A candle flickers out

For Rev. Laban Bombo, RIP

when we were kings,
When we were lambs of the king,
he shepherded us,
even if with a little prodding
even if with a little swashbuckling
and now sadness for us the grieved undead..
The good called back
The sorrow flowing
Like a river crashing its banks.
BUT be glad children of Zion
The candle has flickered out
But rejoice all you Sheep of the flock
For light returns to light..
RIP Rev. Laban Bombo
RIP king's college budo's shepherd.

D E Wasake
22 December 2009
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

Winter plant(how I wonder what you are)

What did the cold concrete sidewalk,
Say to the pitiful garden plant,
On that cold wintry night?
3.00 am,
The hour when no one was innocent,
They touched.
When abbots in recess,
beseech most passionately,
The unknown unseen deity,
They kissed.
3.00 am,
When nuns in recess, in habit;
Stash offertory into vault,
of the man of perdition.
Someone yanked a plant out of a garden,
The gate keeper is now gone.
Someone's broken the 3.00 am law;
even the worst dressed girl at the club
Said "no"
As she interlocked arms with friend cute;
"Come on girl, let's just go home"
Someone's broken the 3.00 am law,
A hooded black man,
doesn't stab, doesn't ravish,
Old mother hubbard,cold mother hubbard,
And wizards and druids and witches,
Playing poker,drinking lemon tea
and casting no spells from under the sea. The plant lies on its side.
Says the concrete;
"Tough love honey; now die"
It shall breathe night's oxygen no more,
Instead gets the kiss of death,
invicible laws, ancient pax broken tonight.
The concrete side of winter is now this;
Everyone freezes,
Ice people,
Having ice cream,
On a cold winter night,
Now yanking out plants,
breaking night time's laws,
And walking on,
At 1 minute past 3.

D E Wasake
28th november 2009
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Manjeri:bulletproof baby

The boy,
running in the mountain wind,
Lapping up the sound of the trees,
Dancing the dance of his fathers;
Shoulders arched forwards, limbs to an angle,
away he streams, on the circumcision path,
"kasol e'kongo"on drum resonating,
The village boys dancing and goading,
The village belles taunting and gyrating,
The rite of passage now closer; looming,
The girl watching, praying,
it wasnt the greatest of times,
but it wasn't the worst either.

The girl,
A minute or less of her time to be wasted.
The boy,
Its a time of firsts, a celebration of sorts;
A little bit more private,
except for the stars gazing down.
The fireworks erupting that night,
A lot shorter than the minute alloted,
Not at all lilac or purple or violet,
A little light, a little white,
But his too went up in the sky alright.
It wasn't the happiest of nights,
But who is to say, neither the saddest.

And then I became a man,
And then I became a soldier,
And then I left her,
I had a bulletproof soul.

Soldiers of the unseen king,
We marched day and night,
Over foul country,
Across the great snow capped peaks,
Past cannibal country,
Into pygmy territory.
We looted their gold,
And pillaged their animal stock,
For replacement, we left bible stock,
And a few taller offspring stock,
History is written by the victors.
The books say;
We liberated the people of heathen ancestry,
They are now free of material sundry,
Free to worship, even Yhwh, the Sinai deity.
We were not the best of the liberators,
But who is to judge if they ever saw any better.

In the year I saw my Manjeri again,
She was a woman,
with a bullet proof soul.

Death and his grim grin, outstretched hand,
rising from the belly of the land,
In response, vulture and hyena, in glee circle.

In the year that i wanted to love her again,I died.
A lone tear was shed,
A bulletproof heart a little bled.

Manjeri Manjeri,
Flood the village path with your sorrow,
Let your memory cry out a new,
Weep and wail to the village medicine man,
And hold back not the sacrifice of bean and cock white.
Manjeri oh Manjeri,
If you cry, perhaps I'll be returned,
To hold you,
And love you,
Anew,
Perhaps shed,
this prison of a bulletproof soul,
and become a man with just as many tears,
Afraid of snakes and such other eerie creatures,
With days as the grass,
With a heart of glass.

The boy, kissing the morning rain,
the mountain gazelle,
Running besides him,
Its a time of seconds,
A reincarnation of sorts.

D e wasake
17 october 2009
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

The mutilated

In the heartland of london,
stranger;
In the darkness of london,
lone girl in tow weeps.
Criminal loving company,
Criminal loving misery.
Stranger in london,
Victim in tow,
Minding the gap,
Across the tracks,
Into the tunnel of the illegal,
knowing something that we don't,
Ancient weapon by her side,
Innocent victim to divide,
Ancient organ to deride.
She slashed,
Pleasure principle of the inside,
Innocence violated,
Ancient customs decided,
She mutilated.
Who shall tell the Met?
Who shall tell the tale?

