Sunday, October 23, 2011

Mavuno // Harvest -- October 18, 2011


WORDS – THE ABUNDANT HARVEST//Said Suleiman

What else should we sow
if it is not word?
for the harvest of it
is greater than any-
greater than many-
sweeter than honey-
worthier than money-
Let us sow words
to harvest wisdom
to spread education
to implant awareness
to inspire peace and justice
to inculcate a sense of democracy
Let us sow words
to draw happiness
out of miseries
because words are music
with natural rhythm and beat
words are world
make it go round
words are weapon
with two-side effects
either to save or harm you
then sow words to save you.
If we are to harvest love
then let us sow words
for words grow into
emotions, reactions and actions
but if we are to harvest hatred
then put only one word
into a wrong sphere
and you will be damned!
Right here at Maneno
let us sow words
to harvest the sweet fruit of words.
                                                                             

WASTED HARVEST//Said Suleiman

“Life is what you make it”?!
No, such saying doesn’t apply in this neighborhood
where only a half of a half number of graduates are employed
only to earn a half of a half of the money they should be earning!
Life determines who you are to be
for you might choose and learn to be a doctor
but only to end up selling potatoes at the market!
A graduate psychotherapist earns his living through fishing
as if there are no mental disorder cases in the neighborhood!
A degree holder in mechanical engineering
runs a hand-hoe farming at Kibondeni village
soon to forget that he carries the title of engineer!
A renowned lawyer with master degree
shot dead his 14-year-old pregnant house girl
for he was too ashamed
of having a child from a child-house-girl!
An eleven-year-old child selling fresh fishes in the streets
at the time she is supposed to be in a class room
her mind is too much occupied with bread-winning
rather than reading alphabets
after all, she can’t put alphabets on a table
and slice them into bread-like pieces
and pick them with fork to make her belly full.
Religious leaders found selling cocaine
it’s a harvest from holy books of today
for in these books, cocaine prescribed as a dose for pneumonia!
So many resources we have in this neighborhood
but we gain less than half of the harvest
the remaining is taken to abroad
the harvest is too abundant for the neighborhood
so that it has to be taken to somewhere else!
A very beautiful woman sells her body
for she is too much beautiful
to give herself for free to a one faithful husband!
We lost one Nobel winner to gain others new
but it still a big loss
for the other new ones won’t plant a single tree
and there won’t be a 5000-tree-planting-farewell for their departure.
A doctor found raping 12-year-old-girl in a public hospital
seven-year-degree course in medicine
changed him into a sex addict
it perhaps has to do with seeing too much
of females’ nudity in the operating theatre
now, jail is his only seven-year-long harvest!
Africa! a neighborhood of the abundant harvests!


ZENJ HARVEST//Thomas Green

Come October and November time
A waft of spice acrid yet sweet fills the air.
It is penetrating to the senses, yet savory mouthwatering to the senses.
Pass by the port warehouses and the aroma grows overpowering still
Where bags pile high with the pungent precious spice.
Journey along the thoroughfares and remote country roads,
It is there you will catch the dominating scent once more.
Where hand-woven mats do line the way, there festooned,
Piled one finger deep with brightly colored buds,
Cloves soon to grow more black than the men who brought this bounty.
Stems with red and green tiny flower buds
Set out to dry in the hot sun peeking through a cotton candy sky
Dotted with clouds that keep the Sun’s otherwise fiery orb
Bearable and pleasant in the blue heaven above.
The show of so many mats side by side,
laid out as if to show off their bountiful harvest.
Nearby too are the huge lush Mango trees,
Palm trees that dot and often crowd upon each other.
The husks of so many coconuts piled not far away
Where a bare-chested man with a white cloth about his waist toils.
He is as black as soot and dripping rivulets of sweat
Stream down his muscular angular frame.
His brow and body gush from his arduous labors.
Time after time he impales whole coconuts upon a sharp metal spike
Shredding the husks into ever growing mountains of shredded fibers.
One pile for the husk, One pile for the virgin nut.
Such is the marvelous scene at the harvest of Zanzibar cloves,.
They lazily dry under a hot tropical sky
On this Spice Island, by some called Zenj.

