ACCEPTANCE

I embrace the darkness within me,
And  twirl to the swirls it forms around me,
What a beautiful fate we birth,
The shadows and shallows of things concealed

I embrace the fire that burns within me
Dance to the leaping curling flames,
Scalding, scorching, blistering hot
Warming and glinting the joy within

RUNNING ON EMPTY

How am I a ghost,
Yet I am not dead?
Living and skulking in their shadows
While my life is terribly hollow.

Why are my joys tied to theirs
And my grief doubly so
Why am I weighed by a guilt of theirs
Yet their wrongs I do not know

In becoming part of the whole,
Did I lose myself,
Did I leave my individuality on the shelf
For these formless beasts to sell.

What happened to the soul that lived within,
When was its flame snuffed out,
when was it snapped from being?
This dead form clearly does not belong.

Villain

I will be your villain
Because I know
you need to hate me
You need to blame me
So I will be your villain,

I will be your villain,
because you know
You got bored
you found a knew love
and moved on
so I will be your villain

I will be your villain
Because you couldn't just go,
Because i had to have done wrong
Because I had to the one who is sore
so I will be your villain

I will be your villain
Because you could no longer talk,
Because you were weak
And ashamed to admit it
That you stopped communication
When that is what you longed for
So I am your villain
Be pleased and smear my name
I know you will,
Like you did to those before me

Is it strange that I chose death to end this wretchedness. I have considered numerous ways to end it but none have quite appealed to me enough to want to try them.
I was open to drowning but the fact that it would take seven whole minutes before actually feeling the lasting relief of death is too long. Besides, I would much prefer to end it all rather than end up on the brink only to be pulled back.
Hanging also has no appeal given that it also takes 7 minutes for one to die. That and the fact that as your body shuts down, you will shit and piss your pants before your on your way. 

BOTTOM OF THE LAKE

At the bottom of the lake,
where my dreams and hopes,
rippled at the surface
And my regrets and joys
surged and swell underneath
lies the ghost
that once was me...

OPEN PALMS

I hold out an open palm

To show I have no secrets left,

That I have nothing to hide

We delved into those thoroughly.

So now we must show open hands

I hold out an open palm,

To show that I bear no grudge;

Not for the pain you have caused

Nor the betrayal you sowed

I return no harm unforced

I hold out an open palm

For you to perceive as you will.

If you think it as welcome,

Or consider it a threat

I am certain you won’t regret

I hold out an open palm

Take it if you will dear friend

Shun it if you must all the same

I trust you still all the same

An open palm

For  you, it still remains

THE TREE OF ELUKONGO

Before you start reading this, you need to know that this is the story of a tree. No, it is not a magical tree if that is what you are thinking.  It did however, have everything magical about it. If by the end of it, you would want to see the tree, I will show you where it once stood.

It was a large fig tree. The largest tree I have ever seen in my entire life. It stood in the compound across from the gate. Towering over all other trees in the compound and village as well. Need I inform you that the village of Elukongo was once a forest? Farming activities led to the felling of most of the trees. A large number still stand though. None however was as marvelous as the fig tree that stood in Mr. Asonga’s compound.

The tree was so towering and looming.  I say looming because its branches were spread all over the compound like a magnificent umbrella. If it was a human being, it would be a seven foot tall person with his arms spread above everyone else’s head. It was green from January through to September, and then it would shed its leaves for the rest of the year. Even so it was still quite beautiful. Its branches were so numerous that it still gave shade without its leaves. It stood across from the main get, on the right hand side of the house. All seeing and all perceiving.

As a child, whenever I heard of the Mugumo tree, I pictured that humongous tree towering over all the rest. Whenever I heard the creation stories, I would imagine that God himself came to plant this particular tree. That he laid out its large roots, artistically spreading them so they acted as a make shift stage during functions. That he shaped the stem to make its girth and height as imposing as ever. That he also carved a hollow in it that would be home to several creatures over the years.

