Manjeri:bulletproof baby

The boy,
running in the mountain wind,
Lapping up the sound of the trees,
Dancing the dance of his fathers;
Shoulders arched forwards, limbs to an angle,
away he streams, on the circumcision path,
"kasol e'kongo"on drum resonating,
The village boys dancing and goading,
The village belles taunting and gyrating,
The rite of passage now closer; looming,
The girl watching, praying,
it wasnt the greatest of times,
but it wasn't the worst either.

The girl,
A minute or less of her time to be wasted.
The boy,
Its a time of firsts, a celebration of sorts;
A little bit more private,
except for the stars gazing down.
The fireworks erupting that night,
A lot shorter than the minute alloted,
Not at all lilac or purple or violet,
A little light, a little white,
But his too went up in the sky alright.
It wasn't the happiest of nights,
But who is to say, neither the saddest.

And then I became a man,
And then I became a soldier,
And then I left her,
I had a bulletproof soul.

Soldiers of the unseen king,
We marched day and night,
Over foul country,
Across the great snow capped peaks,
Past cannibal country,
Into pygmy territory.
We looted their gold,
And pillaged their animal stock,
For replacement, we left bible stock,
And a few taller offspring stock,
History is written by the victors.
The books say;
We liberated the people of heathen ancestry,
They are now free of material sundry,
Free to worship, even Yhwh, the Sinai deity.
We were not the best of the liberators,
But who is to judge if they ever saw any better.

In the year I saw my Manjeri again,
She was a woman,
with a bullet proof soul.

Death and his grim grin, outstretched hand,
rising from the belly of the land,
In response, vulture and hyena, in glee circle.

In the year that i wanted to love her again,I died.
A lone tear was shed,
A bulletproof heart a little bled.

Manjeri Manjeri,
Flood the village path with your sorrow,
Let your memory cry out a new,
Weep and wail to the village medicine man,
And hold back not the sacrifice of bean and cock white.
Manjeri oh Manjeri,
If you cry, perhaps I'll be returned,
To hold you,
And love you,
Anew,
Perhaps shed,
this prison of a bulletproof soul,
and become a man with just as many tears,
Afraid of snakes and such other eerie creatures,
With days as the grass,
With a heart of glass.

The boy, kissing the morning rain,
the mountain gazelle,
Running besides him,
Its a time of seconds,
A reincarnation of sorts.

D e wasake
17 october 2009
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

The mutilated

In the heartland of london,
stranger;
In the darkness of london,
lone girl in tow weeps.
Criminal loving company,
Criminal loving misery.
Stranger in london,
Victim in tow,
Minding the gap,
Across the tracks,
Into the tunnel of the illegal,
knowing something that we don't,
Ancient weapon by her side,
Innocent victim to divide,
Ancient organ to deride.
She slashed,
Pleasure principle of the inside,
Innocence violated,
Ancient customs decided,
She mutilated.
Who shall tell the Met?
Who shall tell the tale?

The innocent walk this way no more,
The girl walks this way no more,
In her place is a woman,
Stranger too,
To her self,
Except the man with the iron heart,
And his iron part;
No feelings,
No pain,
No remorse,
Mounting,
Digging,
And ravishing.
Sweat mixed with blood;
As the woman cries,
As he smiles,
Evil smile.
Ancient custom sealed.

In the heartland of london,
Women became strangers,
Minding the gap.

Who shall tell the Met?
Who shall tell the tale?

In the year that mutilation ended,
We rejoiced.

D e wasake
23 september 2009

London, friends new-FGM conference, heathrow.
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

Trainspotting

The train runs fast,
Runs right over, right past,
Our lives thrown onto its tracks;
Latex gloves;
the old absent minded surgeon,
Mars wrapper;
chocolate crazed polish girl marched on,
old water bottle,
The japanese tourist hated the sparkling one,
Last year's love note,
It was the summer of firsts,
Oga was finally in london.
The train runs past,
Upon this life's tracks,
How we too go by so fast!
Moving from village to town,
Did not the fields seem endless?
The hills rolling by
Now far far away,
horses feeding with goats,
All along the tracks,
Now gone in a glimpse.
Our dreams,
Just as these tracks,
From someplace,
Going someplace.
Trainspotting,
Lifespotting,
Six cents none the richer,
Six years none the duller,
Six kisses none the more loved.

D e wasake
26 september 2009
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

BFG

Big fat giant,
Big fat thigh,
Lazily thrown over me,
In process perhaps crashing,
Millions of future offspring.
Big fat thigh,
Hot and spicy,
I take a bite,
A giant bite;
Let's out a giant moan,
Enough to wake the sleeping savannah,
Perhaps the sleepy galaxy.

In jah jah city
Jah weed ruled;
We gave mad props to the god jabbah,
Under the moon lit sky.
Under this night's smoky haze,
The stars dance the midnight dance,
iron lion jumps over zion's moon,
A bear hunts in orion's belt,
And marley croons on constant replay.
In jah jah city,
the fat high bird loved me,
And I her.

