I live a life of prayer

I LIVE A LIFE OF PRAYER

I am pious

I am always praying

Waking up scared and uncertain

For I forgot my torn boots by the door

Will I find them? “O let me do.” I pray

Then, I see them

A pair of poverty stricken existence markers

Relieved, I whisper, “Amen!”

Trained by my condition,

Uncertainty trailing me

I step into the communal bathroom

Extending a scared uncertain, hand

I turn the rusty tap,

“please let the water flow.” I murmur a prayer

Then,  water!

Water flows, cold, refreshing and gushing

Gratefully, I whisper, “Amen!”

Driven by nothing but sheer hope,

I walk towards the construction site,

The rising mammoth skyscraper is imposing.

The night watchman, like a hedgehog,

Unfurls from his sleep

With a slight push,

The creaky contraption of a gate yawns lazily open

“O let foreman pick me today?” I say a silent prayer

Then he does, I whisper, “Amen”

Weary and broken by hard work,

I trudge home, calloused soles and hurting torn boots

Has the landlord evicted me? 

I muse

Thrown my poverty out of his shack?

Eventually tired of my empty promises

Then I arrive home

A sigh of relief, no double padlocks on my door,

A prayer answered! “Amen”

Now you see,

Why I live a life of prayer

Marked by beacons of fear,

And existence spurred on by hope

And each one of them

Is a PRAYER

That without fail,

Ends with the word

AMEN

S.K . KYENZE

07/06/2017

Mwenyenchi... the politics of Kenya

MWENYENCHI!

Wanjiku?

To that name I will no longer answer

I ascend to my rightful place

The high table, where I belong

I will be Wanjiku no more

I am the one

I too am citizen number one

No longer will I feast on salt less sukuma wiki

No more unsweetened tea for me

For I am told sugar is dear

No more bitter herbs of life

I too deserve better

I am Mwenyenchi

My scrawny buttocks

Are tired of sitting on a mass bench

That hard bench of lack and daily struggle

I am tired of empty promises

Tired of margarine poverty

I will no longer sit contented

For I a Mwenyenchi

I too will ride a sleek Mercedes

Black tinted windows

Air conditioning and leather seats

I will cross my legs sipping life

Enjoying the sweet things in life

Then I will roll down my window

Spit on your faces; throw up on your feet

For I am Mwenyenchi

And you, you are mwananchi.

I have learnt, albeit sadly

That I too was invited

But you shredded my invite

I will gatecrash the party

Bare my bony chest at the bouncers

Fill my hollow belly with air

I will snake my way in; I must

For I must take my place

My place at the high table

I too deserve the banquet

Wiping my snotty nose

With the sleeves of my rags

I will devour the delicacies

I will eat, vomit and fart

I will smile at your disapproving glances

Laugh at your shocked stares

For it is my land, my country

I am Mwenyenchi

From a distance I will hear

Hearken to fools chanting my new title

Scratching my smelly, unshaven armpits

I will surf the wave of success

The fools will chant

Mheshimiwa! Mheshimiwa! Mheshimiwa!

I will nod and smile knowingly

Thinking of the chanting sheep: Wanjiku

Exhausted and yawning

I will stagger to my appointed room

Pinch the nearest bum

She will smile at mheshimiwa

Her wedding ring notwithstanding

Stinky sweat, cologne to her

‘Oh! Mheshimiwa!’ she will moan

Then I will crush the linen with my weight

Fart loudly, a putrid stinker

Constipated by Wanjiku’s demands

Then drift off into Morpheus arms

Unfazed by bothersome Wanjiku

For I am  Mwenyenchi

And tomorrow

I will sign the new tender

That fellow Wenyenchi awarded me

To buy my silence.

07/06/17

S.K.Kyenze

beba beba. the matatu menace

BEBA BEBA   S. K . Kyenze

Beba beba beba beba!

The rowdy touts belch loudly

Vroom! Vroom! The engine revs loudly

Bang! Bang! The tout spanks its mammoth ribs

Suddenly, another matatu is spotted approaching

Trailed by a cloud of dust the driver speeds off

The makanga bolts after it, clutches the door-

Then, whistling loudly monkeys into the matatu

The passengers gasp!

