The Breadless Parrot of Boulevard Kropotkin....
At the centre of the city that exists under our Côte d'Ivoire,
exact in its wonder to that of Maousoleum Houphouët-Boigny,
one finds the Linden-lined elegance that is Boulevard Kropotkin.
It is here where exactly at 00.00 CET a soulful french serenade
sings itself in lines translated beautifully to all our mothertongues
the translator of these lines lives on under the old republic above us
the translator of this song of beauty always praises our breadlessness
the translator of this song talks of our conquests over the Bread State
the translator of this song seduces many foreign citizenry into our state
the translator of this song satiates our minds with philosophies of hunger
the translator of this song is the song itself as it commands its own states,
singing itself in French, translating itself beautifully into all mothertongues,
a brilliant french anthem that elaborates the communion and fellowship of Man
a brilliant piece on these bonds of man to man to land and living without breads,
a brilliant poem on this breadlessness of states and soulful existence of stateless citizens!
one finds this sweet song by standing alert at 00.00 CET, by Boulevard Kropotkin's lindens
exactly where the singing parrot that is the phantom of our Papa Le Vieux Houphouët-Boigny,
sings the breadlessness philosophy here, below this city without breads here in Côte d'Ivoire....
Daydreams in Moqadicio
Daydream I!
I see pious delivery guys panting like sexy hounds
under the dreams-incinerating sun heat of this city
at noon time this fateful date on all living calendars,
as they slyly deliver in duty what has been ordered,
as they dutifully deliver what I have asked for slyly...
AHEM!
Daydream II!
I respect these new guys who earn their lifestyles
undermining the entire old moral codes alive here,
even as i rant inspired by pain bright as this ill sun
about the deficient deliveries made just days ago,
about the need for deliveries this time to be true...
AHEM!
Daydream III!
See them undress to their souls praying now for Islam too,
they undress to the core quoting Quran, bidding my mercy
and, as this real reverie gets realer amidst us dear wolaaloo,
I extricate me in duty now from my once fine holy hijab too,
my eyes shining like fake rainbow rays of our sickly sunlight...
AHEM!
Daydream IV!
Mh!...now I see not Moqadicio as I saw it just a few decades ago,
and I see the world not in the form of several minutes agooo ooh!
As I undress all my feminine linen, lost in our Islam now drown in pain,
I admire now these TNTs displayed on their effeminate hands holy, fine.
OHO! Strapping them all around my beautiful being,
I EXPLODE! Shhhh! AGAIN!
OHO! Strapping them all around my beautiful being,
I EXPLODE! AGAIN! BOOM!
OHO! Strapping them all around my beautiful being,
I EXPLODE! BOOM! KABOOM!
OHO! Strapping them all around my beautiful being,
Í KABOOM! BOOM! KABOOM!
Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un....(lets fast)
Inside the Land of 1001 Mirrors....
(....for AMISOM.....)
Snaaap! Shot I:
"A score of doves, slim lines crimson of hue, flies
now across skies light blue, as shots off GPMGs;
their changing formations are fiery works of art!
RAT ATATA TAT! ATI TAT ATATA TAR! ATARI!
Below, children with half a buttock, in flight,
imitate them well, hurling taunts at life, again,
imitating this all, hurling taunts at life, again..."
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Snaaaapp! Shot II:
RAT A TATA TAT! AL! RAT A TATA TAT!
"The rainless noon skies erupt into lilac lightnings,
thunders RiOtInG in all spaces between His home
and Land of Mirrors 1001 below, in slow motion, as
braver children with buttocks fuller, stop, still...shhh...
imitating expiring lives, they hurl more taunts at life,
imitating lives expired as they hurl silent taunts at life...."
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Snaaaaaappp! Shot III:
"Raised, with shrapnels of tranquility as their toys,
raised in this cruel circus, full of illusions without end,
raised on this land where martial arts, reflect all games,
the children of here, here, have evolved into cartoons;
theirs is a republic more joyous than all Disneylands of our...."
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RAT A TATA TAT! ATI! TAT ATATA TAR! HII NI HATAAARRRI!
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(...ERR...SORRY READERS, OUR GENERAL COMMENTATOR IS EXPIRED...)
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Home and Away...
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Just as
all birds carrying the colors on earth
at the first disappearance of daylight,
sunshine even, at the very break of night,
gather their own, at times alien ones too...
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Just as
the hunting beasts recorded in entire history annals
across the societies and generations here on our earth
collect or store for themselves before homeward they turn
gathering energy for themselves their offspring, posterity too...
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Just as
the insects of all arid lands on earth, and the thirst-hardened birds
of our such land remember their fold time and again, again and again
collecting life here and there here and there in the hope of a final return
gathering even bits of hope for the epic journey back to their abode afar...
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Just as
the weaker womenfolk of countless lands that know war
scatter themselves to all the four far corners of the wind
collecting pieces of long abandoned loves for futures uncertain
gathering them like lumps in the throats of our blood alive still here...
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(Enheeeee! Halleluyahha! Allahu Akbar! So just like that..yes..just like this!)
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YES!
So so shall I one day in the calendar of time
in a land distant and developed, a republic
peaceful, shelter of thousands of food tasty,
a land of liberty, a land of plenty and safety,
behave...
so shall I
behave...
so so shall I
behave....
