Saturday, December 19, 2009

we are not abroad for winter holidays or fun but we live on..

Naivasha’s mother and son

At this point
I could not,
Tears never have
been enough.

Mother wears
A halo of dark blood
Still flowing
Water and blood
Around her head.

Child yells for hours,
Mother returns no more
Father had gone before.
Him they tore for marrying
across the valley of tribe.

How can eyes look
How dark can life be?
Which song?

Me Katilili and Nyanjiru?
Medusa and Athena,
Oedipus and Lear,
All such tragedy
Combined and worse,
Kimathi and Oneko,
A nation here lies dead.
Orphans sit by watching.

She lay there,
Active hand under the chair
The door almost closing on her
Little child yelling on a chair.
I heard death.

I took personal;
And because am free
I set up my own trial.
The judge is very harsh.
I wore my sack for strength.

Where were you before
We to this came?
Did this happen in this land?
Where was your strength of prophecy?
The shrines, did they die?

I stand condemned,
And may be never healed!
And this is my land.
It crushed my mind.

Even as I, western streets cross
Capitals shining from afar,
with my son in tow
To safety,
When they ask me
How is the winter?
This child still cries in me.

Philo ikonya©

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