"swahili" poems
**I have an issue
One that weighs heavily upon my heart
One that, if left unchecked, threatens to tear our social moral fiber apart
An issue I will express in English, with some help from my old friend *Swahili
Hii imenisumbua akili, kwa hivyo kuiongelea ni kitu tunastahili
Hii story ya immorality tunaichukulia so so light
Dem akiji'expose kidogo mbele ya kamera haina mseo, tunampandisha cheo kwa society, all of a sudden ye ni socialite
The new cool, eti ‘good girl gone bad’
Hiyo njaro siyo polite*
We have a lot more to live for than that which we seem to be aware of
It’s not always about a good time, or lack thereof
Our reputation as a culture I believe is something we badly need to take care of
*Siyo game
Siyo Jokes
Si eti mambo na fame*
It shouldn’t just be about who drinks, who smokes, who vomits and who chokes
*Hiyo lifestyle siyo dope
Na siyo right*
Six hundred and seventy something ways to die… choose one
I refuse to go… speeding down a highway, drunk out of my mind, on another booz run
However, I may not exactly be the right person to point out how messed up you are
On a scale of one to ten?
I’m probably as guilty as you are
******
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 3:33 AM UTC
Lack of money is lack of friends; if you have money at your disposal, every dog and goat will claim to be related to you. ~ Yoruba
War has no eyes ~ Swahili saying
There can be no peace without understanding. ~Senegalese proverb
A leader who does not take advice is not a leader. ~ Kenyan proverb
If there is character, ugliness becomes beauty; if there is none, beauty becomes ugliness. ~Nigerian Proverb
Unity is strength, division is weakness. ~ Swahili proverb
Wisdom does not come overnight. ~ Somali proverb
Knowledge without wisdom is like water in the sand. ~ Guinean proverb
Home affairs are not talked about on the public square. ~ African proverb
Show me your friend and I will show you your character. ~ African proverb
Make some money but don’t let money make you. ~ Tanzania
When you are rich, you are hated; when you are poor, you are despised. - African proverb
A man who uses force is afraid of reasoning. ~Kenyan proverb
Traveling is learning. ~Kenyan Proverb
What you learn is what you die with. ~ African proverb
He who is destined for power does not have to fight for it. ~ Ugandan proverb
It takes a village to raise a child. ~ African proverb
Poverty is slavery. ~Somalia
The wealth which enslaves the owner isn’t wealth. ~ Yoruba
Much wealth brings many enemies. – Swahili
You are beautiful, but learn to work, for you cannot eat your beauty. ~Congolese Proverb
A pretty face and fine clothes do not make character. ~Congolese Proverb
Show me your friend and I will show you your character. ~ African proverb
A close friend can become a close enemy.~ African proverb
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
The name Theodore has its Greek anthropologies, Jewish anthropologies and also Germany anthropologies. The Greek anthropological perspective of The name Theodore indeed has something to do with the gods.However, the Greek way of looking at life was a frustrated thinking.To them everything was a god. They had a plethora of gods; utopia,cacotopia, Thespis, muse, clio, calypso, and Theodore was a half a god like Gabriel who impregnanted Mary on behalf of God as Joseph the cuckold carpenter patiently looked musing the ballad of a cuckold peasant . So Theodore and Gabriel were godsend.I have not delved to know what it means among the Jews, But am aware of the the cultural and anthropological surroundings of the name Theodore in Germany . It is a name of a male person signifying extra-masculine behavior. I also write poetry in Deutsch, so i know substantial cultural values of the people of Germany. Like in this case the modern social naming systems . I am aware of the anthropology of this Deutsch nomenclatural position.Why would link this name to Greeks but not Germany may due to some silent social and emotional disposition in Europe that the English speaking Europeans have a soft spot for the Greek culture.While at the same time they become victims of high adrenaline level when exposed to anything Germany. they always get repulsed when the word Germany is mentioned.So one's thesis on nomenclatural values of the name Theodore depends on which side of European consciousness one is found; is it Germany friendly consciousness or Germany threatened consciousness? The dystopic component of the name Theodore is purely cacotopic with zero element of utopia , as extra-masculinity is a swine of engendered civilization all the times.