 GARDEN OF IDEAS // Collaborative MANENO poem

Equality.
Enhance.
Patience.
I will wait for my right time and not to push things faster.
Motivation.
Make people aware of all their possibilities.
Listen.
Peace, love and understanding.
Empathy.
Really feel someone else’s loss.
Peace/Salama.
Help others wherever you can.
Embrace that every negative has a positive. Learn from your mistakes.
Transforming the rain in confetti.
(Looking at the bright side of life).
Forgiveness.
To cultivate forgiveness, we need to remember our own faults and how we need to be forgiven too.
Trees.
To make more trees in the world, sing a tree song and smash the cars.
Trust.
Assume, first, the purity of other’s intentions.
Faith.
Trust that every life experience happens for a reason.
Honor.
Don’t lie to yourself and to others.
Creativity/Ubunifu
Lose our self-consciousness and be fearless.
Compassion.
To make decisions of other people.
Confidence.
Every day, when you wake up, take a look at yourself in the mirror and reaffirm one thing you do well and shout it out with pride. Keep that moment in mind every time you doubt yourself throughout the day!

 UNTITLED // Julia Bishop

Good soil, good seed
Well watered no weed
Protect from pest, from sun that burns
Guarantees you rich returns
And just like crops
People need light
They need hope
To grow up bright
They must be nourished
Not left in the dark
To make them wise,
Curious, brave..and sharp.
So mama dear, have two or three
Less is more, you must agree,
But school them well, teach right from wrong
And then we'll reap a harvest strong.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

What If? // Ikiwa Ingewezekana -- September 20, 2011


If I sank
I would travel the world
Ningesafiri duniani
If I follow my instincts
Halafu roho yangu itaruka juu ya jua.
If a woodchuck would chuck wood
If we sank
Then I would give a dollar to everyone.
Ikiwa nitamona mpenzi wa zamani
If I will see a past lover
Then there is no way I won't get lost.


TURN BACK TIME/Thomas Green


If I could turn back time
and I found a way to reverse the sands of time.
Could I go back and make changes to a life,
A life that’s so important to mine.
To bring back a life now lost in the fabric of time.
If I had that power I would still have my first great love again,
My love would be here by my side.
We would be growing old and we’d be settled in our ways,
At peace and totally at ease with each other, nothing to hide.
Would that it could be. I wish for it so.
Truly we do not know how such changes might turn out to be.
Would some butterfly effect turn upon us tenfold?
Bring a result totally un-foretold?
Like the beating of tiny wings upon many tiny wings
Like some dark force fueling a hurricane in due time
As it does multiply, churn and brew.
Does making an alteration in the way of things now gone by
give some consequence beyond all power to prevent?
Could it precede a similar result and an undesirable end?
Maybe it would be me that were gone and laid low?
True love’s desire still beaten, lost, and placed below.
Could I truly achieve the results that my heart so desires?
Would my love be growing old and at ease with me by my love’s side?
Maybe, and yet I would hope we could turn back time,
So my love would still be here and still be mine forever more.
What if.  

WHAT IF…/Eleanor Griplas

What if the world was to change overnight
Just like that, we wake up to find everything is not as it was
Whilst we are sleeping a revolution has taken place
While our eyes were closed and dreams were the reality
A metamorphosis had occurred and everything that was known and familiar
Had disappeared, gone
What if the rich had overnight swapped places with the poor
The big guys have now become the small men on the street
Now it’s their turn to be trampled by unthinking feet
Those who had nothing now live in big houses, drive diesel guzzling cars
Can flash wads of cash, buy expensive phones
Abuse their wealth and their health, but at least now it’s their choice
 what if this happened - would the small guy remember how it felt
To be right at the bottom, whipped by the fat guys belt
With no-one to care for your rights or your life
Because those at the top making a fast buck at any expense
Don’t count the lives of others when they do their sums
Would the nouveau riche catapulted into this upgraded seat
make the same mistakes as those whose shoes they now wear
What if they stopped and remembered how it felt before
would they care about those now occupying their shabby life?
or by way of seeking revenge take advantage of their elevated position
and just watch while their predecessors plummet to the bottom of the ocean
they are okay, cruising about with their heads in the clouds
why should they care – no-one did about them when the roles were reversed
But what if this overnight revolution changed our hearts and minds,
instead we all became caring and thoughtful, not selfish and greedy
everyone was considered equal and valuable in everyone’s eyes
but what if, I am just dreaming…

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Wanting & Waiting // Kutaka & Kusubiri -- August 23, 2011


THIS IS THE NEWS/Eleanor Griplas

Africa
The line of waif like figures snakes around the camp
Like sticks they stand limply, lifelessly in virtual silence
Except for the cries and whimpers coming from small bundles
Tied to their mothers backs with brightly coloured cloth
A splash of colour in an otherwise colourless world
Where there is only wanting to live or waiting for death..