The tree housed a number of animals. The swarm of bees was the longest residence of the tree and the most welcome. Their constant buzzing during the day as they went to and fro the hive. The thing that appealed most to me was that, no matter how many times we tried to smoke them away, they came back. It was as though the tree would purge itself and summon them back. They would return buzzing louder and longer than before. If one was new to the area, they would not be mistaken for expecting to see a public gathering when they heard the bees.

Then there were the monkeys. This set of animals never got along with anything on the farm. Not the people, nor the dogs, nor the bees. But they loved the tree. Its height and numerous branches provided a perfect vantage point for them to spy on all the happenings below. If you tried to hurl stones at them, they were certain not to reach the intended target. In addition, the tree served as a perfect junction for the monkey hopping along the canopies of all the trees that fenced the compound. The tree was their perfect escape, before they were all hunted down and killed.

I am inclined to believe that the tree some how helped in their demise. The monkey disrespected it, breaking brunches and throwing them down at oblivious passers-by. In its revenge, numerous monkeys slipped on its branches and fell to the capture or death at its roots. Before their complete disappearance, they learnt to avoid that marvelous tree. In some ways they revered it. They no longer broke its branches, nor did they disturb those who sheltered in its shade. The tree on the other hand seemed to stand proud, glad to have restored its dignity. Vehement to anyone that would want to harm it.

A few years after that, it housed an owl. It was a huge grey bird. The owl had its nest hidden between three branches that gave it effective cover. This was ages before Harry Porter made owls appealing. The people in Elukongo are a very superstition lot. The presence of an owl in the tree that was also itself an item of superstition did not board well. The belief that owls are harbingers of death bothered many of the residence. However the recent experience with the monkeys was not to be soon forgotten. After much debate, some young brave fellow took it upon himself to climb the tree and vacate the owl.

“A broken leg I can deal with. Death on the other hand I am not ready for.” The young man said

“You do not know what spirits possess that tree. Or why the owl feels welcome with the bees. You will die either way if you climb it.”

“I will take my chances.” The fellow replied belligerently

I find it strange that no one bothered to consult us. None of the immediate occupants of Mr. Asonga’s compound were bothered by the owl. Perhaps it was the fact that we were only there for a few weeks a year. But we were never as superstitious as the rest and thought of the owl to be an amusing resident, big eyes, pouty face and all. The fellow who went up the tree did not share our enthusiasm. He brought down its nest, with two small eggs in it.  He came down with a fractured leg too. But his job was done, the indignant owl mourned for the night and flew of to some distant place, parting with the tree for good.

The next set of residents was a group that I despised greatly: eagles. There is a special bond that luhyas have with chicken. However, eagles like to snatch up chicks before they can grow up into hens and end up on a luhya’s plate. I loved the chicks; I would feed them under the shade of that great tree. Sometimes I would watch them as they climbed to drink water that had settled between the roots. Then, as though it was out of spite, the eagles would swoop down, takes the healthiest of the chicks and fly up into the tree. I hated them for that and the fact that they ate the chicks with gluttonous glee.

Given the security of their nests, more eagles flocked to the tree. After a while, I was convinced that our compound would be the only one in all of western Kenya that would never have chicken. I however find the story of how they came to migrate more entertaining. One of the eagles unwittingly picked up a duckling instead of a chick. The mother duck flew furiously after them climbed into the tree and took down all their nests. The eagles seemed more startled than anything and took of. I was delighted by that.

I heard about a final resident, but who I never saw. A python that was rather oversize. It had crawled into the hollow in the tree and nestled there. Snakes are generally not welcome guests. More so if they can make a meal of you. It was at this point that the tree was irreparably damaged. A foolish man set the tree a blaze to force the snake out. The fire was put out, and the snake was killed. But the tree was forever damaged.

 The strangest thing about the tree is how its health and my father’s were closely intertwined. When Mr. Asonga’s health started to dwindle, so did the trees. It was also strange how their lives seemed bound together. When you were bothered and sat in the trees shade, some mystical wisdom would lend itself to you and solve your problem. The kind of wisdom I found in my father.  Perhaps it was just coincidence and I was reading in to it. Perhaps it was not. However, in the same year Mr. Asonga was laid to rest, three meters from where it stood, the tree too died. Now all that is left of it are the memories of it.