Yours
Alexander k Opicho
NB/ i kindly invite Theodore to come to Kenya so that we do a joint research on the Swahili perspectives of the name Theodore, in Kiswahili the name Theodore is subverted to bwana tadayo
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious
asked my opinion on Mayakovsky
I read him Corso Creeley Kerouac
advised Burroughs Olson Huncke
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Is he that good and kind? Am I that great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.
3.9k
A baby from Burundi sits next to me today.
He coos and drinks and swallows his mother’s milk.
His father speaks Swahili. Smiles, tells me that his last son
Is going to grow old in Rochester, NY,
Where I sit in a white-walled waiting room, watching
Mothers drag their babies by the armpits to be weighed.
A boy with braided beads holds up four fingers and tells me he is five.
He is too skinny. His pants are sagging and his iron is low.
His mother takes his vegetable checks, stuffs them into the back pocket of her jeans.
What the little **** needs is two percent milk, she says,
Her gold hoops fluttering.
Her son struggles with the small wooden chair he is carrying.
It drags along the carpet, hitting the high spots, and his tiny biceps flinch.
He sits, facing me, while a name is called. And another.
Another woman’s son hands me a book and waits.
He is watching my face and I watch his mother kiss her boyfriend in the first row seats.
He tucks his chin to his chest when I ask his name. Whispers, tells me Jayden.
First page. What color is Elmo, Jayden?
Shoulders shrugging. His lower lip, puckered out and innocent.
What color is he, Jayden?
The color of Jayden’s skin slaps me across the heart when he says he doesn’t know.
He was born in Rochester, NY,
With trash bags and Burger King wrappers wrapped around the fence
That separates his house from the street on which he will grow old
Too soon.
He starts kindergarten in the fall and I tell him Elmo is red, like his t-shirt.
Like his mother’s fingernails.
Like the tomatoes and bell peppers and beets he has never seen.
A girl who went to my High School carries in her youngest child
Who is old enough to walk, but wobbles.
She calls her daughter “thunder-thighs” instead of Jazmyne
And strips off her shoes. Her belt. Her gold bracelets.
The scale says Jazmyne is too heavy for food assistance.
The state says her mother isn’t poor enough for welfare.
The girl I used to know leaves without her daughter’s shoes or the food checks she came for.
In conversations of pretension
We talk about first and third world.
Pretend that America is the land of second chances
Where a baby from Burundi can grow old in cashmere sweaters,
Even when his parents couldn’t pay.
The father who speaks Swahili looks at his shiny watch and his family’s vegetable checks.
Smiles. Tells me his last son is going to grow old and full
In Rochester, NY.
