On a chilly September night,
In a rather quiet corner of Nairobi,
On the second floor of Kimberly,
A girl with a smile so radiant,
Walked into a room…
On Silent Longing
You used to like a girl,
And there she sits now—
a perfect relic you mock yourself for keeping.
How absurd, this shrine of silence,
Did she ever notice your shadow?
Symbolism and the Making of a Postcolonial Literary MasterPiece: A Review of Ken Waliboras Kidagaa Kimemwozea
Kidagaa Kimemwozea is a powerful, thought-provoking, postcolonial literary work. Its linguistic richness, sharp social critique, and symbolic depth make it a significant contribution to Swahili literature. The novel offers a compelling reflection on the struggles of postcolonial Africa, urging readers to question the systems that continue to shape their realities. As Amani reminds Sokomoko residents in a speech as the novel comes to a close, kwa kila mtawala katili kuna umma uliomruhusu ama kumpa uwezo wa kutekeleza ukatili wake (157). Here is a review.
Encased in Black
Black
All black
Black on black
Pitapatting shoes, black
Wide wavily pants, black
Puffy hugging jacket, black
Curly flowing hair in a knot, black
Big head-cuddling earphones, black
Dazzling from within the black
Her delicate whiteness is encased in black
With Hope I Face Winter’s Frown
On days like this
When masked in a frown
All day long indoors she remains
Stepping out but briefly for a peek
A rare fleeting stroll in the chilly wintry air
Let it to me be granted
That out in the frigidity engulfed
She finds and against me rubs
Or at a window I be seated
For her improbable winter smile in wait
For with that radiant beaming smile
The sun’s ebullience makes the day whole
Pedals of Progress
Like clay on the potter’s wheel
Gradually but certainly
She is spun
On the horizon she spots victory
She is molded
The song of triumph from afar grows nigh
She is transformed
Hope, once distant and remote, now grins at her
In the wind, a step away, the finish line flutters
She is educated!
The Duo That’s Made of Three
Overhead
In the clear blue sky
A fervid unrelenting sun glares
Casting stunted shadows
Beneath and around a little round shelter
The day’s coming of age to proclaim
Inside the dainty circular shelter
Eyes fixed on the monstrance
Rosary beads in slow regular motions between fingers
The one sits motionless
Arms raised, the other kneels
In a silent mismatched unison
To the mountain mover
The duo offers the mountainous trammels
And the blazing fetters
Perpetual Death
Glimmers of hope
Extinguished
And reignited
Only to be doused
Dying dreams rekindled
Then smothered
Again…
And again…
And again
In the meeting between
Callousness and ingenuousness
Rendering living lifeless
Perpetual death!
The Hunter’s Foremost Skill
In his esurient quest to entrap the passerine
The hunter forsook his foremost skill
The understanding of the hunted
Forgot that a clueless pursuit
Is akin to an endeavor at felling a tree
Using a blunt axe
Winter, The Ending that Brings Forth a Beginning
Howdy winter
Why do you hide the sun
You rush her out with a frown and darkness you beckon with open arms
Eleven in the morn resembles three on the leeward side of noon
Into the witching hour seventeen hours you transform
Over the Michigan down you pull the dark nimbers
The lake touches the sky a stone’s throw away
Of their green and yellow and red and purple and orange, the trees you rob
Naked to the bone they stand
Their barrenness proclaiming defenselessness and desperation
The Caged Bird Sings 