In the morning Bliss,
Its spring and it poured
All green.
Flimsy chilly air hits
My skin and calms it.
Oh the qualms,
I heave to the morning glory.
If I could chose
This air over the stingy,
Tight and stiff feels of the city,
Oh! Nairobi, and these serene feels of the green
Covered world, then I would chose these sides.
Si we wake up to bliss?
So what of this city they call the country?
Oh! It is our Mexico.
Si tuliambiwa yatatendwa?
Where is the city,
Where is the country they swore to protect?
Where is the city I can stand on a heavy downpour?
If I could chose between
The hearth and the alleys,
My children run in schemed
Moves, over the treachery
Trenches and diaper littered streets,
I could choose my own
Farmhouse as if I had any.
I would want to winnow in the
Evening wind, these cereals for a meal.
I would choose to see the fruits of my womb
Run off their energy
With a clergy of others like their souls
Run In squeaks to the glory of the sunset.
Lakini sasa ona,
Checki, si they promised affordable housing,
Si Uhuru alisema wata make?
Wakija hutuwachia mathao, na ni mathao zetu.
Kwani huyu jamaa ni Rambo,
Stori gani hii atajenga keja
18,000 daily?
Si kamnyweso imemwonyesha mbaya?
Sasa ona,
Hizo ganji walimunch wakidai kutuwachia legacy,
Hawa ni wale mabweha…
Imebidi nimebaki nikinurse dream yangu ya
Kupata farmhouse, and not the shack
I get home into to lay my head.
I would choose my farm house,
This is wishful thinking
The herb and I never left each other.
Yaaani if I could choose, I
would choose to see the chicken roam
For mites as kites look down to their prey.
I would choose the stench
Of the sheep skin
A stone thrown from my hearth.
Today I throw stones to foxes,
Monkeys, – the human hyenas on top seats.
If i could walk down the trodden paths
From my farmhouse, to tend to my farm produce,
I would cherish the days…
What produce is this that rots…
They said they fought for roads, land
Look I walk home down the streets with honky ponky,
Messy alleys,
I hop into nearest joint for a spliff.
Leo ni ile day sikupata za Marto wa Nduthi.
Inabidi niruke, mitaro kadhaa
na tuwedge twangu, ndio nisianguke.
Do you know there was a heavy downpour
Last night?
Do you know the landlords let
The shonde flow out?
Yes! Into the made streams of sewer.
Yaani hawa wabeberu,
They forced me to cover my skin?
Into some suits?
I heard this is what they called uncooth,
I call it colonial fatigue.
I have seen you validate their goal…
I have seen you perfect their worship…
I have seen you accuse my traditions as superstitions.
Oh why we choose to perfect their art,
Yaani why can’t we mind our Kenyan business?
How much more to the Imperialists silos?
So tell me that if i walked down Tom Mboya street,
In this goat skin and bare feet, tell me will you murmur
Behind my back, rather tell me if the city
Would be clean enough.
I would choose to walk down that street,
After hitting the morning dew, not in navy blue suits,
White collars, oh the chains, those chains, call them
Fixing holes and coughing thy taxes to thieves in blue suits and red Ties,
Oh the dynamic duo.
The irredeemable thieves?
Those we need to Lynch them…
I mean I will hit that street in a kiondo,
And the goatskin, this? Is what freedom looked like!
Overflowing water,
Surplus harvests
Zero malnutrition,
Beautiful mornings,
And glad hearts.
Initiation festivals,
No beggars, did I mention no
Aflatoxins?* mercury sugar?
No pesticide deaths,
No hospitals with groaning souls,
His cousin took it all.
Hey!
If i could choose my farmhouse
I never could wake up to this,
It is the beautiful world of shangrilla,
That got raided never to recover.
I choose to piss on them all,
I Want my farmhouse.
So if i could choose?
I could choose my farm house.
