rattle in the undergrowth
out a squirrel blinking nibbles
on an ivy garland
Valentine Kizito. All reserved (c)
rattle in the undergrowth
out a squirrel blinking nibbles
on an ivy garland
I am serving laughter
come now not after.
Whoever you are come sit around
these sensations and sound
that makes the heart rejoice
through the summoning of my voice.
Let me tell you of my joy and woes
I have nothing to lose.
And all of them sat at my feet
their shining eyes anticipation greet.
Thus I spoke and thus broke a chorus of laughter
so thunderous it shook the rafter
They left and I all alone sat weeping after.
Dewy dawn daisy
bright petaled miners
gather diamonds from air
Have you seen a sick child cry?
All fretted and hungry
the helpless mother’s bosom spent–
I feel the hunger- I feel the lack.
The street family cast in the cold
ebbing to obscurity in the parks—
I feel the neglect – the stinging cold.
A blind man overtakes me
How does he know there’s a turn there?
Should I help him on his way?–
I am in the darkness- lost.
The amputee on the pavement
Doesn’t move with his bowl from the sun
Waiting on almsgiving passersby —
I feel the scorch-the despair.
The need of help is eternal
Suffering in every corner
I go by feeling it all
Without sufficient alms
to balm all the pain
Feeling too much of life to bear living it
I walk the streets downcast and heavy hearted
Having inspected my empty pockets
I avoid eye contact with beggars.
Thick dark clouds hang
with raging winds
a rain that never fell.
I scavenged the farms
Where people had reaped
Collecting measly grains
To feed the birds
Two doves came down
Lovers perhaps
Every morning ate the grains
And water did drink
Only one dove came yesterday
Did they have a quarrel?
Often lovers do
Brooding eggs perhaps
A whole flight came today
She’d gone to call the rest
I emptied my barn
Poured out the jars
Feeding the birds
The nomads of this world
Say that the well-kept homes
Are tombs for the living
They ramble on
Come and go easy
Stopping now and then at the roadside tavern
The rusty roadside tavern
Where big roaches roam the tables
Where despising rats ran over feet
Where disheveled wanderers perish
In wine and cold floors
Like an oblivious child at play
They await their perdition
At the abysmal dark roadside tavern
Where dreams go to die.
The ones who survive this tavern
Are found at the end of the road
Where the clouds meets the horizon
Lying skywards musing
And crooning their death song—
O beloved
It is thrice as cold tonight
The sky is as beautiful as your soul
And the ground as dark as my heart.
___________________________Illustration: Café Terrace at Night by Van Gogh
Tree swaying in the wind
Leaf falls on rushing river
Another journey begins.
We set off by train
going to see the high peaked mount
the train rocked along windy trails
piercing through the foggy air
and suddenly whistled to a stop.
We were at the slopes
on a cloudy day—
You cant see the mountain peak
standing on its slopes
on a cloudy day-
holding hands
we resolved to climb.
A lily leaned for a kiss
the hummingbird’s beak
sucked her dry.