I love this poem, I just do..First because I got the inspiration to do it from one of the finest ladies gracing the east African music scene and secondly because I just love it. Pretty silly, eh?
Inspired by Nakaaya’s MATATIZO.mellow, beautiful and freshly laid back..
Her rock, her fortress.
The sides of the stream were too bushy
Full of itchy leaves and thorns which hurt.
But amazingly the stream had no green in it.
Not even mold or moss on its rocks.
It was divinely different and strongly beautiful.
Yet the water in it was only ankle deep
And so pure it looked like a mirror.
She sat in the middle of the stream
A rock in the middle looked like Solomon’s throne.
So she sat on it. Part of her robe in the waters below.
She was the queen mother, the divine one.
Maybe today, mama would come
Lately she had become weary
And the wait was now too cumbersome.
She sat and looked ahead, aside then down.
Light skinned and beautiful, she still was,
But ridges had long been formed, tear paths.
Her robe was now in two, two unequals.
The top black covered her full breast and one shoulder
Leaving a pale flawless and virgin shoulder bare.
The bottom white tied tight around the wasp waist.
The bushes were seldom used
The people just waded through the stream.
Today mama didn’t run, she waded slowly and lightly
Her grace and faith never left her.
She saw her and they began flowing.
She was always her rock, her fortress
Her anchor in the turbulent waters.
A few paces before her, mama fell to her knees
The fall hurt but again it didn’t.
She did not get of the rock
Neither did she look at her.
And her face showed no expression
But mama knew all it meant
She let her tears kiss the waters and then went to her.
At the rock she sat on her feet
And paced her head on her lap.
She then hummed her tears as the wet her.
Mother put her palm on mama’s bear shoulder,
She then began rhythmically patting it
The touch drilled all the tears from mama’s soul
Each tear carrying away a little bit of pain.
The mother didn’t ask mama anything
Neither did she tell her, ‘I told you....’
She was always of very few words.
Mama knew this but today she wanted something
Instead her tears were rocked away gently.
Rocks held back the wind and waters silently
And this one was her rock and her fortress.
Jiwe la nguvu
Jumba la stawi
My rock, my fortress.
I am home.
Neema Ntalel.
Inspired by Nakaaya’s MATATIZO.mellow, beautiful and freshly laid back..
Her rock, her fortress.
The sides of the stream were too bushy
Full of itchy leaves and thorns which hurt.
But amazingly the stream had no green in it.
Not even mold or moss on its rocks.
It was divinely different and strongly beautiful.
Yet the water in it was only ankle deep
And so pure it looked like a mirror.
She sat in the middle of the stream
A rock in the middle looked like Solomon’s throne.
So she sat on it. Part of her robe in the waters below.
She was the queen mother, the divine one.
Maybe today, mama would come
Lately she had become weary
And the wait was now too cumbersome.
She sat and looked ahead, aside then down.
Light skinned and beautiful, she still was,
But ridges had long been formed, tear paths.
Her robe was now in two, two unequals.
The top black covered her full breast and one shoulder
Leaving a pale flawless and virgin shoulder bare.
The bottom white tied tight around the wasp waist.
The bushes were seldom used
The people just waded through the stream.
Today mama didn’t run, she waded slowly and lightly
Her grace and faith never left her.
She saw her and they began flowing.
She was always her rock, her fortress
Her anchor in the turbulent waters.
A few paces before her, mama fell to her knees
The fall hurt but again it didn’t.
She did not get of the rock
Neither did she look at her.
And her face showed no expression
But mama knew all it meant
She let her tears kiss the waters and then went to her.
At the rock she sat on her feet
And paced her head on her lap.
She then hummed her tears as the wet her.
Mother put her palm on mama’s bear shoulder,
She then began rhythmically patting it
The touch drilled all the tears from mama’s soul
Each tear carrying away a little bit of pain.
The mother didn’t ask mama anything
Neither did she tell her, ‘I told you....’
She was always of very few words.
Mama knew this but today she wanted something
Instead her tears were rocked away gently.
Rocks held back the wind and waters silently
And this one was her rock and her fortress.
Jiwe la nguvu
Jumba la stawi
My rock, my fortress.
I am home.
Neema Ntalel.
Comments