The driver, insanely shifts gears,

Clutch, gear, accelerator…

The tout opens the door wide open,

Swinging wildly, he kicks the matatus belly

The driver swerves to overtake

An oncoming SUV hoots, headlights on

He slams on Breaks! Tires screech

“Jeeesus!”A woman screams!  Stench of burning rubber!

“Driver, please drive carefully, stop this road rage.”

Tears dripping, she placates.

one hand on the wheel,

he reaches for the glove compartment,

rummages inside and fishes out a bottle of brandy,

The young man seated next to him frowns,

“you are not taking that, are you?”

Blood shot eyes singe the speaker

Lowering the car window,

He spits a gob of miraa

Smash! It lands on the car behind, he smiles

Irritated, the young man snatches the brandy

Woosh, he missiles it out of the window

The passengers ululate

Seething in anger, teeth clenched, he drives silently,

The tout is dumb struck, the passengers are jovial,

“Congratulations young man, no drunk driving!” an old man shouts

The matatu rattles along the road,

Zebra crossing ahead, he speeds along

Suddenly, An old man slowly crossing the road

Brakes, screeching, screaming,

The matatu swerves and halts

Passengers jolted forward

Safety belts tighten,

Whew! Close shave

He hurriedly speeds off- running a red light,

Passengers grumble, shaking their heads

He breaks the speed limit,

Someone opens a window and vomits

Road check! A police officer flags down the matatu

The tout ejects off the matatu and sprints along,

A crumble fifty shilling note exchanges hands.

Fed up passengers shout, pandemonium, hell breaks loose

The police officer is bundled into the matatu.

Citizen arrest!

Reclaiming their roads, one day at a time

4/6/2017

let's go on a safari.... i really love kenya

Let’s go on Safari       (my Kenya my pride my future)

Jambo? Jambo Bwana?

Welcome to Kenya- the home of safari

Tie your shoe laces,

Put on your hat

Let’s travel together

Let’s go on a safari

Oh yes, you have heard right

Those are distinct languages

Forty three and counting

All under one roof

A tree and with massive branches

Our languages, the sap of her life

Our identity our strength, our pride

I see you are wowed

This is Nairobi- city in the sun

Mesmerized by her matatu culture?

Yes, they are Nganyas

And yes, you are not wrong

It is a woman driving

This is Kenya,

Where one can be anything .

Let’s go on safari

Oh, the newspapers headlines?

This is Kenya

Such is our democratic space

Freedom of expression

Unparalleled in the continent

Politics, leadership, sports, just name it

They will print it, for this is Kenya.

That, yes you are right

It is the music of the land

That, yes is the beat of progress

Tarmacked highways, standard gauge railway line

World class airlines, superb hotels

That is the pulse of Kenya

Sweet tropical home

Let’s go on safari.

Come my friend, let’s take a rest

Oh the cuisine, gastronomical delights,

Sample, eat and delight

Will it be the muthokoi, Irio, mukimo?

Could it be nyama choma, sukuma wiki ugali?

Maybe you would prefer chapatti?

My friend eat, enjoy for we have a long evening

An evening of mahindi choma, gwaci and mutura.

For we have gone on safari

S.K. KYENZE     2/5/2017

letter to the editor

Letter to the Editor …      S.K. KYENZE

1

Dear Mr. Editor,

I too got the news,

I was elated to read the grand plans

Though, I sat not in the planning meetings.

Who but an ingrate,

Can such grand plans belittle?

2

Dear Mr. Editor,

We of the plains, the plain truth we speak,

Off our soil, toil no matter how much we do

Nothing better than a modern sports stadium can sprout,

And the government men, they too know that

A race track and public park they too gifted us.

So, Mr. Editor, with parched lips and hoarse voices,

We accept the gifts, for water pans and dams –spell death by drowning,

For We of the plains, know not how to swim

3

Dear Mr. Editor,

I attended an interview yesterday,

A clerical position,

Ministry of  public service, youth and gender affairs.

Wasn’t it nice to gaze at those anxious faces?

Purpose driven, focused interviewees

Clad in borrowed second hand suits.

Wasn’t it nice to admire the beautiful architecture?

So, Mr. Editor, after the interview,

with my certificates and testimonials drenched in hope,

I pushed my wheel chair and went home – to wait for nothing

If only there was a wheel chair ramp…

Maybe, I too would have been interviewed.

