Monday, 8 August 2016


When Nyinjey left town
The sun did not show up for three days,
Rain went on beating the resilient leaves
Fog intercoursed with everything on its path,
It sneaked through the cracked windowpanes,
Germinating moulds on our winter shoes.
Days are like nights long hours to drudge,
The pain in my right ear has moved up
Four fingers closer to the crown of my head,
The throbbing is like two bulls fighting
On a sandy river bank, their hooves
Splashing wet sands in ten directions.
Hordes of earwigs are gnawing me from inside.
And I thought of the Big Apple, its lights,
The sunless, smelly subway trains always showing up
On time to gobble up masses of lonely souls,
Worry-soaked and desperate to reach their destinations.
Here is a mosquito trying to land on my
Left foot which hasn’t touched water for a week.
A dog barks in the distance as if
One hundred tiny bones are stuck in its throat.
The kitchen fan whirs on spewing out
Stale air laced with germs from my hysteric coughing.
On a night such as this
What do I hope?
What does he hope?
What do we hope?
Nothing. Anything. Everything.
Ah, a passport with a majestic eagle on it!
A hassle-free travel at the airport.
A little more money.
A little more comfort.
May all of these add up to something
Like a tunnel built by a million ants,
Leading to light and freedom.
My eyeballs pop out of their sockets
Roll across this page,
Soak up the black ink and
Rush back into their holes –
Ah, visionless eyes, such bliss.

When Nyinjey left town
All the brown dogs at the LTWA
Kept fast and a vow of silence for a day,
Even the bull in our village with
Its balls hanging down like icicles in a cave
Refused a banana I gave him,
It went on regurgitating the garbage
It gobbled up in the morning.

When Nyinjey left town
The clock sighed,
As the Symphony No. 6 in B minor
Trickled through cracks of the wet walls.

(Note: This is part of a long poem.)

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