Mama!
Undisputedly a child of God I am
Born of pain, sorrow and condemnation
Sired in His just and Godly features
Baptized in your ****’s maternal blood
But my thirst for vengeance duels with my heart’s virtues
To avenge the untimely demise of Adhiambo
The daughter that never saw the sun set
Camouflaged among the myriad heavenly souls
Singing with angels and saints


Oh mama!
Dawn wakes the sun from slumber
To condole with us in moaning the execution of either war or peace
For the enslaved have mastered the art of the enlightened
Armed with ammunition ready for the gruesome sabotage
Hard to fathom their motives
Of deprivation and starvation
Their untimely demise is enough allure for blood
For those who cease life by the sword
Indeed beckon for death by it
Mama a pledge I took
To dust they are homing

.........................................................­.....

My son!
Seek wisdom
And let it flow in you like the water lilies
Abide not to your perceptions
That stirs in you more abhorrence
For fellow mankind
But thy almighty load you with love
For His word decrees, your neighbor’s love
Surpasses your own


My son!
Refrain from your corrupted notions
Arousing the incessant devastating pangs of our hearts
Of settling of scores
For the prejudiced souls beseeching for freedom in their graves
To the unforeseen heroes sung to eternity
For in your quest for vengeance
Burrow two graves, they say

See Son!
Even though nights fog us with a blanket of sorrow
And reminiscence
Of unjust hearsay of our forlorn hope
Sang by our children
Retribution is the dark cloud that camouflages virtues

Son!
Remember your sister in the same quest
With a maimed heart yes I second
But son you no matador: this is no duel of the bulls
Envision the age of love and peace
With vehement prayers that are never in vain
To drive the demons of destruction to oblivion

The true path of a rebel soldier is obscure
Hence tread not on the path of your father
Soldierly yet unchaste with perverse longings
A *** slave to treacherous captor: notoriety
In as much as
Your obscenity masquerades your fragility
Professing you are the seed of their *****
Them like caged hounds that devoured my unsullied youth
In submission to their unrelenting sensual wants


Son, I dare not call you a child of sin


Hunt for the wisdom of your “father”
A peacemaker
My irrefutably hero
For he concerns himself less on the price he dearly paid
To salvage me from the gallows of infinite hell
But more on love, and my resilience

And son:
Acceptance
Love
Peace
And forgiveness
Equals longevity

My son.. my son.. thou plea…

The symphony
The mating of Benga melody

with the classic Nyatiti
With
Stealth,
On a momentous go
Inciting a twist and turn
Of rhythmic body movements

Unrelenting in sync with serenity
Livened by rhumba, Like an aphrodisiac
Lokua kanza “wapi yo,” Makambo Ezali Bourreau,
Le grande maitre: Franco: heaves
Ardent fans to the floor

Awestruck she emerged catapulted by urgency

Her sensual silhouette,

Converged our beings To the rhythm of her delight
Our souls
Enslaved
By
Mbilia bel Enchanted with her charm
Of seductive voluptuous hips

Dance, pretty one,
Grind your spine
In the celestial fire dance on blazing feet,
Bewitching tread
Vigorous moves
Paralleled by turbulent winds

In exquisite sequence infatuated with oblivious spirits
Throbbing within A whirlwind

Akinyi craved being her

Okinyi envisaged infused in her

Primed with ravenous desire

Drew to her And probed,

Stuttering, “Where thou learneth exemplary art,
A master?”

Oblivious to him,

She was no mere mortal

But a souls ripper.

Perhaps,
Like curves of waves
Of east bound tides
Or rage of a surging storm
And eventual novelty of a sensual dawn
So is art hatched.

It’s the courtship
Of pen on paper
Primed with desire to unravel beauty
And obscurity
In the clammy palms
Of artistic porter

See,
It’s the crave of a chiseled sculptor
To chase grandeur from castoffs
It’s the convergence of the stars
On the bed of a blissful night
It’s the sunup of notions
Secreted
In the crevices of hearts of men.

It’s life

That puffs breath
In icy souls of men,
The caress of the wind
On the supple knees of trees
It’s the splendor of a moonlit sky.

Art is a paradise..