Flies scavenge and rest on cracked and dry lips
They crawl into sad and sunken eyes
No energy left to even brush them away
Just enough strength to hold out a hand when their turn comes
They live each day at a time, no plans for the future
They can only wait for life to get better as they want to stay alive

Camera footage ends, news reader pauses, and continues with a
report from a vibrant Market scene, ramadan time
Food piled in colourful mountains of red, brown, orange, green
there is excitable pushing and shoving as the believers fill their baskets
with more and more
Can't be left out, got to cover the mat with a feast of dishes
 We must not be wanting or waiting for anything when the sun sets

my son comes in, doesn't like the news
Too many depressing stories he can’t relate to
Can the kids really be starving when their bellies are so bloated?
How can they leave the flies to crawl on their faces?
Mum. Can I have a new touch screen phone?
You know I have wanted one for ages and you told me I had to wait

And now to a report from our North American correspondent
Figures released today have put child obesity at a staggering new high
Percentages, figures, statistics.... Another almost equally shocking item of news
Camera pans to round faced teenagers with layered bellies
Arms and legs, swollen flesh from the excesses of a western lifestyle
"Yeah I want to get my stomach stapled and I am waiting for the operation"

News flash - another three areas designated that six lettered word, famine
More desperation, more millions of lives slipping away into starvation
Camera zooms in on an emaciated figure, a mother, her baby on her back
It stopped crying two days ago but she does not know why
sorry mama but your infant has passed to a better place
Your child is no long wanting or waiting, she has gone


We jump to another channel - Adverts bombarding us with images of plenty
Happy families sitting round a well-filled table
Steaming dishes straight from the microwave….. ready made dinners
One man’s snack is another's daily ration, please stay tuned,
An appeal follows for the victims of the famine, do not reach for the remote control
Please help those in want; we are waiting for your donations

How can life be so unequal?. And we, who really want for nothing
Yet we are not satisfied with all that we have
Got to get the latest model, new 3G with wifi, should I swap my BlackBerry for an i phone?
We are no longer used to waiting for anything, life is
Fast Internet connection, instant mashed potato, Speed dialing and dating, 24 hour living
Yet for others, their only want is to survive the next 24, but for them death is always waiting


Whether they want it or not...


Friday, July 22, 2011

Inside/Out // Ndani/Nje -- July 19, 2011

THE NEVER ENDING BATTLE/Daniel Sepetu

The figures that we chasin’, aren’t matchin’ the sorrow caused by the disappearance of a father figure
But the presence of a woman called a mother in the image of a father with no figures
Is what made us brothers and not niggers……..so go figure
The image on the mirror in the morning!
Is it the reflection of the beautiful soul that’s mourning?
Or just the image of invisible evil that’s growing
Look what we lust for and the numbers of the sins
The logic behind religion and what lies they bring
The separation of the regions and the segregation of the skin
So what are we fighting for HUH!?
Are we seeking the freedom or the corrupted kingdom is sick in the dome
They affiliate with suppliers of firearms and producers of chromes
Look the death stats and those kids with no homes
Destruction of the Mother Nature for the extraction of the oil
Bring mass confusion and everything turmoil
Intelligent fools through brainwashing education
With rented tools, soil washing our nation
With false treaties, deficit budgets hence poor are dying
So when I spit venom unlike python whether in a cam, corner or when Mic’s on
I’ll moon walk the surface of the earth and cast a show just to let them roll on.




A PLAY OF FIVE ACTS: SINGLE PLAY - ORDINARY PLAY - DIFFERENT PLAY - RELIEF - ANGER – EPILOGUE/Clare Smith

Actors in a play of our own making. 
Which part do I play? What lines do I say? 
Director barks “Relax…. Just improvise!  
Look at each other, what do you see?”
Looking at me, looking at you, we look at
Each other – blank stares searching for the 
Correct face, for  we share a single play. 
Play born of a moment, different people
Living, breathing, now proving our worth.
What brought us to the same place, no one knows.
As we take our positions, ready for the entrance,
Feet kick up dust, footprints mingle in the dirt. 