4

Dear Mr. Editor,

They struck oil, gold and coal in my backyard,

Selfishness is un- African so I know,

We have to share with the more deserving,

They can ship away as much oil as they need,

They can mine as much gold as they wish,

They can truck away as much coal as they desire,

But Mr. Editor, These jobs,

Tea girls, office cleaners and security guards

Are our jobs.

5

Dear Mr. Editor,

I saw heaps of rotting farm produce,

The roads were muddy and impassable,

Yet, for my kinsmen’s folly- I apologize

They should have known better.

They ought not have prayed for the rains.

6

Mr. Editor,

My sister is dead,

Labour pain struck late at night,

We tried, God knows we tried,

six  hours  pushing a rusty wheel-barrow

ten kilometres to the dispensary,

She is dead- the watchman told us after a brief examination.

But Mr. Editor,

She should have known better,

Pregnancy out of wedlock,

Illegitimate child,

Perhaps, perhaps it was for the best.

Yours Sincerely,

Citizen x

The statistic

My dreams.... remain positive always. inspired by the book : The secret

MY DREAMS

My dreams are an eagle

They spread wings and soar

High in the sky they cruise

Regal in the wool white clouds

To the skies my dreams grow

My dreams spot a target, focus and swoop,

My dreams are a never missing eagle

My dreams are the ocean

Deep and vast

My dreams take me with them

As the tide rises and ebbs

We surf the waves of the ocean,

On our backs ferrying mammoth yachts

Laden with ours hopes and aspirations

Gently rocking me

My dreams are the ocean

My dreams are the wind

Sometimes a gentle breeze

Sometimes a sweeping gale

A wet sponge on my face

Gently sponging away my fears

Sometimes a twister, a tornado

Wreaking havoc on my impediments

My dreams are the wind.

My dreams are diamonds

Precious dear rocks

Carats of unbreakable grit

Shiny rocks on my fingers

My dreams are true gems.

My dreams are parachutes,

From heights I jump

My passion hurtling towards my fears

I close my eyes and glide

Then I open the parachute

My dreams take in the wind

I ride the parachute of passion

Then my dreams gently land me

On the soft landing of my aspirations

These are my dreams

What are yours?

S.K. Kyenze

07/06/2017

Taabu. a poem on on the girl child

TAABU  

“Taabu,

Why would you wreck my house,

For your mother’s death you can blame me not

Your being a bastard and an orphan too.”

Across the house reverberated her aunt’s agitated voice

Trembling, crying and sweaty she sat motionless

Eyes wet ,hurt, gazing and seeing nothing

Slaps, kicks and punches, punching her fickle hopes,

“Taabu, why would you?”  It was an ominous threat 

scream for Taabu we all must.

Broken and shattered, silently she screamt

“Loving uncle of birthday gifts,

In the darkest of nights to my bed he crept,

Panting and soaked in drink,

As in your queenly slumber you dreamt,

I lived ignoble horrors of the night

my weak whimper, smothered with a calloused palm

my Feeble struggle, violently restrained, 

Punches and a dirty rug on my bloodied mouth.”

All and sundry her hurt to bear she wished,

Uncle’s nightly visits, the weight and stolen innocence,

Sponge drenched in beer, brandy, whisky and earthly evil

Her rose nipped in the bud, Wings of her dreams clipped

Night after night,

Blows and vicious suppression from dear uncle,

Uncle of birthday gifts, dear uncle.

“Of my sister Taabu you are borne,

From vile orphanages I rescued you,

Child, so dear to me why would you?

Why would you my heart and affection trample?

Why would your kind uncle’s name soil?

 Clinging on nothing but hope,

Taabu  who sought assistance.

Mockery and chiding she got from the police station,

“ Such a big girl, who would?”

The  callous afande sneered

And laughed at the retreating girl

Dehumanized and broken she slogged on,

The duty officer, her promise and solace, gone

Soaring to roost on justice’s nest

Taabu, sought refuge in the promise,

116, The promise of justice and solace!

Hello, 116 child helpline?

Yes, what’s your emergency…

I am taabu…

She poured her heart and hurt

Taabu, exhaled a sigh of relief

Her unborn child kicked

And she wept.

For she had found refuge, a shoulder to lean on.

S k kyenze