Contrary to the African traditions, my mother taught me how to cook,
Mama would come home carrying cassava roots in a basket,
That’s the moment i would start lighting up the fire,
Since I knew it was my turn to come up with a good recipe, the family was eagerly waiting,
Tag: Poetry
Poetry is a type of literature, or artistic writing, that attempts to stir a reader’s imagination or emotions. The poet does this by carefully choosing and arranging language for its meaning, sound, and rhythm. Some poems, such as nursery rhymes, are simple and humorous.
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,
Away From Home
Take me to the banks of Luangwa river, i want to bond with the crocodiles,
Let me lie down on the soft grass, and watch the sun as it illuminates the world,
Allow me to observe the hippos as they graze, are they jews or gentiles?
Let me listen to the gushing sound of water as it navigates to the oceans, curled,
Dear Mamaš„
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,
How do birds survive?
Have you ever thought of birds, squirrels, impalas, baboons, basically wildlife?…
How they survive out there in the woods, alone, in summer all through winter!…when it’s raining, where is their fire point?
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!?…
Residing at Grandma’s
The old clay-coated pot was softly snoring as it rested comfortably on the three black rocks. Deep down near my feet, slept master Chung Lee, the blue-eyed cat. With her rough purr in and out of her wind pipe, she harmonised the corners of our circuitous Kisukuu, hut
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,
Little Strings of Poetry 