"shuka" poems - Hello Poetry

I live in Moshi,Tanzania, As a child,one day I got lost, A maasai took me to his home. He lived at the foothills of the majestic Mt.Kilimanjaro, His home was a kraal (hut) made of stone,sticks and cow dung. I cried for my parents, So he fed me milk and blood from a cow, He pierced a hole in the cow's neck, He put a bamboo and told me to drink the blood, It was warm but I vomited, Gradually, I got used to it. The maasai's way of life is communilism, Hunting,gathering and raiding neighbours cattle. Theirs is an age set system for men, The children look after the herd, I joined them having fun, No school, no lessons or homework. Then,there were the Morans,the youths, They wore black **** cloths, Carried a spear in one hand, Their faces were painted with white ochre. They protected the clan and the cattle, From predators and other tribes. They lived in a circle of huts called manyatta. After being circumcised the Morans were taught the art of warfare The bravest warrior got to wear the feathers of an ostrich. The senior morans could marry and settle down, The Moran who jumped the highest got the best girl. The Laigewenanis trained the morans to be warriors, My maasai was a laigwenani, Like all maasais, he was tall and lean, He wore a bright red shuka cloth with black stripes, A red tartan blanket was slung on his shoulder, He always held a long bladed stabbing spear, His long hair was tightly braided, He had ochre painted on his body, He had no children and treated me like his son, He would take me to teach the morans about warfare. But,he had to take the permission of the chief, the Laibon. The Laibons were the chief religious leaders, They settled disputes, They decided when and on whom to attack. Luckily,after two months my maasai and I had gone to a game reserve for hunting, A game warden found me. He alerted the police and I was taken home safely. But,I missed my maasai and their pastoral way of life.

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Apr 17, 2018

Apr 17, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC

salmabanu-hatim

Maasai Way Of Life

I live in Moshi,Tanzania, As a child,one day I got lost, A maasai took me to his home. He lived at the foothills of the majestic Mt.Kilimanjaro, His home was a kraal (hut) made of stone,sticks and cow dung. I cried for my parents, So he fed me milk and blood from a cow, He pierced a hole in the cow's neck, He put a bamboo and told me to drink the blood, It was warm but I vomited, Gradually, I got used to it. The maasai's way of life is communilism, Hunting,gathering and raiding neighbours cattle. Theirs is an age set system for men, The children look after the herd, I joined them having fun, No school, no lessons or homework. Then,there were the Morans,the youths, They wore black **** cloths, Carried a spear in one hand, Their faces were painted with white ochre. They protected the clan and the cattle, From predators and other tribes. They lived in a circle of huts called manyatta. After being circumcised the Morans were taught the art of warfare The bravest warrior got to wear the feathers of an ostrich. The senior morans could marry and settle down, The Moran who jumped the highest got the best girl. The Laigewenanis trained the morans to be warriors, My maasai was a laigwenani, Like all maasais, he was tall and lean, He wore a bright red shuka cloth with black stripes, A red tartan blanket was slung on his shoulder, He always held a long bladed stabbing spear, His long hair was tightly braided, He had ochre painted on his body, He had no children and treated me like his son, He would take me to teach the morans about warfare. But,he had to take the permission of the chief, the Laibon. The Laibons were the chief religious leaders, They settled disputes, They decided when and on whom to attack. Luckily,after two months my maasai and I had gone to a game reserve for hunting, A game warden found me. He alerted the police and I was taken home safely. But,I missed my maasai and their pastoral way of life.

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Whispers I sent out to dawn latched on to the solitary sun to trail the arc of a common time in a sky the hue of gold in grass. The land leans on the baobab in a dust storm of wheels and lenses. Wheels and lenses. When the dust settles, I will dust my shuka and the goats will return home, to comfort my eyes that flow the spate of the Great Ruaha, seeping secretly into the baobab I have chores to do, a shuka to **** A shuka to **** Will they buy the beads I strung as I rocked Naeku on my back, to make circles of day and circles of night, as wide as the baobab, in the colour of clouds, the colour of sky. There's colour to stars in a darkened night. A darkened night. Killeleshua is fragrant in thousand leaves Am I not worth more than thirteen Zebu? The watering hole was flecked in hippos and the firewood is the colour of dusk abundantly generous as the baobab Time, a viscous passing of the sweetest honey. The sweetest honey.

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Apr 22, 2021

Apr 22, 2021 at 11:35 AM UTC

davinaesolomon

I lean against a Baobab

Whispers I sent out to dawn latched on to the solitary sun to trail the arc of a common time in a sky the hue of gold in grass. The land leans on the baobab in a dust storm of wheels and lenses. Wheels and lenses. When the dust settles, I will dust my shuka and the goats will return home, to comfort my eyes that flow the spate of the Great Ruaha, seeping secretly into the baobab I have chores to do, a shuka to **** A shuka to **** Will they buy the beads I strung as I rocked Naeku on my back, to make circles of day and circles of night, as wide as the baobab, in the colour of clouds, the colour of sky. There's colour to stars in a darkened night. A darkened night. Killeleshua is fragrant in thousand leaves Am I not worth more than thirteen Zebu? The watering hole was flecked in hippos and the firewood is the colour of dusk abundantly generous as the baobab Time, a viscous passing of the sweetest honey. The sweetest honey.

