inspired by you...yes you...not you..YOU. Yeah.
My own,
Each night before dawn,
My guava eyes dream on,
Of only you being my own,
Sweeter than cane,
You possess my soul
Like the spirit in Luanda Magere
Or like satan did Jamin Mukhobero
For you I’ll climb the crying stone,
And come back with its tears,
To wash away all your fears
Your skin is like a healthy pawpaw,
Soft and sweet and smells like nature,
Smooth like simba’s tongue,
I like the way sweat droplets form on it
Like simsim drying on my mabati roof.
I like how it rolls down your back
Like a ripe mango down a slanting branch.
Your hips kill me.
But unlike Elijah Masinde I resurrect.
Not to form a cult,
But to eternally look at them,
Beautifully jerking from side to side
Like the choreographed hump of my fathers prize bull.
Your eyes are perfection.
Bright and clear.
Like the star studded skies of circumcision nights.
In them I see much more than black and white
Beyond,
To the colour that fills your life.
Your legs are not bamboo reeds.
Like twin sweet bananas
They are thin and fat in the right places
Sturdy enough to support a baby within.
Your lips are like a wise grandmother
Never offending.
Always caressing the ears around
With a voice that can lay hungry babies to rest.
You nurture me with your touch.
Like a cow’s first lick to its calf
Like the midwife’s cradle of the chief’s son.
When you are in my arms I feel like Kimathi
Holding down a colonial informer.
When we part you leave me deflated
Shrunken inside like sunbathed kunde.
I may not wear the red shirt and black pants
I may not buy Dutch chocolate and gifts
But my heart will always be stained
In red from ochre that colours our house
And in black from the fields that nourish our maize.
For to me it always is
Another day
Given to me to love you more.
