Waterforest

Each time I walk away
Not bothering to look back
Drumming my fingers on the side of my bag
Trying not to feel the pain
Trying not to look sad
I know she stands rooted
In the spot I left her
Dreaming about how I fare
Dream walking along my lazy strides
Knowing I rush away without my will
Driven by the conscience that distances me from her
Something inherent in my thoughtless panic
We both don’t forget the parting
And we stay that way long
Till we meet again

Each time I walk away
I think a lot about her
Standing, looking at the space I left blank
Lingering in the hope I will-
I can change my mind

The rain falls in torrents
That glean the streets
And when in that undecided sum
Sharp blongs of sun rundown
It all ends with a sunny blast
Railing all hopes for a cool day

This is so much destruction
I lie in some blind turmoil
Groaning at the tatters that was-
my latest collection of verse
the viscera of earth
spluttered and gaping
groaning and laughing-
silly war, who will live to tell it all
when you kill me-
I know what its like
the war trench in my mind is fresh-
cannot save me-can it?
From missiles that assault me.

You can assemble me to run
like an elite machine
In a cushion of theories
I can coast along endlessly
making a melody to every of your muse;
this is no school for me
standing here desperate to rot
sludges of broken ego
sauntering…waving in the midday sun
Idly sketching your next thought
building what they can call you,
you could be anything my pen wishes
If you let me-
What is this politics of referendums,
and of Kammpala’s streets?
That give me tranquil in the hours I wander
on streets with hidden souls
Buildings-
Moonlight-
This is Pilkington Road
unhurrying in its ascent
to meet Nile Avenue,
the shadows craftily beckoning
to some quick pleasure,
the few lights of Kampala
blazing in a lighted chord
a vehicle scuttling out of some shadow
to blast its way along the blank road.
A madman strutting on the pavement
Singing
I could live here forever
If you let me-
This is some destruction
And I lie in some blind turmoil
I cannot fight you anymore
When you decide you are a General
This is not my kind of war
Give me my pencil please-

Hey stranger, want some?
Her eyes enshrouded in her facial shadows
Large, expectant alert sexy eyes
Lost in the reverie of allure
Her face caked in pale mask
Smooth, plastic surface, sweet cherub
Her lips shaded a warm orange red
Teasing irresistible proud pout
And she braces the night sting, expectant.
Hey stranger, want some

The moon's glare marks their silhouette against the wall
They suddenly break their chat and look their
Best each trying to outdo the other
They manoeuvre their bodies in a game of hope
And an outlandish one steps out
They stare in masked envy and tear away
Not totally though, expecting the stranger
to reject their colleague
And the stranger leans out in a hedge
Strange noises lost grunts, night music.
The stranger straightens and leaves in a timid hurry
Scurrying like a man in a dangerous street
Face buried in the night cast with a smile
playing on his lips
And so the night progresses
And they brace the night sting, expectant.
Hey stranger, want some?

A wheel, glossy green smacks its breaks on the drive
Its hum barely louder than the night breeze

Its windows lost in the blackness
And its rear door opens but no one exits
And she jumps in, swallowed in the deep
Lost sooner in a screech of tires.
The others look on with a silent prayer to her safety
But also wish it were them that went.
For the night is so slow
And they walk the moonlit street
Some burning some heat into them-cigarettes
Others hug their small bodies
Barely covered in thin silk
And they brace the night sting, expectant
Hey stranger, want some?
She slashes out towards her colleague
Bursting her sweet tender lip
And the stranger moves on up street
To more mild tempered blokes
The two end their fight, groggy eyed
Dripping in rags, broken heels, mangled hair
And they look at each other laughing
And they bid each other-hard luck-
Comes with the trade
And they brace the night sting, expectant.
Hey stranger, want some?

Dawn creeps upon the desolate street
And they vanish into nowhere
Cars honk and cruise the stretch
Men in iron pressed suits swing their briefcases
The street cleaner gathers the night's disgrace
And oh, what a clean street it is
Innocent, blemishes, and respected
They say it is the cleanest street in town
Well, only during the day
For with night-
Hey stranger, want some

There is this fellow
That lives right at my doorstep
He has the sense of being there
always;
And makes me know it,
Winking at the door opening,
smiling widely,
Speaking to the stray dogs,
Drawing air cartoons of me,
And laughing at his ingenuity,
I look onto him each morning
With the same scowl
And he says to me, God wakes again!