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 12:51 PM UTC
I want to know more than one
Haitian
I want to know more than three
Jamaicans
I want to meet Nigerians that speak
Igbo
Kenyans that laugh at the Swahili I learned in Berkeley
Ugandans that correct my Mandarin
Tanzanians that teach me how to say it in Cantonese
I want to tour the holy city Ile-Ife
trace the pilgrimage path of Mansa Musa
then circle back to Timbuktu
See the reminders of Aksum
See the remainders of Kmt
Touch the Earth and envision the buildings that my ancestors constructed
thousands of years before they were invaded thousands of times
leaving the still standing walls that others never believed were thousands of years old
till their, “science” said so
I want to board a barge in the south and flow north with the Nile
I wonder what eight others will join me
I want to walk the same trail
that was the first trail
compare my foot print
to the first foot print
The vision I see
The things I want to do
The escape I want to take
Isnt one that is new
Its one that is old
so old that its in the blood
in the very fabric and design
of all that claim
Human
What I want is a realization
no
a reawakening
of my genetic inheritance
of my ancestral birthright
What calls me is the land so old
its true name
its original tongue
is the only
can only
be labeled
The First
There
that is what calls to me
There
that is what pushes me
that is the very intangible force that pulsates my heart
pumping the blood through my veins
That place that is forever older than old
yet
In a constant state of
Reconstruction
Recreation
Revelation
Renovation
Revitalization
Revolution
I want to breath the air in that place that is always in a state of newness
I want to feel the frequency in that place
where there are as many words for new
as there are people to speak them
That is the place
That is the space
That is
© Christopher F. Brown 2015
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
This is where the-
Spaceship of poetry has landed me
English is beautiful a color to paint with
But Swahili is the breast milk
A mother's breast is sweetest
be it canine
English was crafted with unique abilities
Expressions smooth like whiskey
Words that connect to the soul
God really blessed the language
I am grateful that I can write
Construct like engineers and designers
God endowed humans the ability to create
But only poets can create with words
I turn to Swahili now
To feed hearts with its-
Charming soulfood
From planet to planet
As my spaceship of poetry traverses worlds
I thank God for the talent
And my journey He will guide me
My destination to be the shinning star
Twinkling the beauty of literature
To shine like Venus in the morning
is my desire
To love you dear Poetry
And embrace you in Swahili and English
To feel you in every way
And inspire hearts of humanity
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
They come uninvited to our shores
frightening the lovers of the sun and sand.
The water is now a blue, wet poison.
There is no bottle with a skeleton label
only the shadow of fish as huge as ocean liners
trying to stow away passengers in a dark hole.
Like African slaves we go unwillingly to the unknown land.
There is no time to prepare for this death, this injury.
Screams are heard and not heard like distant echoes on a
mountain in Switzerland. "Stop! Stop! Stop!"
Yells slope down to the distance like heavy iron anchors.
This creature does not speak English,
Italian, Swahili or.....
It only knows the taste of blood. It wears hatred around his
neck with the faces of victims close to his teeth. It is savage this
thing, this monster, this bully.
Where did it learn to hate
then eat what it hates?
Did a God really create this wet Frankenstein?
I think it created itself.
It grew heavy with the impurities of never loving, giving, serving or
blessing other~.
My God! it does not prey before eating it's favorite morsel~
man.
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 11:15 AM UTC
What if
In Arabic there's a word
That describes your feeling
In this invisible moment
perfectly
What if
In French there's a phrase
That describes your tear
And why it's running now
perfectly
What if
In Swahili there's a poem
That describes your past
And why it isn't gone
perfectly
What if
You live your life
Without even noticing
That your wicked, stupid mind
Can easily be perfectly described
- Emmatell
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
Poetry is like electricity,
But without a switch,
And stronger;
Like lightning.
It strikes you, and suddenly
You're a pianist;
You can speak Swahili;
The color green tastes like
Starfruit (only you've never had it
So all you can think
Is, "Man, this forest is delicious!")
Poetry is a zap from nowhere.
It makes your hair stand on end;
It makes you half afraid and
Half eager. You start flying
Kites with keys and fixing the satellite
In storms because it's awful for
A second, but then
You're never the same.
I know.
I've been struck so many times
And each time, I've traded
Gibberish for English,
Sight for insight,
Words for love,
And love for words again.
I have heard voices bellowing
And crying
And laughing.
I have seen smoke and sunlight
And smelled sulfur and
Tasted honey and salt.
Maybe I am not "smart,"
Always leaping into danger,
But I can't think of a better way to die
Than to be struck by poetry.
