To all fathers and sundry

To the ones who gave us birthTo the ones who our needs boreTo the ones who couldn’t stayTo the ones who their roles did well playTo the ones whose game brought us into this world with its niceties and filthTo the ones who are and will guide us out of itTo the ones who endured

Hope beyond the streets

In our hunger we feed themIn our want we provide for themIn our illiteracy we educate themWe are in the gutters with themWe are in the streets with themWe are all beaten by the rainAnd have our equal share of the sun’s torturing raysYet we preserve them as the pearl in the merchant’s landWe hold

The mystery of a day

Yesterday is a historyTomorrow is a mysteryToday is a gift that is why it is called a present,It has rightly been said.It indeed is a wrapped present – whose content, though in hand,none can fully guess.For it presents itself, yet under a veil that is rolled off hour after hourMinute by minute, and second by

A day in Domeabra

The dawn breaks with the melodious kokorokooWe wake up to the cool morning breezeThat washes off the previous day’s worries and refreshes our souls,Giving us renewed strength for the new dayThe women and girls tidy up the compound,Set on fire the tripod stove for the morning communion.We make the joyous treks to the river, wells

To a heroine

There once lived an unsung heroine Born on the battlefield, She didn’t choose the fight The battle chose her. Yet she did not run away Neither did she stand aloof. She mustered the entire armoury her eyes could set on And all weapons her hands could lay on. Providence lent her the arm and bravery