Raya Wambui
KENIA. Comenzó a escribir poesía constantemente hace trece años. Empezó a realizarse en julio de 2011 compitiendo en el Carnivore Star Search de ese año. Abrió su blog en marzo de 2012, donde ha estado compartiendo su poesía y algunos otros escritos desde entonces
(rayawambui.wordpress.com). Su poesía tiende a la poesía revolucionaria, pero no es exclusivamente de ese género.
Ser keniano, es oler el aroma del polvo que está saltando,
para cumplir con la lluvia, que va a venir.
Ser keniano, es celebrar las nubes,
conocer a sus espaldas, el sol está en aumento,
y, con su matrimonio viene la promesa de la leche, de la miel.
Porque, ser de Kenia, no es para sobrevivir.
Ser de Kenia, es sorprender.
© Raya Wambui
Define And Conquer
To be Kenyan, is to smell the scent of the dust that’s jumping up,
to meet the rain, that’s coming.
To be Kenyan, is to celebrate the clouds,
knowing behind them, the sun is rising,
and, with their marriage comes the promise of milk, of honey.
Because, to be Kenyan, is not to survive.
To be Kenyan, is to surprise.
I’ll be honest, Art Cafe is not exactly, my cup of tea,
And I could never figure out, how so many cars wore red and white stickers…
Why market for free?
I guess I kind of scoffed at the security checks…
until militants attacked a playground.
Yes, we were shot.
Yes. We are wounded.
NO. We are not falling.
We can’t let on radical group, force a xenophobic dawning.
We built the bullet glass barricades which held their for for several days!
If we start hating all outsiders, then they win, that regressive change.
Do not think that blind hate is not blind.
We must seek to define, what they try to divide.
To be Kenyan, is to see beauty in curves, which frame the colours around,
msemo za leso.
To be Kenyan, is to mourn out loud, to cry in ululations
as exclamation that the ones we lay to rest, have found the afterlife.
Because, to be Kenyan is not to survive,
To be Kenyan, is not to hide!
To be Kenyan is to be Pride.
Time makes its’ changes to faces, through phases, past places
within which all wounds try to be healed.
we used to know death is coming, when an owl is heard.
Now we read abuses in three languages, from Muhamed Kamau’s twitter bird.
We scream, hushed insults, at a government, that should have known,
an attack was pending!
But what we’re forgetting, is that it always was.
These cowards’ scare tactic is to keep on threatening.
What we can’t let them threaten, is our Unity,
Our Worth!
Trust me, I get it.
It’s difficult to define identity when your mixed
Up.
But that’s just it, our diversity is who We are!
And I know, we’re not quite arm in arm.
Nobody wants to be surprised by harm.
Racial and ethnic profiling is in our blood.
But we can’t let them take our hospitality!
Period!
In some places, our people were met with One Book, One God and spices.
In some place, our people were met with One Book, One God and riffles
All with slavery up their sleeves, perceived a human of a different breed,
with currencies of cowers beads, which used to glitter, like litter
Our beaches!
We, are rich, beyond riches!
To be Kenyan is to smile with every part of your being,
Forgetting the fact that your back is aching.
When your Kenyan, every tree has meaning.
Terere, Mchicha, fall like manna dropped by Gods winged messengers.
The coconut, the mango trees model our generosity.
The kasava, the guava, our children’s dreams,
tell tales of plenty, and harmony.
Because to be Kenyan, is not to survive!
To be Kenyan, is not just to live and abide!
To be Kenyan,
is to give something small, not to bribe.
To be Kenyan, is not to swallow lies!
To be Kenyan is to see the honey, through the hive!
To love, and give thanks for life!
To see fish, and DIVE!
To be Kenyan, is to Thrive!
I'M HERE
I’m here.
To sing a song of strength
Of which history bears testament.
Here to speak up and be present,
The evidence of her resilience.
I’m here to chop down the tree,
Whose seed, I wasn’t in time to bite,
To eat, so it would never have sprouted.
Here to kill the tree, whose bark,
Covered with rot, has lost its spark.
Whose fruit has never seen the light of day.
This tree who shades her from her light,
Who shields her from
Her ancient might!
This trees name, is victimization.
I’m here right now. To shout at her,
That we may yield a serrated, saw.
And banish it forever.
Without it we are Mother Earth.
Our fertile, minds,
To our world, give birth
To love
To hope
To continuity.
YOU WORK FOR ME
You work for me.
And I’m tired of seeing, my country men bleeding
for the sake of your fees.
See, you work for me,
But I can not believe in your incompetent grinning,
at my nations needs.
You work for me
inadequately.
Selfishly stabbing our unity.
Spitting at the beauty in diversity.
Disrespectfully rubbing dirt in the wounds which it should be,
your duty to heal for our children’s prosperity.
Don’t we drive on the same roads?
you’d rather take on loans?
Or aren’t you here too?
Do you work for me?
Not the other way round?
When you mess up, its your job to with shame,
face the ground.
To get up and run, when any warning bells sound.
Not measure your cocks for some heat beaten crowd.
You don’t care what parties I go to,
Why should I care the other way round?
Which schools will you build?
Where and how?
Can’t you feel the vibrations?
My lakes suffocation?
Can you see your reflection?
before we all drown?
You Work For Me.
Do your job!
Get it right!
My land is filled with resources, inspiring!
Do the job you’ve got now,
before you start applying,
for promotions, with notions,
of wasting more of my time.
You Work For Me.
In case you forgot it.
My anger is past the point where I lost it.
The time has now come.
To get real.
Or Forfeit.
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