Red ribbon in the typewriter today,
4 more days of seeing the moon,
I can never write when the moon god reins,
So we just sat and drank bourbon,
The fat high bird and I,
Casting glances,
fat fingers clasping,
Marley constantly skanking.
she oiled her juicy thighs,
She rolled her big fat joints,
Hot and spicy,
Hot and juicy,
Before I took a bite,
A big fat bite.
And her, a big fat puff.
Let's out a giant moan,
Enough to wake the sleeping savannah,
Perhaps the now hazy galaxy.

D e Wasake
19 september 2009
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

When we were kings

When we were kings,
The minstrels, wiped our asses,
And honey dripped from vipers' tongues.
It wasn't the greatest of times,
But who is to tell it was the worst.
Then the man came.
Then the belching snake came.
Then the fire spitting stick came.
The elephants were lost first,
The lion king became a coward,
The waganda were subdued,
And the people of the ganyi country afraid.
When we were kings;
Awich the courageous,
Andereya the christian,
Kasagama the wise,
Chwa the young,
The man came,
Cross in right,
Gun in left.
We called him sir
but who was to tell,
he couldn't even have been fit,
to wipe our asses.


Seize the cannons,
Sail the Nile,
and cross the oceans,
their women will kiss our feet,
but not the lips.
bring me a pound of flesh,
but not one drop of blood.
There is a revolution,
But we can only whisper.
Hide the women and children,
Destroy cow and goat,
But Spare the beads,
Our women shall mourn with those.
Our women shall rejoice with those.

There is a revolution,
That we can only speak of in parable,
For when the man came,
He too speaks our language,
He too knows the whisper of the wind,
But the stories of old he knows not,
For those he burnt at the great fire,
The fire of his mistaken kingship.
He has the stick of fire,
and we don't,
But we have the stories,
And our mouths as yet intact,
He has the belching snake,
But we have the graves of the ancestors,
And they won't let us forget.

There is a revolution,
But we still whisper,
We shout yet not,
Its still afar off,
Or perhaps near,
As their messiah's return,
You never know,
It too comes as a thief in the night,
And when it does,
And when it does,
then the drums shall echo through the night,
And we shall be kings again;
Awich will rise, no longer afraid,
Andereya will carry cross and gun too,
Kasagama will see into the future,
And Chwa, a man; with a lion heart.

D e Wasake
19 september 2009

Paradise lost

A sad thing it is growing up,
What fish scales removed,
to see the world as if for the first time;
That a long ago night's special dinner
To celebrate henry's entrance to boarding school
(Oh sweet chicken how we missed you)
(Rice and peas, oh yes, oh yes)
Came from "uncle" richard.
A few trinkets of stolen kisses
Not so many minutes of passion's juices shared,
("Uncle" richard never stayed long)
That was the price to pay;
a pound of flesh,
And not one drop of blood.

That "uncle" tito's tinned beef delicacy
(Made in argentina)
Was the loot of the night
Following the gun fire
Which announced the arrival of a new leader;
H.E. field marshal the great v.s.o, lord of the fishes of the seas k.a.r, l.o.k and c.b.e
(You better not forget that!).

"Auntie" rachel; sophisticated "auntie" rachel who lived in america
spoke through her nose,
And brought us fancy toys
the big "m" on them;
Courtesy of mcdonalds
The greatest toy manufacturer of all time!

"Auntie" sarah; with millions of pictures;
"London bridge 1981", "trafalgar square 1988"; "paris; in love with an officer and a gentleman" "school dance with masaba boys; here comes trouble"
All the fancy clothes she wore
It turned out were from oxfam
The greatest store of all time!

In the land of a thousand "uncles" and "aunties" paradise is dead and gone
We tread as adults
And see the desert behind the mirage,
The valley of dead bones, of ashes and dust,
ashes and dust.
It was a dream
But still I will kill for it
If only to catch a whiff of it
And return me to innocence
As I sit and work here
In the greatest toy manufacturer of all time.
The greatest of all time.

D e Wasake
6 september 2009
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

Along a watch tower

For R.E, a phoenix

Who or what was unwound
When we wound?
What was being unraveled, undone
When we met and loved?

And what is the crime,
For breaking the love laws,
The ones that dictate who should be loved.
And how. And how much?

Maybe in another life time,
I would have loved you,
On the peaks of the rwenzori,
And along the streams of my mountain home;
walk with my lover,
Past love's law guards,
That all could see,
All along the watch tower.

Instead we whispered,
and tip toed,
not too close,
not too near,
From the border lines,
Which dictate who should love,
And how. And how much.

But what now is there to say,
About the fire that burned,
When we first glimpsed,
Or when we first whispered,
And held and drank and swam,
When we first crossed over,
The lines which dictate who should be loved.
And how. And how much.

All along a watch tower,
Arrows fly,
Arrows break in,
Hearts break,
Hearts melt,
And then are ice again.
But who can tell,
or knows what will happen,
If we again break,
The laws which dictate,
Who should love. And how. And how much.

All along a watch tower,
A lone robin sings,
All alone on a watch tower,
A sparrow waits;
With bow and arrow.

D e Wasake
3 september 2009

P.s snippets of the poem adapted from "the god of small things" and "who killed cock robin"