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...



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...



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...



Daydream IV!

Mh! 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, 


OHO! Strapping them all around my beautiful being, 



OHO! Strapping them all around my beautiful being, 


OHO! Strapping them all around my beautiful being, 



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!


     Below, children with half a buttock, in flight,

     imitate them well, hurling taunts at life, again,

     imitating this all, hurling taunts at life, again..."






Snaaaapp! Shot II:


"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...."






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...."
















Home and Away...




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...




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...




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...




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...




(Enheeeee! Halleluyahha! Allahu Akbar! So just like that..yes..just like this!)





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,


so shall I


so so shall I






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,


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


          as do all laws against revolt, hermitage too


          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...





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!





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... so shall I pieces of, my own childhood eventually collect, home-bound... so shall I pieces of, my own childhood collect eventually, home-bound... so shall I pieces of, my childhood of old collect eventually on my way home....





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....





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....






on that day

 made by my fate,


in fact will,

on a lone leg


on a lone leg


on a lone leg


on a lone leg



on this lone leg


on this lone leg


on this lone leg


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.