LETTER TO MY FATHER which a posted a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, thats enough commentary, THE BUD is a special one for Mr & Mrs Muroki: "You have such a darling Son- Paul Njuguna Muroki, its a bud you so dearly brought up and he is happy with you."


THE BUD

Not so long ago
a bud sprut out,
Each day, a new leaf Developed
Growing stronger than
the previous one.

In the morning, Mom watered the bud
In the evenning the usual nourishment.
During sunshine, Dad offered the shade
and the bud grew stronger and stronger.

The bud is now gone
It has grown into beautiful flowers
Bright and Adorable
The envy of all buds.

Soon, the flowers shall disappear
Only then shall Mom and Dad
Leap the fruits.

Big, Round, Juicy and Sweet
Dad and Mom!
“Thats what you have made me,
I Cherish your love and care”



NOTE: This poem is a special appreciation to Mr & Mrs Muroki, its reproduction in any media is strictly prohibited. TWO HOURS BEFORE holds the rights to this poem and thus it cannot be used for any other purpose, other than the one intended to by the client.
PAUL NJUGUNA MUROKI

It took me exactly 45minutes to compose and post this poem. Did you like it? Would you like a similar appreciation to a close friend, mom and dad, brother or sister, husband or wife? Do you have an event and you want it beautiful? Get back to TWO HOURS BEFORE. Ok, what topic do you think I should write about? Get back to us on: +254 725 385 654, Email; fafdays@gmail.com
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"WHO AM I" is a special one for the only woman in my life.

WHO AM I

Who do they say I am?
In the vast savanna
They call me daughter of the sands
The beleaguered woman
The shelter maker

Who do they say I am?
At the coast, I have several names
Saumu, Fatima, Harsia…..
Daughter of the deep seas
The mummy water; others quip
Who am I?
The beleaguered woman
The pilau cook

Akinyi yoo
Akoko yoo, Atieno yoo
Daughter of the fishes
They say my omena is the best
And you, whom do you think I am?
Have you ever seen me dancing?
Off course not to those silly instruments
Not at all
Dancing to the tunes of otutu
Daughter of Ramogi
The beleaguered woman

Irio is my favorite
I also make good matoke!
Many a man fears me
“She is the money manic; the gold-digger?”
Wanjiku, Gaceri, Waithera
All are my names
The beleaguered woman
Pillar of Mt. Kenya

Kitu cha mtongoea
What does this mean?
Others say I am the daughter of the salty waters
The face of the vast plains
The hip buster
Others call me a witch
I am not one,
I am a bed wizard
Look at my curves- my bait
The beleaguered woman
The bed icon


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. REPRODUCTION IN PART OR WHOLE WITHOUT PRIOR CONSENT FROM THE AUTHOR IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.

This is an original work by Mwangi S. Muthiora.

I have not posted a poem for a while, but 2Hrs B4 has now made a comeback. No complains today, I have forgotten the cries its time to CHEER AFRICA.

CHEER UP AFRICA

Sing, dear mother land
Of your richness at hand
No better place one can find
Cool serine air of your land

Sing songs of acceptance
Though must be a rare chance
Sing a song
Dance a dance
And your image you enhance

Quiet beaches you have
Beautiful forests you have
In your waters sweet fishes thrive
Dear lives you saves

Mama Africa oh mother Africa
Sing a song
Dance a dance

Civil war the bother
Conflicts should weather
We dance in clean weather
Donning white feathers

Heal your wounds mother land
Mourn no more
A change is always good
Sing of your positives
And not negatives
Sing the righteous hymns
And leave the wicked dance

Sing a song
Dance a dance
Cheer up mother land,
Cheer!



MWANGI MUTHIORA
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
TWO HOURS BEFORE is a Registered Trademark!

"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