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 9:07 AM UTC
I USED TO THINK THAT DOGS THOUGHT IN ENGLISH,
BUT, OF COURSE, IT COULD BE GERMAN OR SPANISH,
IF YOU TELL THEM TO SIT, THEY MAY NOT RESPOND,
JUST RUN AWAY TO THE BACK OF BEYOND;
I'M LOOKING UP 'SIT,' IN RUSSIAN, 'GET OFF
THAT ****** CHAIR,' IN CROATIAN AND 'COME
HERE, THERE'S A GOOD BOY' AND 'WELL DONE,'
PERHAPS WE JUST NEED AN 'ESPERANTO' SO
THAT THEY WILL ALL DO AS THEY'RE TOLD,
OTHERWISE WE WON'T LET THEM COME IN FROM THE COLD,
'STAY,' IN SWEDISH COULD MAKE THEM PEEVISH,
'FRIEND,' IN SWAHILI COULD MAKE THEM AN ENEMY,
WE DON'T WANT THEM TO BARK, MOPE AND PINE,
DON'T FORGET THE MAGIC COMMAND - 'NEIN, NEIN, NEIN!'
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
We met during a meteor shower
at a party on Cloud Nine
And we were high, high, high
out of our minds
Drinking the Elixir of Life
From Vampire bartenders
The bumble bee of time
whose sting is reality
And idealism is a crime
You were trying to plant trees
with seeds inside rain drops
Like Redwoods and Populus tremuloides
I think your father was a giraffe made out of sticks from the Swahili language
by the carpenter that is your mother
Who you look like
I wonder what you would carve from the
wood of your harvest
A Wife like the Blue Fairy?
But you only saw in colors of green
With absinthe stuck in your teeth
you wear windchimes and windmills like earrings
and hummingbirds nesting in your ears
Your blood is honeysuckle
You caught me a Shooting Star,
Calling me Eyelashes and Pretty dresses
I like it best when the stars fall,
sizzle sizzle pop Like the beginning of time
and water fighting for its Life
I asked you, "Have you ever cut down a tree?"
Pause button lingers on your lips
"What does that feel like?" I ask.
Your reply, "Hot, like the burn on your chest from the sword you made for the King of Aliens."
"He was just an Ex boyfriend" I reply.
You continue your work, eyeing as ghosts
linger like houseguests on my shoulder pads
Pretending to be my consciousness
I put my morals in the recycling bin last week.
And threw my soul into a Wishing Well.
You said you were going deep sea memory diving.
Amnesia a Past time, last time, previous life girlfriend you had
Who cheated on you with Reincarnation
You say that's why the dinosaurs
are extinct
I ask you if you need a ride home in my Time Machine.
It's made out of cardboard and childhood memories.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
I moved to Africa... and
now i have my ghost swahili
discretely... my skin, too white to be
a lion's grunt. But I serve no wildebeest
on two legs.
I love the broken yurts and the falls of Victoria.
I come from where we all come from.
And having arrived
I love best the world
from where I've
been.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 1:56 AM UTC
There's a monument in Georgia, Elberton's the nearest town
Off of Guidestone Road, this monument is found
-
Thereon is inscribed, 10 guidelines for mankind
Written in 8 languages, these guidelines are defined
-
English Spanish Hebrew, Russian and Chinese
Arabic and Hindin, Swahili if you please
-
10 Principles of Rule, 10 Principles of Right
The Wisdom of the New Age, so Lofty and so Bright
-
Read them very closely, understand what they do say
Read Precept number one, what message is conveyed?
-
Reduce the population! Pray tell how's this going to be?
Not to hard to figure out...World War Three
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
happy birthday me when i'm dead...
all those balloons had helium in them,
and all your celebratory encores
and choir fancies were but chipmunks
in my imagining how,
otherwise, the celebrations took place:
i told the Japanese army to
bomb that ******* Tsunami...
did they listen?
noo.
for ordinary
people like me, the only chance to see
organised crime, is to look out for
Jehovah's Witnesses knock on doors...
ginger! ginger! Swahili in Haiti!
that's the closest we'll ever get to seeing
the Italian mafia in practice -
and who the hell writes poetry in order
to wait for an interview?
she publishes me... she ends up in hospital
with water in her lungs.
you heard of the fascination
with those old migrant to the English coast,
central European pelicans on these isles?
took them over 2000 years to come back,
and they're shy creatures...
whoever thought about writing poetry
to not utilise their shyness by otherwise waiting
for media interviews: is a ******* potato-head
stump worth a piñata bashing.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
Yes, I can see it now.