Setting: workshop, the far end of a shop.
Director sets the scene: “Warmth lingers
In the air born of friendship and  laughter”.
Then, wanting to get on, impatient,
Director cries “Feel it – Be it -  
Stop whimpering about!”  then “ ACTION!”
Whilst dreaming of Hollywood, of bigger
Budgets, starry eyed,  wishing away this
Dusty workshop, wishing  away these
Ordinary actors and this ordinary play.

Enter: two immigration officers.
Me, I look up from my sea of warmth, but
Wait! Are we in different plays? Have I read the
Wrong script? Is Director having a joke?
Playing a trick? Have the immigration
Officers deviated from the page?
For from these actors mouths come words so strange!
They have a point that they won’t make.
Make a different point to which I can’t respond! 
I have come unstuck. I do not know my words.

Eyebrows raise on Director, fierce eyebrows that say - improvise.
I find my voice, I say what in truth
Resides in me, bursting forth in torrents,
But each time the eyebrows arch in fury.
I do my best, and then again, each
Time I say things less reasonable to me.
Eyebrows calm, I have the right lines now.
I am relieved.

Right lines? Too late anger bubbles in my chest.
I rage at Director “Eyebrows raised just at me?
Only I say lines different from my first?
It is just a play, they don’t believe in what they say!
What’s inside is not what’s coming out!”

Director booms “What living thing’s the same
Inside and out? I dare you name me one!
Oversized fur coats have skinny rappers
Underneath, puffer jackets provide the
Puff out on the streets.  Fierce words froth forth but 
It’s fear that lurks behind”. Director takes a
Breath, …is off again…”Peel a fruit, thick skin
Thin flesh, dull outside, lusty, lusciousness
Beneath, smells lick the nostrils hint only
At the pungency to come, sugar cane
Juice gives succour to the thirst, but chew on
It’s fat, you’ll end up with a sore jaw, and
Fibres in your Throat! -- Humph” Director says
“It’s -- How -- It -- Is.”

INSIDE/OUTSIDE/Julia Bishop

Tonight my story starts inside; with little crabs, blue flashing fishes,
In a warm rock pool filled up with tide, sandy feet, sun-kissed, delicious.
Dripping caves of coral mystery, the memories laid down decide,
A charming, happy childhood history, makes home the place you feel inside.
Inside, low murmur of voices at tea-time, bone-china tinkles.. lazy day.. buzzing fly,
Grandfather clock ticks to resonant hour-chime, dog yawns and stretches..dusty heat.. open sky.
The deep orange sunsets, the company cheers, the night sounds, the dawn and savannah so wide
Warm and nurtured, inspired, at peace, belonging, that’s what it feels like when you’re inside.

Then stepping out to cold outside - harsh breath of winter, frozen air in face,
Deep Devon lanes, sculptured snow either side, have to try to exist in this place.
Kikoi no longer caresses legs dancing to Reggae beat, now wrapped round neck protecting and warming,
But have to succeed, to make a life, find your feet - so enjoy bark of fox.. hoot of owl.. frosty morning.
Then outside builds, beyond first chills, and grows a life of adventure, challenge and fun,
Travel the world, uncover its thrills, discover yourself, love, chase the sun,
Confidence in work and play, have a ball, step out with clear, determined stride,
Take it on, jump right in, try it all - because everything’s possible in the world outside.

But there’s little glimpses back inside, like swallows fly south, each winter, yearly,
A growing voice can’t be denied, that knows it needs to be somewhere, dearly,
A tugging heartstring, annual and faithful, acknowledges that the time will be coming
The magnetic pull back to the people, the places, will bring full circle, that belonging.
And I don’t know why, it’s under the skin they say, this place imperfect, some sadness, pain,
But then there’s the smiles..prayer call opening the day..starry night..thunder of monsoon rain
You can journey far and you can change your sky, but your soul, your origin, you can’t set aside
As a daughter of Africa, I answered the cry, and now I’m happiest back deep inside.


IN THE HOLDING CELL/Thomas Green

Cry my baby it's a bad bad day
We're on the wrong side of this iron gate
We’re crowded in in such a bad bad way
just waitin' for the beginning of our fate.

