Your altruistic nature made it easier for boys to settle around you,
Due to your mastery of the Queen’s language, they nicknamed you Professor grammar,
You’ve never raised a hand against my mother, not even a rod of bamboo,
Since i was a small boy I’ve never seen you lock any door with a clamour,
Category: African Poetry
African poetry encompasses the wide variety of traditions arising from Africa’s 55 countries and from evolving trends within different literary genres. It is a large and complex subject, partly because of Africa’s original linguistic diversity but primarily because of the devastating effect of slavery and colonization, which resulted in English, Portuguese and French, as well as Creole or pidgin versions of these European languages, being spoken and written by Africans across the continent.
Midnight Meditation
It’s just thirty one minutes past midnight,
I’m lying on my wooden bed holding my sleek black phone,
My eyes are sagging, almost giving up to sleep,
But i remember i have to baby sit my growing infant (my blog),
The Mysterious Well
Long time ago when i was a kid, i used to fear going alone to the village well,
Dreadful stories that were told about that well, scared the hell out my nerves,
There was once a woman who went to fetch water late in the midnight,
As she neared the well, she could hear clangorous cries of small babies,
Dear Mama😥
How did you cope with my clamorous, high-pitched cry? When i came out cold like an ice cube in a refrigerator, How did you manage to raise me even when i didn’t comply? The pain i caused you that night on the elevator, How did you feel when i touched your lips for the first…
Shackles of The Street Hawker
At the heart of one of Africa’s most respected cities,
Dwells kings and queens. of survival, the street hucksters,
Determined humans, more persistent than spongers on a buffalo’s skin,
Strangers to each other but loyal when a member of the city council emerges,
Overnight
It’s eight am in the morning. I’m standing outside my orange-coloured doorway, trying to open it, but alas! Where is the key!??? I desperately insert both hands in the front pockets at the same time. Goooosh!!!…I can’t find my keys!?…
Dear First Love
If there’s a lass i have ever loved as far as i can breath, it’s you my Carolina,
Remember the highschool days when we were so tied together,
When we were still young, how we sank in deep thoughts planning our future,
How i used to promise you that i shall be successful like Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook,
Daddy, I Wanna Be Like You
Father would narrate his life story as we crossed our tiny legs near the fire place,
How our grandpa passed away and there was no one left to cater for his family,
The first born, aunt Mukulu got married when poverty stroke our papi’s house,
Grandma, still shocked she turned to idolize the ancient mountain gods,
Schooling in Upcountry
Being an elder brother called for parental responsibilities like holding his tiny hand,
Kawasya my small brother was named after the ululating voice that he produced then,
You would take a sugary lollipop from his mouth but his bluster would attract through beating,
My father used to adore his last chubby son who would complete the quadrant,
Little Strings of Poetry 