Call me Summer 

Call me summer; my days are sunny and hot, 

And in the forage you shall find, sweet fruits riped. 

I give tastes of fresh salmon cooked in coconut oil

And a drink of wine to toast to the mild island heat


Call me summer for I plait the hairs of the palm trees

I watch the tiny caterpillars wriggle out of humus

The green garden is my favorite playground, 

And my laboratory where my fancies are made


Call me summer, I bake the ageless rocks 

They simmer, the forest paths lay quiet

And I conjure small snakes on the pathways, 

They enjoy the serene weather and heat! 


Call me summer for I sing with the waterfalls

The pond is warm, reptiles adore the warmth

The grassland turn alive; yellow and green

And the clay taste for the rains wealth


Call me summer; I dance in the airs of the morning

I sit with the grey owls in the hidden farm barn

Counting the travelling birds that flew the happy day

When the sun set I blow dry air to sooth the night

Call me summer, I am glad and alive! 

I give smell of lavender, of mushroom

I throw a party; as mother Nature’s art

Wishing my best to all who love me! 


The rainfall


See the rain drops fall, 

Throwing a rain party for all! 

The clouds wailed this evening

But to the children it was fun


Under the rain, children danced

Enjoying the freedom that it brought 

Lightning shadows on windows, mild cold

But men hid themselves under the blankets


The clouds sang, the wind whistled

The rain fell and the children danced

Laughing with the touch of wet fluid 

When the heavens stomach rumbled! 


Swift sailing breezes surf the air

On the turf, kids twist and turn, 

Through this evenings mild rain

A night of fresh sleep beckon


Tales from the Giraffe

Oh lovely tower!

You stand above roofs and trees

And graze on the wild Savannah

You nibble at fresh tree leaves, 

And the whole land is yours! 

You visit our streams, majestically

You stray through the quiet village

And stole all attention to yourself 


Nights are for the folk tales, 

Stories groomed in the heart 

Of the people; culture, legends 

And when the children tell of your deeds

It shook even the heavy sleepers and bored

The moon is sick and half

Eaten by the grey Giraffe!”

Children complained… 

And each tale tell of your queerness 

So you enjoy the wealth of the land

In the stories that the children told

You lived as the mystic fawn

Which saved the lost wood men


Now you live in the fairy tales of happy children

Giving them fanciful rides through the skies

And when the nights end, you return to the wild

But you, you remain a mass of living height! 


Flying to summer 

There’s a symphony of joy! 

Roaring up the bright skies, 

Emissaries of the aging day

Graceful flights to Africa! 


Floating above the countryside 

Leaving the fresh, green fields

Above the endless forests

Keeping hope ahead


Each journey is an unknown promise, 

Somewhere between joy and heartache. 

But they must fly, the fair geese

Up the clouds, moving on with life

Image by Mr. Pietro Polic. 


Death of a masquerade

When the cocks wake the clan in the morn with their calls

I remember you, your memories are like my room walls 

First, I must congratulate you for not dying completely 

For telling us why we must abandon the village for the city, 

For leaving the clans people with only strands of what you did, 

And guesses of who was behind your mask, a puzzle on our mind

I remember you abandoning your strong hands for the spoon and fork

You feed yourself, but you knew your mouth was unsatisfied with that work 


I remember you eating your tomato salads from cans

Throwing the tin and plastics about the land 

So that our children played. Kicking them and cutting their foot

And when the rain’s flood came, we found the cans in our rivulet


I remember you dancing under the moon with the others

Drawing knowledge from the tales our ancient ones offered 

Speaking to the ears of everyone, ‘a word is enough for the wise’

Until you began to see wisdom, looking for specks in others eyes

The dance and folklore gatherings became a child’s play

The tent that housed the age grade meetings now was on your way; 

You will have none of the villages unhealthy games and palm beer

But in your heart of hearts you long for these moments, with desire 

I remember you running like a mad masquerade 

On a busy festivity day, striking the defenseless

Blowing hungry fumes from your hidden nostrils

Oblivious of the approaching vehicle

Which was to become your slow death… 

I remember you… 

Can you see that the African culture is dying casually? The tradition is laid bare and so ethics that once governed here are disregarded. What must be done to bring back our language, customs, food, dressing, vissicitude and values? 


Musing:  The Railroad 

Iron metal


Dragging through the dust

Like the snake, iron snake. 

Tracks lay ahead as far as our eyes go, 

Crawling through the urban and rural; 

The countryside with her quiet forest 

The township with her hustle bustle 

The clouds are free of you

They watch your snake lanes

Cockroach through rocks and tunnels

Leading the way to the future! 


The Legend of Wawadomea

Verse 2: Cannibals of the East 2

The sunset drew a picture
Which had lived with me
For all my younger life
A strange uproar heartfelt
It was aye, very strange
That aye, I mean I
Will be amongst this lot
This people forsaken kind of clan
Living the life of a sea pirate
Out in the weirdest part of the ocean

The blue horizon, carved on the skies
With birds returning, to their homes
And we, in a strange-looking island
Somewhere off the vast ocean
Cautious and seldom willing to prowl about
A fading horn sounded, not so far away
All looked up, staring at each other
“I afraid, I wonder, what may that be?”
Pirate Tusky, wanting a left hand said
He must have spoken so loud
That even the half deaf Cronorie
Swiftly swerved around to look at him,

The Lifnante was glad we were off sea
I felt so, on an errand sent from Sundjata
The Lifnante was high on bottled spirits
“Git here boy, havee som rhum, will ya?”
I could feel the uncalled-for excitement
He was at the extreme end of the camp
There was a group of rocks
Bordering the beach and the forest
And he cared for less
“There’s a horn sire, a sort of bugle sire”
I delivered my message, but he
He waved me off with the hand
And grunted as a pirate filled his cup

The night was stormy, but all was claim
Just lightning and flash all the way
I was awake, I was scared all the time
But then I slept when I knew not…

To be continued…


Folktale: The Animal king

Gather now… Come closer
Warm your hands, sit near the fire
It is a cold evening, is it?

