satin soft pillows,
and country stores,
and circus clowns,
and quiet talks,
in open spaces,
with dreams like leaves
The quiet clear Nairobi River flows no more,
A brown dirty pool ‘stead.
No green grass on the banks to walk
And sing the sunset songs of love
Just plastic polythenes polluting the place
No lions lined outside Lang’ata ,
Nor sweet chirps of sparrows songs at sundown,
Just big building of real estates,
And moans of juvenile lovers losing their bloom
No sweet lullabies sung,
Just empty bottles of ‘sapphire’ and cigar,
No sugary silence
Just a fright to get home fast,
And a loud scream downtown
Cathedral choirboys singing a Hallelujah,
Priests in purple robes and collars’ on every corner
Quiet sobs of sorry sinners turned saints’
Can a paradise lost be found?
You sit there, on the old sofa,
That creaks with age,
Your beautiful face besieged by crevices,
That tell of seventy plus seasons.
You stare outside at the falling rain,
And speak of ‘bonus years’
How hard and difficult they are.
You reminisce fondly of days gone by,
And even of the enveloping dark knight,
Whose coming you seem to anticipate.
You smile gently when I beat myself up,
And say I ought to be kinder with myself.
Then we make promises of visits ,
Of projects to complete,
During the April that may come,