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Tie your shuka on your shoulder Gather your shield and spear of death The white God for now you are to soldier Find your courage and take one last deep breath. You thought war was made of Those things that you gathered, You were wrong, so we shoved A gun and ammo for you to lather. This is your duty, and that's what you believe This is your duty, go out and try not to bleed This is your duty, and that of thy enemies. You held the gun like we showed You walked to the place we told You believed the lies we sold All while wearing the white man's blindfold. With a smile and a glimmer of hope The men you sought Found you first And now you rest Under the dry dirt. But that's ok for they Were only shooting In the name of Duty, So Hooray!

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Jun 29, 2018

Jun 29, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC

EvilShredder

Africa, 1915

Tie your shuka on your shoulder Gather your shield and spear of death The white God for now you are to soldier Find your courage and take one last deep breath. You thought war was made of Those things that you gathered, You were wrong, so we shoved A gun and ammo for you to lather. This is your duty, and that's what you believe This is your duty, go out and try not to bleed This is your duty, and that of thy enemies. You held the gun like we showed You walked to the place we told You believed the lies we sold All while wearing the white man's blindfold. With a smile and a glimmer of hope The men you sought Found you first And now you rest Under the dry dirt. But that's ok for they Were only shooting In the name of Duty, So Hooray!

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Tirka-tirka ana tara tara. Hujjojin duka an tattara. Lauyoyi sun debi wara. A can kotu kuwa an fara. Tattara hujjoji a fili karara. A cikin kotun koli ba'a bara. In baka da hujja sai ka tara. Wani lokaci ko wata shekara. Wata zai kama, mu dau kara Don tsula biri ya shirya zara. Buri nasa yayi ta kona kara Tsula tuni a kai nasa ya sha gora Wata ya doso Lokacin tsayawar sa ya taso Jama'a ku zo mu siyo soso Mu wanke dattin kwanso Wata kila tsula zai je gidan kaso Kuma za'a daure shi a kwankwaso Zai yi ta tsalle ko baya so Don ya sha wankan soso Wai ina yake ne, kantoma Mun sani baka da makoma In ka tafi ba badda kama Duk abin da ka shuka zai girma Zaka girba tabbas ba tantama A gidan kaso ko a magarkama. An fara duba wata. Ga samaniya ta haskaka Masoyan korra sun rausaya Murna ta su ta wuce zolaya To ina masoya ja? Sun hauhawa. Farashi nasu ya raurawa, ya fadi kasa tamkar wawa. Tun sun ga wata a samaniya, jinjiri me yaye hayaniya, Sun tunzura su yi hayaniya. Shugaban jam'iyya yace Kowa ya fito da idaniya Ya kura su sama yayi dubiya Jariri na wata zai bayyana A daren yau ko gobe da jibi.

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Jan 2, 2024

Jan 2, 2024 at 8:45 AM UTC

Safana

A fara Duban Wata

Tirka-tirka ana tara tara. Hujjojin duka an tattara. Lauyoyi sun debi wara. A can kotu kuwa an fara. Tattara hujjoji a fili karara. A cikin kotun koli ba'a bara. In baka da hujja sai ka tara. Wani lokaci ko wata shekara. Wata zai kama, mu dau kara Don tsula biri ya shirya zara. Buri nasa yayi ta kona kara Tsula tuni a kai nasa ya sha gora Wata ya doso Lokacin tsayawar sa ya taso Jama'a ku zo mu siyo soso Mu wanke dattin kwanso Wata kila tsula zai je gidan kaso Kuma za'a daure shi a kwankwaso Zai yi ta tsalle ko baya so Don ya sha wankan soso Wai ina yake ne, kantoma Mun sani baka da makoma In ka tafi ba badda kama Duk abin da ka shuka zai girma Zaka girba tabbas ba tantama A gidan kaso ko a magarkama. An fara duba wata. Ga samaniya ta haskaka Masoyan korra sun rausaya Murna ta su ta wuce zolaya To ina masoya ja? Sun hauhawa. Farashi nasu ya raurawa, ya fadi kasa tamkar wawa. Tun sun ga wata a samaniya, jinjiri me yaye hayaniya, Sun tunzura su yi hayaniya. Shugaban jam'iyya yace Kowa ya fito da idaniya Ya kura su sama yayi dubiya Jariri na wata zai bayyana A daren yau ko gobe da jibi.

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