Sunday, November 12, 2017

A dew drop

By Karani Kelvin.

A dew drop

Round like a ball of mercury
Stands atop a tomato
Like a sentry from the future
It guards its post, holding
A mini iPhone in its hands?

Sunday, July 2, 2017

Tell me something else

By Karani Kelvin.

Tell me something else, politician
Not the usual bamboo talk
Hard outside, hollow within
Never strong enough, always
Breaking under the weight of time

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

When I am no more

By Karani Kelvin.

When this heart no longer beats
When my veins crumble
And run dry
Like a stream in drought
And the dark shine of my skin fades
Take me back home.
I want you to take me home!
Do not let me lie lifeless
In the open wide wild world
A carcass not even fit
For the hungriest hounds!


Monday, June 26, 2017

To my sister

By Karani Kelvin

Yesterday
Scrolling through updates on Facebook
(And never posting any myself)
I saw a picture of a man – an old,
life battered white man, diapers
hanging loosely in his greying boxers –
holding hands with a charming
ebony skinned twenty-something years
old supple young woman

Thursday, December 15, 2016

In this Nairobi


By T. Michael Mboya

Here comes the man
your mother in Uriya[1]
warned you against
in tale, song and proverb
that kept alive
the fire in the hearth.

Moving



By T. Michael Mboya


These go into the pickup truck first
The hard bulky stuff
the beds, the bedside tables,
the dressing tables and their stools
(detach those long mirrors
lay them on the floor
Of the boot of the car)
the mattresses
the computer desk and its chair
the reading tables and their chairs
the book shelves
the TV stand
the sofa set, the coffee table
the stools and the pouffes
the dining table and its seats
the fridge, the gas cooker
and the gas cylinder
the satellite dish can perch
on the dining table
Take these crates, too
they are books
Lean the wall hangings
against them
and besides these, supporting them
that box of shoes.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Postcard

By t. Michael Mboya

The Wedgwood Bed and Breakfast,
Melville, Johannesburg
10.10.2016

Are my eyes opening in a dream?
Or is a dream opening my eyes?

The furniture in the room floats
In still steel-grey half-light