It's so vivid in my head I can almost taste it
After all these years
Swahili as a official language of Africa
And one currency for the whole continent
Land is for all who live in it
Agriculture is bigger than any mineral resource
Borders are just lines drawn on a piece of paper
Color is the thing of the past
Political leaders are not self obsessed cows who are self serving and only serve lies to the poor for supper, empty promises for breakfast and tax burdens for lunch
A Africa where being an African and proud is something to be celebrated daily, not just a show-off play dress up thing once a year
A green Africa where more trees are planted quicker than their cut down
Green energy is embraced
Churches are open shelters for the homeless
Teaching is a respected profession
Every child goes to school
And no child crosses a lake and walk 5km to school
Schools actually nurture kids talent and don't just train them to be working slaves
Private and Public schools, clinics, hospitals or anything else are held at the same standard
Men actually take care of their children and baby mamas
A CEO is given a same respect as the Janitor
Corruption is no more
**** is legal
Pigs are flying and...
Wait, Pretty obvious I'm high right now
There's no way corruption will end
Well, there goes my joint.
Jul 12, 2019
Jul 12, 2019 at 12:28 AM UTC
I bleed out stars from my eyes,
sniff out noble gases.
I don't do physics but gravity seems heavy
though I like gravy but I dish out the ketchup
tuna swahili sashimi, to me, I rhyme
with this chyme as you read this; I waste your time.
Oh how I wish I had more time, I'm going down
Six feet under in a few months.
A funeral with thunder and rain, sobbing and pain, a cursed chain message- pass this on as I pass on or else get hexed, but last time I checked those don't work, like she and I, we didn't work out
that's why we're fat, sad, dying, and alone.
Rich with perfume and makeup- is how I imagine a breakup,
I need the facade of contempt shooting out from your lips as you bury me deeper and farther away from the earth that failed to keep us grounded together, supposedly forever.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC
Dicky dicky dicky
Licky licky licky
Tick tick tick
I stumbled on you behind the zipper
It’s not a tripper but a ripper
Looking through your eyes can you see me peep
Looking through the veil can you hear me lick
Looking from above can you hear me sip
On the golden lips can you hear that teach
On the frozen tip can you taste the heat
Dicky dicky dicky
Licky licky licky
Tick tick tick
(Swahili)
Ni mwangaza unawika
Ni mawimbi yanatunza
Munda huyu umefika
Ni mapenzi yanawika
Na mvua umepita
Na kutunza haya matunda
Kuyaweka kwa tumaini
(English translation)
The bright light is burning
The storms are mesmerising
Now the time has come
And love is calling out loud
The rain is passed and gone
And the seeds are to be sowed
feverently placed in peace
Dicky dicky dicky
Licky licky licky
Tick tick tick
I stumbled on you behind the zipper
It’s not a tripper but a ripper
Looking through your eyes can you see me peep
Looking through the veil can you hear me lick
Looking from above can you hear me sip
On the golden lips can you hear that teach
On the frozen tip can you taste the heat
Dicky dicky dicky
Licky licky licky
Tick tick tick
Audio can be accessed on
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/dicky-licky-tick
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
A thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail
takes at least five months.
In five months:
a fetus is the size of a papaya,
a small home has been fully renovated,
2,450 dollars in rent is paid if you live with three people,
Swahili has been learned incompletely,
the grief of a dead high school teacher is finished,
a person sinks in, gets comfortable,
the planet has turned its back,
Loestrin has travelled out of the system—
who’s to say it’s not just like the Appalachian.
I’d like to make a rope out of my hair
tie it from Georgia to Maine
sail a two-pound apology all the way down
to make up for the places my body will never make it
because five months of footwork
is too long to stop nurturing a life
that is not worth living anyway
but this way
I don’t have to lose.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 6:14 PM UTC
studious skinny scruffy scribe
Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sniggering,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning ********
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 4:32 PM UTC