The innocent walk this way no more,
The girl walks this way no more,
In her place is a woman,
Stranger too,
To her self,
Except the man with the iron heart,
And his iron part;
No feelings,
No pain,
No remorse,
Mounting,
Digging,
And ravishing.
Sweat mixed with blood;
As the woman cries,
As he smiles,
Evil smile.
Ancient custom sealed.

In the heartland of london,
Women became strangers,
Minding the gap.

Who shall tell the Met?
Who shall tell the tale?

In the year that mutilation ended,
We rejoiced.

D e wasake
23 september 2009

London, friends new-FGM conference, heathrow.
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

Trainspotting

The train runs fast,
Runs right over, right past,
Our lives thrown onto its tracks;
Latex gloves;
the old absent minded surgeon,
Mars wrapper;
chocolate crazed polish girl marched on,
old water bottle,
The japanese tourist hated the sparkling one,
Last year's love note,
It was the summer of firsts,
Oga was finally in london.
The train runs past,
Upon this life's tracks,
How we too go by so fast!
Moving from village to town,
Did not the fields seem endless?
The hills rolling by
Now far far away,
horses feeding with goats,
All along the tracks,
Now gone in a glimpse.
Our dreams,
Just as these tracks,
From someplace,
Going someplace.
Trainspotting,
Lifespotting,
Six cents none the richer,
Six years none the duller,
Six kisses none the more loved.

D e wasake
26 september 2009
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

BFG

Big fat giant,
Big fat thigh,
Lazily thrown over me,
In process perhaps crashing,
Millions of future offspring.
Big fat thigh,
Hot and spicy,
I take a bite,
A giant bite;
Let's out a giant moan,
Enough to wake the sleeping savannah,
Perhaps the sleepy galaxy.

In jah jah city
Jah weed ruled;
We gave mad props to the god jabbah,
Under the moon lit sky.
Under this night's smoky haze,
The stars dance the midnight dance,
iron lion jumps over zion's moon,
A bear hunts in orion's belt,
And marley croons on constant replay.
In jah jah city,
the fat high bird loved me,
And I her.

Red ribbon in the typewriter today,
4 more days of seeing the moon,
I can never write when the moon god reins,
So we just sat and drank bourbon,
The fat high bird and I,
Casting glances,
fat fingers clasping,
Marley constantly skanking.
she oiled her juicy thighs,
She rolled her big fat joints,
Hot and spicy,
Hot and juicy,
Before I took a bite,
A big fat bite.
And her, a big fat puff.
Let's out a giant moan,
Enough to wake the sleeping savannah,
Perhaps the now hazy galaxy.

D e Wasake
19 september 2009
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

When we were kings

When we were kings,
The minstrels, wiped our asses,
And honey dripped from vipers' tongues.
It wasn't the greatest of times,
But who is to tell it was the worst.
Then the man came.
Then the belching snake came.
Then the fire spitting stick came.
The elephants were lost first,
The lion king became a coward,
The waganda were subdued,
And the people of the ganyi country afraid.
When we were kings;
Awich the courageous,
Andereya the christian,
Kasagama the wise,
Chwa the young,
The man came,
Cross in right,
Gun in left.
We called him sir
but who was to tell,
he couldn't even have been fit,
to wipe our asses.


Seize the cannons,
Sail the Nile,
and cross the oceans,
their women will kiss our feet,
but not the lips.
bring me a pound of flesh,
but not one drop of blood.
There is a revolution,
But we can only whisper.
Hide the women and children,
Destroy cow and goat,
But Spare the beads,
Our women shall mourn with those.
Our women shall rejoice with those.

There is a revolution,
That we can only speak of in parable,
For when the man came,
He too speaks our language,
He too knows the whisper of the wind,
But the stories of old he knows not,
For those he burnt at the great fire,
The fire of his mistaken kingship.
He has the stick of fire,
and we don't,
But we have the stories,
And our mouths as yet intact,
He has the belching snake,
But we have the graves of the ancestors,
And they won't let us forget.

There is a revolution,
But we still whisper,
We shout yet not,
Its still afar off,
Or perhaps near,
As their messiah's return,
You never know,
It too comes as a thief in the night,
And when it does,
And when it does,
then the drums shall echo through the night,
And we shall be kings again;
Awich will rise, no longer afraid,
Andereya will carry cross and gun too,
Kasagama will see into the future,
And Chwa, a man; with a lion heart.

D e Wasake
19 september 2009