Archive for May, 2007

Green Piece(poetry)

May 28, 2007

By Eudiah Kamonjo.

Chocking this throat of mine
Blurring my eyes that used to be so fine
Burying me deep into self pity like I had no dime
Threatening the very essence of me.

Taking me to places and times
Showing me true psychic powers
Things unseen told to me by these voices
Pushing me deeper into my own shadows

Time came for me to act
Yet all I could do was watch as things begot hot
And the strange shadows revealed the lust
That took place even as I was host

These strange shadows; the affair revealed to my conscience
These strange shadows led me to conceive
An act I felt would be a disapprove
These strange shadows just would not let me breathe

Slashing that throat of hers
Finishing off that manhood of his
Blurring my eyes with blood
Mixed with pain, hurt, love and betrayal
My best friend and my own mate
Their dead secret strange shadows still follow mine….

Girls Only

May 28, 2007

The art of the heart
By Eudiah Kamonjo.

It’s girls’ night out tonight and Tasha, Martha, Pauline and I meet at Café Cream as we always do when it’s that time of the month.
Over coffee, we get into gossip. I had made a resolution early this year vowing never to gossip ever again but here I was….doing it like it was no evil thing.

I guess it is one of those things that come naturally for all ladies, as natural as chocolate or shopping addiction, I guess. Sometimes, we do not even realize we are actually doing it.
Martha works as a manger at Café Cream so we just had to wait for her to close up-which was really okay with us. Who wants to go out so early anyway…it is said that the real fun begins after 11 pm.

It’s been a while since we had a girls’ night out because each one of us had been dating, plus every time we made arrangements something always came up. Martha emerges from her office and joins in the conversation for a while. She is dressed in a black mini skirt suit and I like that she can get away with the fish net stockings finish. She announces that she’s getting married very soon but declines to give us more details of this juicy story.

Tasha’s boyfriend (who is out of town) keeps calling her asking her who where and who she’s with. Everyone keeps telling her to leave the dude (he has ‘played’ her a thousand times before) but she won’t quite hear none of it. She reacts, “Better the dog you know than the one you don’t.” The lass is deeply in love and there is simply nothing we can do about it. Sometimes I wonder whether she’s really in love, obsessed or that she has grown too attached to him over the last three years.

Pauline and I, well, we got it all figured out (or so we think). We are enjoying our unattached status and hope it lasts as long as we live or at least until our hair starts to gray. Everyone insists we go change and then pick Martha up later. Tasha is the only one who has a car and I must say I do not envy her at all; the rounds she has to make (for us), I say!
Hours later, everyone is ready but I insist we pass by the Village Market first; I have to rate Saxo, the fairly new Jazz bar at Village Market.

The warm welcoming colours and soft jazz music lead me to fantasize of a quite evening with a blind date and I’m thinking ‘Perfect place for an undramatic soothing evening.’

We ride off to Galileo to drink and dance. Maureen, besides being a stunning Kenyan-Ethiopian beauty is a great dancer who absolutely has no ounce of shame or shyness in her blood. She makes heads turn everywhere we go and our table always hosts an additional chair for those smitten by her beauty. How we laugh at the poor lads who always get the brush off!
I forgot to mention that she’s not just a ‘blonde’, she has the brains too. And I ain’t talking about tonnes of information loaded in her brain but also the sly way she uses her knowledge on most unsuspecting of lads.

Casablanca is a must go; it’s not only classy but has a touch of exciting ‘jujus’ all around.
I thought I had the night all figured out. I thought we’d spend the rest of the night at Casablanca. At least one successful girls’ night out with my favourite lasses. Boy was I wrong!

Out of the blue, Pauline decides she wants to join some guy at Black Cotton. We all chorused ‘But this is a girls’ night out!” “I know but Black Cotton is only twice a month and I did not attend the last one.”
She takes a cab.

As I’m trying to understand what just happened, I get a call-that I was urgently needed; it was an emergency. I swore that if this was anyone’s idea of a joke, I’d definitely send someone straight to heaven on a bike!
I had thought the girls night out would end on this note but the two girls (Martha and Tasha) dropped me off and headed for Casablanca.

They knew that the true spirit of the night is not just about set procedures or peoples’ company but what is in the heart. The art of the heart. The heart that craves to remain happy or gay no matter the circumstance or disappointment.

Truth (poetry)

May 28, 2007

By Eudiah Kamonjo

Moving through the crowded streets
Dead end stories thwarten
Writers’ blocks threaten
The sun’s majestic glory is totally spent
The moon’s slow pace approaches the set
You said, “There’s no point in digging deeper
You will never find the answers hither”
I believed it!
Shred my books, sold my camera as dreams split
Distributed my dollars worth pens to my applicant lovers
Those who’d failed the ultimate test.
Went to “find myself”- not in the coastal town of sexual bliss
But to Nanyuki where I let nature speak to me without cease.

Then a voice as firm as conscience
Rang over and over and over
“Ukweli umefichwa, nenda tafuta.”
“Kwenye Benki, Kwenye Benki”
“Ukweli umefichwa, Nenda Nenda!”

So I went, bought me new books and pens
Didn’t tell my spouse (he thinks I have one lose screw in my head……….just one)
Hired Shakir, the motor bike rider even as he insisted:
“Lakini ujue mimi ni shoga.. damu.”

By faith I moved; every stone I turned
Every person I questioned.
Still no answers,
No truth
But Franz Kafka’s words ran through
‘The world will freely open itself up to you.
To be unmasked.
It has no choice; it will roll in ecstasy at your feet’

June-by-June, I moved,
Puzzled through every data, every record,
turning pages, burning the midnight oil.
Hurried on in hope of truth.
Hurried back for lack of resources.
My account had ran dry, yet I couldn’t stop!
Shakir threatened to go back home to his mate.
In despair I walked along the Brazilian beach
Then ”Ukweli umefichwa. Nenda tafuta,
Nenda kule. Nenda!”

Now I knew l’d been chosen by writers of age
Their hands were upon me, but why me?
Might I have hallucinated from the ‘mo fire’ I’d kissed after leaving the editors chambers?
I tried to turn back, but the voice…..
It was real, it was so real….

I remember lighting fires
I remember dodging bullets in Sudan
I remember the desert storm sparing me
I remember seeing faces hearing voices
Shakir whispering “ Mimi sasa ni wako,
Mie sio shoga tena. Nakupenda kama sukari.”
Then the awakening voice
“Ukweli umefichwa, nenda tafuta. Nenda. Nenda!”

A million times more fearless,
I raked and searched
I remember going crazy on finding out the truth
Millions of dollars stolen from Anglo-Ohangala’s fame, hidden in the Thai lady’s account.

Then like Saul I was caught
Like a fish entangled in a net
Saul had taken his usual “roundies”
Then by God found a kingdom
Now by God the voice was sent
And I’d found something that would
Unscrew truth itself.

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