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YES!
in this
distant land of exile, my refuge,
in this
real republic, on one very normal day,
so so
shall I awaken, and boldly behave too...
like all
blessed beings in those four stanzas above,
behave
truly in their really natural manner, exactly,
even when,
even when, even when...
restrained robustly really,
I am now,
by the entire corps
of my new in-laws,
their strange music,
of beasts called pets or
by their changing minds and
hearts burning with strange hope
made real by my alien grandchildren,
and these many many big small by-laws
governing my my mind,
governing my my heart,
regulating my my old blood too
laws governing me,
laws governing my core,
laws regulating all my all
laws governing when I spit
laws governing where I shit
laws governing when I say shit
laws governing who I tell this shit is what it is
in fact laws governing the universe as I know it
laws regulating my myself warning me ever sternly,
as laws do, against revolt, hermitage, my hard core
warning
as do all laws against revolt, hermitage too
warning
as do all laws against deviance from society
warning-warning as do true laws do
against all that deviant from society is
warning-warning as do all laws true
against all that deviant from society really issss...
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YES!
astir and in the manner of outcasts of here, I,
following the dead poets of the land of my birth,
will collect pieces of my myth-mind, my heart too
will gather the pieces of my myths, mind, heart too
and gather every little part of my brittle dying brain
at the slightest sight
of a shooting star...afar...
at the shyest sight
of that shooting star afar
at the slighthest sighth
of a shoothing ishtar.....AFAR!
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YES!
So so shall I one day indeed and in deed,
somewhere in a land alien, land of refuge,
in a republic of peace and food abounding,
collect myself, piece after piece after peace
as do those chicken of the wide world, earth,
as do those beasts and insects of this earth...
and as do those refugee women, birds of earth too,
so shall I too gather fragments of my pasts asunder...
so shall I too gather fragments of my pasts as I have hope
so too shall I here pieces of my childhood collect, homeward bound...
Yes! so so shall I pieces, of my childhood dying collect on my way home...
Yes...so so shall I pieces of, my own childhood eventually collect, home-bound...
Yes...so so shall I pieces of, my own childhood collect eventually, home-bound...
Yes...so so shall I pieces of, my childhood of old collect eventually on my way home....
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YES!
I shall
collect my chess squared pains,
I shall
collect my triangularized sorrows too
I shall
collect my rectangularized sufferings,
I shall indeed
my möbius strip histories collect
my sad spirally stories too,
my schizophrenia I shall gather
my chequered conscience too,
and gathering
all of me, to me
my alzheimer too
all of me, to me,
and gathering all, each and every bit,
pieces of my passports as well as
ashes of my birth certificate too,
gathering all of me around me...
collecting all of me around me....
gathering all of all of me to me....
I shall... do it all piece by piece in peace....
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YES!
one day
a holy day
on gods' day
date of fate
a day divine
a normal day
a day of deeds
a day of blue sky
perhaps a bit dark
a day blue or black
that day of neon lights
that day of lights of fate
that day of fate, of kismet
a day that will surely come,
a day that surely come will
a day of will, that surely come
will, surely come will, surely will
surely come will, will surely come...
will surely surely will surely come....
surely a day divine, a date with fate...
surely a date divine, a date with fate...
sthurely a dhay dhivine, a dathe with fathe....
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YES!
I
on that day
made by my fate,
shall,
in fact will,
on a lone leg
run-fall-run
on a lone leg
fall-run-fall
on a lone leg
run-run-fall
on a lone leg
STOP!
fall-fall-run-run-run
on this lone leg
fall-fall-run
on this lone leg
fall-fall-fall-run-run-run
on this lone leg
fall-fall-run
fall-fall-fall na run run run
on this lonely leg on my body
to the land I call home.
Yes. Home. My Homeland....Me.
Me...My Homeland...Home...
Yes. Home. My Homeland....Me.
Me...My Homeland...Home...Yes....My Homeland Home. Me....
Wanjohi wa Makokha is the pseudonym under which the Kenyan literary critic and scholar, Dr. J. K. S. Makokha writes and publishes his poetry. He considers himself simply as a poet from Africa whose poetic inspiration draws from the continent and the world of the age he exists in. His first book of poems Nest of Stones (Langaa: 2010) was published under the same name. It has since won several accolades from writers such as Micere Mugo (who wrote its foreword), Shailja Patel, Susan Kiguli, Ali Jimale Ahmed and Binyavanga Wainaina. On 6th May, 2010, Wanjohi presented Nest of Stones to the world via a public reading at the Listros Galerie in Berlin under the auspices of Africavenir. As a critic and scholar, he is known as the co-editor of several new books on Postcolonial theory and contemporary African literatures such as Border-Crossings (Heidelberg: 2012), Style in African Literature (Rodopi: 2012), Negotiating Afropolitanism (Rodopi: 2011) and East African Literatures (Logos, 2011). Makokha is also the author of the first monograph on the fiction of M. G. Vassanji, a Kenyan-born novelist of international repute: Reading M. G. Vassanji (VDM: 2009). His next book of verse is well under preparation. He has taught literature in Germany, Somalia and Kenya and currently lectures in the Department of Literature, Kenyatta University. He is a researcher and founding member of the Institute of African Studies in the same university. He holds three degrees in Education and Humanities from Kenya and Germany.