Why do I write? I don't know. Maybe it is because there is so much happening. Much that we consider incosequential. When I saw the small birds eating grass seed on my lawn, I just felt like writing that down. A poem. Not realy a celebration of the excellence of language. But a trial, an attempt, to take a snap shot of that which is and remember it. To freeze it.
My lover complained that the lawn was too bushy. So it was trimmed. But I am afraid my little birds will not return. The table has been removed, the dishes packed away clean.
I have been walking through Kampala. I must say I was sceptical of all these preparations for the Commonwealth Heads of Government meeting (Chogm), but they seem to have transformed the city a bit.
As I entered my place of work, I thought I must write down something to remember this.
Not great poetry. Forgive me. But it is a reflection of the imperfect perception of my very human eyes and mind.
Kampala is prim and primed,
-ready for Chogm;
the roads are washed clean,
(though the rains remain heavy),
the windows are dressed,
the fires are lit,
and the streets match with light.
A bride, Kampala is-
a bride plumped and ready;
the smile flashy blinding,
the face chisel fashioned,
mascara running in place.
But the groom in waiting-
is a strange one this groom.
Ago she ruled here,
of now, only in name;
ago, of her grandma,
when grandma empress was,
the god-man (kabaka) ruler,
sent grandma empress a letter;
(they say it was for hand of empress;
that was lost in translation),
invitation to visit,
visitor turned protector,
till 45 years gone-
the land was left returned.
Grandchild comes back in fancy-
turned to empress without lands;
though empire still now stands,
and Uganda is but a far flung jewel.
The pearl’s already shining,
the luster burnished and braised,
all the light reflecting,
in blinding smile of pride.
Never before has she shone so,
maybe this bride will shine again;
but of now, she shines, Kampala shines,
though the valleys hide her muddy hems,
she smiles, smiles the bride Kampala,
awaiting the groom empress,
In all her glittering fancy and joyful pride,
Kampala’s ready for Chogm.
(c) GayUganda
4 comments:
Thanks dude,
Always thought the snapshot thing an immortalisation, rather than a dead thing!
Living poetry, I love that. Will think more of that aspect
gug
Gay Uganda which never was is now....
My heart deeply weeps for my brothers and sisters who want to turn the pearl of Africa into a home of perverts. What shall I have to tell my kids in future?
Oh my, my heart weeps...weeps for the fallen patriots of these land. How can my sober brothers and sisters choose such away that I have never seen any creature take.
My hope and my strong hope is that Gay Uganda will one day come to a staggering end when the team in there realises the truth. Iam told the truth sets free and I truly believe it sets free.
Oh people of this nation what awaits our future, children etc
Answer me, my people. Isn't there a centre for helping our sons and daughters who have lost it? Is there no balm any where for these children of Uganda? Some one answer me.
Dear Mr/Ms Anonymous,
You do not have to be anonymous on this blog. You are welcome actually.
Perverts? Poor you, calling human beings perverts, when you know nothing about them. Do you really think that this way is chosen? Bishop Tutu has some common sense advice. Would you choose to be black in a society where the colour of your skin makes you less than human?
You have this to tell your children. They should not be like you. Condemning people because of a perceived difference. Thinking them less than human because they are different from you.
You have the option to understand that a gay person is a human being. To teach your child tolerance, and acceptance, instead of intolerance and hate. You have the option to give your son or daughter who is gay the understanding which you are not giving me because I am gay. Because you cannot determine your child’s sexuality, however much you condemn mine.
Why do you seek to change my sexuality? I am gay. I have tried to change, and failed, till I accepted myself. I found out that doctors say that I cannot change. That I am normal.
Are you a witchdoctor, to pray for that centre? To want to change me from what I was made into something that mirrors you? You want to hurt me, say the doctors, in the name of helping me.
The Pearl of Africa shall rise stronger, bigger, greater, for the inclusion and strength of all her sons and daughters, including the Gay Ugandans.
All of its sons and daughters, without fear of condemnation, of hate, of despair because their noses are long, or their skin is darker, or they have flatter noses, or that they have a differing sexuality.
Look to the huge log in your eye. It is blinding you. Have a heart and learn a little of why I am as I am.
gug
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