Tuesday, 21 June 2016

#PoemWednesday: What Will I Tell My Children? By Faithful Poet


What will I tell my children?
Will I tell them that tattered
clothes became best outfit?
And how dirt became more
enduring than bathing with water
from corpse littered streams?

Will I tell them that brothers
Resurrected Judas kiss?
Will I tell them that our sisters
were forced to bear sons for men
who slay our fathers?
Will I tell them that writers hand
became more accustomed to
triggers than pen?

What will I tell my children?
Should I say that etighi was once
the dance of deaths?
And skelewu was once a hand
stained with blood.
Should I say ‘wad je rhe yo-o’ was
once  a traditional chant that
shattered peace.

Should I tell them about the time
 when bullets kissed more heads
than lovers’ lips?
Should I tell them about the time
when blades adored more necks
than pearls?

What will I tell my children?
Will I tell them that the gun
became a favorite toy?
Will I tell them about the time
when old age is a myth?
Listen you SOUL-dier man
Before you anoint your gun
with the red cloth       
before you wear helmet with
grass agrown.
Before you kill one man, but think twice.

You are slaying in another’s land
the skull of your mother is being
trampled.
The throat of your son is being
slit and the voice of your wife
is being stopped.

Hey! Mr. SOUL-DIER man
what do you want me
to tell my children?
That the men who caused this war
has enveloped their children into
the safety of foreign lands?
Will I tell them that their wives
are comfortable abroad?

Should I tell them about the time
when the voices of milk and honey
choir  became voices of war cry?
Peace is sweet but can it last?

I won’t tell my children
tales of this dying world
for fear will envelope their composure.
Pain and panic will drown them
even in embryo.

I will tell them about
that time when no residence
will say I’m sick
When all living will be
those pardoned for their errors.

I will tell them about
The time when God will
wipe away tears from our eyes
when death, pain, suffering
and mourning
when all former things shall pass away

I’ll tell them about
When the eyes of the blind
will be opened
when the ears of the deaf will be
unstopped
 when earth will yield their best produce.

I won’t tell them about this dying world
I will them about the new world

I will tell them about paradise.

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