If I were God
Waking each morning to see that smiling face
I would ….I would never open the door!
I would spoil the man’s fun
I would… what is wrong here?
Can you ever leave my door step?
Please go away and leave me to rest!
can I love being God?

...the grey cloud makes a swing of appearance today
to stagnate enchanted in staid sunniness...
seemingly wandering from lighted unease to gloomy retrospect.

...marabou storks idle atop street lights
escapelaxing in a simplistic pretend
intent on appearing unbothered
and the lake wind streams by aimlessly...

No one can undo this day
this is just one kind of Uganda
that passes unnoticed...

He laughs so
Because he has to
He is so full of life
That bursts at the seams of his lips
When he is suave then when he turns blank
And his face beams so
Because he is called jolly.

He is so full of life
That he infects this to his audience
Who find every 'nit bit' of word he utters laughable
And his face beams so
Because he feels happy people are happy

He is so full of life
That his life experience is all but a comedy
Though sad at times, it is all so sweet and funny
And his face beams so
Because he likes people to live knowing a little good laugh is
Healthy.

He is so full of life
That he believes nothing is as priceless as laughter
So he taught us to all laugh
And his face beams so
Because a home is bright with laughter.

He is so full of life
That even in death we cherish in his laughter
Those priceless monologues of farce
His endless need to make people laugh.
He laughs so
Because he has to
In our hearts.

I thought they liked me when we played so;
We rolled and run,
We scared each other
We laughed and cried together
That was well, when I was young.
Now with several years of age
Having bore to the world many young,
I have no more strength to play.
I am a raged old doll in the playbin
With life left for sleep and eat.
My home is home no more.

My home is home no more
I eke a living out of my family's pity
Even those that caress my nape don't recall me to a meal.
Yet they commend me to their visitors
Who admire my beauty.
My home is home no more.

My home is home no more
Have you ever been kicked out of a home?
Never been trusted around the kitchen?
Well, that's my cat story.
Now again, Iam heavy with young
And; Who did God entrust with our destiny?

It hang on strings that held at each leg
Like cow skin tied out to dry
Suspended like its prey had once hang
Bloodless, Blameless, Unfortunate, and Beautiful.

It hang with its once virile pride evident
through the lace of transparent casing
its eyes looking on...
Like the set thoughtful face of Socrates dying
Content, purposeful, Fulfilled, and Resolved.

The trait of its invincible kith;
Cast in this monumental remain
shows
the unremitting monarchy of their kind
to rule by the web and die by the web.

This is so much,
I lie in some blind turmoil
Groaning at the tatters that is my latest collection of verse-
Around me is the viscera of earth
Spluttered and Gaping-
Groaning too, and laughing-
Silly war, who will tell the story
When you kill the poet?

I have much experience of war I want to tell
Learnt in my minds war trench
Nothing can save me
From the missiles that seek me
You can assemble me to run
In expanses of the elite
In a cushion of theories,
I will coast along listlessly
Engendering sweet melody to your muse


This is no school for me
Standing here desperate to rot,
Sludge of broken ego
Waving naked in the midday sun
Idly sketching your next thought
Building what they can call you.
You could be anything my pen wishes
If only you let me
What do I gain from you politics?
Of elections and referendums,
Except Kampala’s street lights
That give me tranquil in the hours I wander
You could show me the next street
Without a soul walking
Buildings staring at the moonlit road
It could be Pilkington Road
Un-hurrying to meet Nile Avenue
And the shadows, craftily beckoning
To some pretence of pleasure
Or Kampala Road, going everywhere
Blazing in a lighted chord
Vehicles scurrying to unknown-
A madman strutting on the pavement
Singing some Blah Blah-
I could live here everyday
If you let me
This is some destruction
I lie in some blind turmoil
I cannot fight for you anymore
You can retire me a general
This is not my kind of war
Give me a pen-