In here looking out and down a naked hall
we see free men walk to and fro,
pressed up against our spartan three walls
and the closed gate shut constrains our sprawl.

Squeezed in like matchsticks are we all.
Hands up, outstretched so to steady our stand,
reaching out for the close low ceiling and walls
trying to stand straight erect, not crumple or fall.

The lock clicks open, it snaps, there’s a clang
The gate squeaks open, but just for a brief open gap.
One more guy squeezes in, tight among our sweaty gang
Squeak, clang, the lock clicks shut with a snap, again.

Each one knows why he is here pressed in,
some RB number for something done wrong.
Each one perchance did a thing that shouldn't have been.
Some may get lucky, get out and away from this throng
walk soon again free men and on their way so strong.

The stench here within is so unseemly to bear
the aromas of rank sweat permeates hot stifling air.
A close stagnant massala-mix without much want to compare
Mixed with feces, old urine, dirty clothes and group despair.

So many eyes looking out away and down the hall
We await friends and family who we hope will help and give a care and call
may we not await too long in this lonely crowded space
Where if you be forgotten, you might despair and disappear without a trace.


UNTITLED/Eleanor Griplas

This is my most inner inner
My all soul, my thin skin
My holdmybreath
My tender flesh
My ownest own my I

This is my most inner inner
My no see, my no touch
My protective shell
Which hides my past
To keep me safe from pain

This is my most inner inner
My no entry, my you stay away
My thoughts stash
My secret pandora box
My hidey hole for one

and what about my outer outer
my open soul, my tough skin,
My laugh out loud
Show my flesh
My good time girl outside

I can show you my outer outer
With a big grin, in my deep voice
My smiley face
The life and soul
Living for here and now

So who is the true me?
My inside self or
My outside front
My self assured thick skin
or the small girl trapped within

I am my whole self
My two parts are equal self
My libra scale balanced self
Often brave but always true to
My ownest own my I

A KING-CUM-SLAVE/Said Suleiman

How can a lion be a lion
only when he is in the jungle
but turn to a rabbit
when he is just a foot away from the jungle?
How can a King be a king
only when he is in the palace
but turn to a slave
when he is an hour out to say hi to a neighbor?
How can a country be a country
only when it is within a country
but turn to a province
when it is outside the country?
How can you be a sharp knife chopping potato
only when you are at the market
but turn to a potato being chopped by the same knife
when you are somewhere else?
But attention!
attention the King-Slave model!
there will come a time
when you can’t be the lion
in your own jungle
You can’t be the King
in your own palace
You can’t be the country
in your own country
You can’t be the sharp knife
you used to be at the market
There will come this time
if it hasn’t come yet
Attention!
can’t you liberate yourself from your own fears?
so that you can liberate yourself from the hidden manacles
which long have set you back
from the long waited success
the success which is just feet away
but can’t be reached
for the hidden manacles triple your fears
when you just think of the attempt!
Attention!
there will come a time
when you will neither be the King
nor the King-Slave
but just a slave in your own palace
a SLAVE of the slaves!






COMMON//Gerry Bukini (the Anonymous Poet)


It is so common
To think that we all have something in common
The most common things I see
Are pollutant-mind-destructing scenes
Common mind-deleting scenes
While the common sense lies dumb within
Outside; the common things happen again
The brainiacs; invents new world maniacs
Turning brains into miniatures
And thinking capacity as a no-culture
I disagree using my uncommon common brain
To most of these common things
Speaking from within
Coz outside; I am just a common being
Living in the same common ring
But thinking outside that common thing
Coz I know I have commonsense
And not every common thing makes sense
So my common sense
Deletes me from common things
Now I’m the uncommon common thing
Who thinks
Commonsense is not common to everyone

I see strangely; with my six senses
I seek sense; to reach my stances
To me common has to make sense
It’s just sense, not sensibility
To prove it you don’t need genius’s ability
Coz it’s within you
Outside is just utility
That leads you to your sensible reasoning
And drives you away from brain pneumonic vulnerability
Brain maturity and purity
The characters of uncommon common being
It’s not about reaching the HIGHER BEING
This is seeing the common-self from within
Outside of this common thing
Not every common thing makes sense
Free yourself from common things
Common sense is not common to everyone
You have got to use your commonsense