I have a folktale for you, 

And I hope it prepares everyone for a fine sleep… 


Once upon a time
In a land far away
Across seven rivers
And seven hills
Lived a clan of animals
Then there was no strife
No envy, no rivalry
Between the clan of animals
For then the strife held not
Cause there was no king
No ruler, no master of any sort
But animals who lived freely
Tilled their land as they wished
When they wanted to and so on
Then some stronger animals
Felt they could bully others
So many animals started trespassing
Some took others lands
Some marched on others crops
And some hijacked others wives
So, Anarchy decided to spread
Her blanket of no good
Upon the animal clan
Until the Cricket suggested
That all head homes should meet
To resolve this…

So during the meeting
Everybody sat down quietly
And waited for someone to talk
Mumblings filled the arena
Guilt of crimes wont let anyone speak
The mosquitoes, carefree buzzed aloud
‘Wait!’ the Cricket yelled
‘I greet you all’ he began politely
‘The way to solve this menace
Is to appoint a King who will rule us
Someone who will bring justice
And fairness to both big and small’
‘Nice idea’, his relatives called after him
‘Now I am the brain of the meeting
I should be allowed to nominate
My humble self as the King of the clan!’
‘What? Why?’ an angry Elephant trumpeted
‘You little thing, so minute, so irrelevant!
How dare you even think of that
When someone like me is here?
I should be the King undisputed!’
‘You all must be joking!’ laughed the Giraffe
‘How can you become the King
When you are just round like football
And can’t even move a leg higher?
No no no, it just doesn’t fit you
Well, take a look at me and my length
I interact with the moon
And when angry I ate her half!
I should be the King instead!’
The whole clan went dead with silence
They thought the Elephant would retaliate
So they waited for the worst to happen
But nothing happened…
‘Let me be the King’ the ape called out
‘None of you is so capable of tree climbing
And infact I can swing and dance up the skies
You don’t know this feeling of tree dwelling
The skies are my playground… Can’t you see?’
‘Talking about playground, you are out of it!’
The Eagle whined…
‘I live in mountain peaks
Where none of you can reach
Or dare reach and I am the master
Master of the blue clouds and wind
Make me your king!’
‘Talking about flying you are not alone in it’
A mosquito stood to talk
‘How many of you can sing in a human ear
And make him slap himself madly?’
‘No way, who speaks now?’ the Lion growled
‘The kingship belongs to I and the pride
The pride is strong and courageous
And can defend and take care of the clan
My roars frighten our enemies
My claws are fine killing machines!’
‘No sir, was it not one of your pride members
That slaughtered an innocent sheep the other day?
We can’t let you be our King’
Someone yelled from the crowd
‘So what do we do right now?’
Let us then nominate from those
Who showed interest in the position’
An elderly Parrot suggested
‘Please everyone should point at their candidate’
To the crowds surprise
Everyone pointed to their kith
The Giraffes to the Giraffes
The Apes to their kind
The Pride to the Lions
And so on…

And when no head way was made
Everyone nominated himself for Kingship
Since everyone was to be the King
They all left fighting and arguing
And so is the animal clan
In much confusion till this very day!

Image from


The Pathway

Maybe I am lost, lost in the quiet Plantain forest
Following a trail of leaves, to a place where I know not

Maybe I am found, searching for my way to the top

Walking hopefully to a place where better tree ropes drop


Maybe the path led to the dreaded Crocodile river

Or to the farms that yield the guinea corn and cassava

But I see the birds twitter over my head, plummages of green 

And I watch the monkeys dance, holding their babies as they grin


But to me I am walking, moving to a direction I know not

Brave, the tree leaves fall, in my strong faith I firmly trust

I dream of the land where the winds turn to perfect gold

Of me when I shall again return to my land, strong and bold


Folk: Under the Mango tree


Breezes and dreams are gifts of Nature to the hardworking villagers, 

After a days heavy toil in the fields of corn, yam and sweet cassava

The men gather to drink the palm wine in the inn located by the mango tree, 

Heavy talks lead to soft talks as the beer sank into the days cramps and pain

Women pound away, some fresh vegetable and chilli hissing through pot lids

The boys and girls play in the dusty sand after their mandatory chores

And the dogs and livestock ran home for the night has no friend or foe

The clouds gather above the village, birds fly away yelling a farewell

And in the distance, the wild prepare for the growing black blanket 

Monkeys called out to their young, the parrots hooted and wild dogs barked


From the banks of the flowing stream, mild breezes graze the clan

The wooden gates leading to the forest and big river were closed

With a fire burning to keep the wild cats and spotted hyena away

The livestock are carefully shepherded to the barns for the days rest

As the nights cold grew with the gathering clouds and strong breezes

Yet drunk men paid little attention to the weather, savoring their tasty wine 

The strong breezes brought the scent of cooking to the village inn 

And the men argued delightfully, hoping that the scent was theirs

With some claiming ownership to this steaming soup from somewhere


But before it all ends, before the day and man slept

The children gather away from the inns and kitchens

The moon happily bright above all and the village much alive

Then a play or tale must be told to welcome the airy night; 

Tales of the old wise hare and tortoise or the young proud maiden, 

The tale of the ocean and hills or the women who lived beneath the sea

And so the evening tales with the breezes became a lullaby for everyone 

Image: Painted by me…