WAFULA P'KHISA - POEMS

Wafula P’Khisa is a poet, writer and teacher from Kenya. He studied English, Literature & Education at Moi University. His work has been published in the Aubade Magazine (issue 1), Emanations (issue 2), The Best 'New' African Poets 2015, Antarctica Journal, NYSAI Press, The
Legendary (issue 48), AfricanWriter.com and other online literary journals.

                               We signed our death sentence


The chickens will not come home to roost
They escaped from cages in Europe, and fled into the wild
They are wandering all over town, singing redemption songs
And dancing on graves of those they pecked and clawed.
But you need not to strip naked and bathe in sand
or curse your children for no reason
When your dreams fail to hatch
When your cries of agony aren’t answered
We signed our death sentence
and this, my people, is the price.
You refused to heed the wisdom of ancestors
even in the gaze of a stranger’s counsel
Stuffed your ears with wax and opened mouths to swallow every poison thrown your way
When the devil came, on a motorcade, singing hosannas
In a tongue too sweet to ignore
You tore others’ throats over their sacraments
And left them gather your souls into ballot boxes!
Why did you entrust them with our granaries
and slaughtering the only beast we’d hunted in the wild
Yet their hands smelt of fresh human blood
And their stomachs swelled with unaccounted big chunks of the last season’s harvest?
Was it because they are sons of this accursed soil
and a kinsman is never condemned, even after sinning against his people?
Then why don’t they chorus and dance to songs of these ridges
Instead of being chauffeured about in tinted guzzlers to hawk slogans
Or fly over our caving roofs, to Dubai or Paris probably
Whilst we besiege filthy streets like vultures, trampled by the giant foot of hunger
Oh, my people: we signed our death sentence
and this is the price!
 
 
 
 
                                   This place is not for us


I wade through troubled waters
to convey you across
whilst ashore the world watches in awe:
expecting us to safely end into the belly of a waiting crocodile
or be swallowed by angry waves
Everyone refused me use their boat
because I went against the grain to elect you; and mine was grabbed by the law
They fear untold misery could befell them
for lending a hand to helpless earthlings.

The sun no longer smiles at us
It rises late, wanders beneath misty clouds, and retires early
before its golden embers could warm our tender skins
The moon fled
When this dark age of grand theft, excessive eating, whoring and terror
came and sat on us (to stay).

We can't even engage our respiratory organs
To negotiate for valuable atmospheric components
For fear of inhaling poison
and inviting cancer and her colleagues
to rush us to the grave.
The sweet taste of rain dissolved into soluble nothingness
upon invasion by tears of gods
for their beloved suffering below

The soil refuses to bear more yams
For ages it hasn't seen rain
Thus its yellowing surface growth
Shatters dreams of ever having a Christmas of roses

We got to flee from this place
to save my neck from the noose of a politician's hangman
Whom I called thief
for stealing our children's playground;
 flushing the Eurobond cash into his bottomless belly;
 conning my neighbour
and condemning his famished family to litter the streets


This place is not for us
We got to flee and seek tranquility from the other side
or lie low and mix with these spoiled earthlings
and get infected with their rotten ways
that will condemn our children
to a turbulent life of injustice, falsehood and slavery.



                                 Coming of a storm


This cloud has been hovering over us for a while
Blocking the sun from gazing at our secrets
We saw it and tucked under shed;
Afraid of the heavy downpour.
The fishermen rowed their boats ashore
To secure their loved ones from the impending storm
They couldn’t wait for nets to swallow more fish
Only to find everything in ashes on return.
… and claps of thunder threaten others to wet their pants
Njoroge fastened a monster padlock onto his shop and fled
When some juvenile brats of unknown breed, with discord brewing in their blood
Hovered around it like flies over shit
And my brother fastened a rope around his neck
Upon discovering that our fortune had been swallowed
before it could fall into deserving hands.
We have bend our backs long enough
To gather nothings that fall off the king’s table
And clear the ground for his entourage to thrust into our virgin soils
To harvest slaves and sycophants, and preach his gospel to poor masses
Whilst collecting their offerings in ballot boxes.
… and man can’t live on bended knees forever
The age of languishing in the world’s extreme corners for earth’s children is over
We are breaking this engagement;
Since scars are all we can show for our sacrifices
We must end this marriage;
To stop being treated as third-rate partners.
 
 
 
 
                                          Song of My People
 

Some people think we're dumb,
Because we spend lives sleeping, forever sleeping,
Our flock they invade, suck milk;
And invite hunger  
Our men they conscript,
Lure them with nothings:
To glorify, and their songs sing--
Under our roof!

Because we spend lives sleeping, forever sleeping:
To many a merchant we're traded--
Gunpowder for coalition canons;
Mercenaries to fight alien wars,
Used and dumped-- like tissue paper,
Whilst with us our men plead,
To harden hearts like termite in the soil!

Teachings of alien gods,
From sacred shrines drew us;
Wherein children of mulembe:
Gathered for libations--
Then emptied pots of busaa,
And brought down hills of ugali and chicken...

What befell our land, my people,
Has ruined us!
We've outlived Elijah's prophecy--
Leadership in the house of Mwambu,
Shall from lake Nam Lolwe come,
So ashore, we gaze, forever gaze,
The gourd to speak again?

Our brain we soak in ignorance,
Leave our roof falling,
To seek refuge in neighbours' bungalow-- forever!
And allow our hosts shield their wicked selves,
With our blesseth name:
Against the world's wrath--
More sinned against!

Aren't our balls big enough to fill palms,
Thus give us courage to speak our mind?


Those who think we're dumb,
Because we spend lives sleeping, forever sleeping,
Should confirm their sanity.
The rain has beaten us--
Washing our eyes clear;
The rain has beaten us--
Away carrying our fortune...

Soon our house shall re-organize,
Summon back its prodigals,
To Elijah, Wachie, Walumoli and Mwambu...
Slaughter sheep to appease,
Thus settle our internal feuds--
Buying back brotherhood...

We shall stand strong,
Like a boy facing the knife,
Confront Goliaths herein,
and claim our share!

We are also children of this soil;
We are also children of Our Father!
 
 
 
 
 
                                            Song of a youth


You see these fellows
leave the comfort of their limousines, choppers and Benzes
to tread in mud, into uninhabited dungeons of the countryside
or slip into flea-infested filthy slums like Kibera:
Distributing mosquito nets, hawking slogans, funding retarded projects
or settling medical bills
And you think they are true humanitarians
Wait until this game of hunting votes is over
and the winner goes home with their prize
You’ll never see them again
if you can’t afford a newspaper or own a TV
But you’ll hear them roving in Dubai, Paris, London and Israel …
Whilst you wait them to come and see the sickness of Mandera, Turkana or Budalang’i.
They are always on the run, like criminals
Running from honouring their pledges
Seeking to quieten their roaring appetites
But they have reaped more than enough;
Why can’t they vacate the arena
for the new blood
now that their aching bones
make them spoil the dance
and bar light from reaching young shoots below.
They came wearing youthful masks
chanted in our slang
and ferried old geezers to office
to drum for them
as they dance to the song
that bears sorrow since independence
They ferried old geezers to office
and left us to eat dust
and be regular guests of the prison
In pursuit of something to sustain us
But, isn’t this serikali ya vijana?
This disease
of electing ancestors
to govern our generation
will bear problems!
What do they know
about what eats us?
How much do they know
about the changing world
if they imprison themselves in palaces forever?
Are we not men enough
to stand on our feet and chase our dreams
than be reduced to mere mercenaries
for doing dirty assignments
Of what value are the degrees we’ve earned
if we can’t reason in times of crises
and salvage the land we call ours
from its eminent ruin?
You see us swear and curse them
Because they ruined our peace and lied
You see us in tatters, with jutting bones
Because they stole ours and denied us opportunities
When corruption, tribalism, impunity end on this land
We too shall eat and grow…