I Dream

I stand by myself,
beside myself,
torn apart by myriads of trials
and tones of sufferings,
yet I dream.

Like a wrecked ship
hit inimically by the waves,
out of use to its makers,
so am I,
yet I dream.

Seated calmly at the shore,
I look into the warry sea
and brave myself for the times,
saying:
It’s not over until I’m completely crushed down,
till my parts are used to roast fish;
and even when my parts will be used to roast fish,
I’ll still twist in the fire,
So, m’hmm…
I dream.

Like a ramshackle car,
left out in the rain,
bespattered and snowed upon,
so am I,
oh, yet I dream.

I look up the sky
and hear a voice saying loud,
“I’m coming for a ride, boy.”
So i think of myself on the roads again,
bouncing to the park,
just because I dream.

There’s poverty back at home,
there’s sickness,
and an unimaginable amount of pain;
I hear my siblings moaning,
their cry like that of numerous preys
clamped down by predators,
yet I dream.

I deeam of a future better,
I dream of a season riper,
I dream of listening to
the reading of what I write
and matching out of this zoo
to a clear sight;
I dream of the fresh sunlight
hitting my face after twilight,
shining into the darkest parts of my life.

I dream.

(c) 2022 Lamittan Minsah. All rights reserved.

Only a crushed leaf can’t dream of a sunny day after winter.

I’m grateful for having found a family here. I’ve been away on some issues, including my mum’s sickness that has taken me with a lot of worry. She was found with a terrible combination of diseases, namely: malaria, typhoid and arthritis, and has since been on medication. I thank God she’s a bit stable now.

I’ve been stunned by how caring a family I have here. Some came directly to my inbox to check on my welfare, and, holy catfish, I lack enough words to express how much obliged I am for their comfort and love. I love you-all so much and missed you inexplicably.

I also have to say that I’ve really missed reading your posts and will take to your sites one after the other to see for myself all the goodies awaiting there.

And I come back with another sweet news (well, at least it’s good news to me 😄). 👇

“Twilight of Freedom” paperback now available

You can now order a manual copy of my recent play “Twilight of Freedom”. This play covers the following themes, among others: politics, dairy farming, health and sickness, conflict, domestic violence, pain and suffering, classism, sibling rivalry, parenting, freedom, neo-colonialism, governance and change. Check the link below the cover to order a copy.

Click here for kindle and paperback.

Click here for a soft copy direct to your email.

My emails are still open to fellow poets who wish to participate in an upcoming anthology of poems dubbed “Tales of a Tearful World” and another dubbed “The Voice of Kenyan Poets“. Click the highlighted texts to read more. Many thanks to those who have submitted. I will respond to all submissions from June.

The Blessings of this World

Mothers are like roses
that thrive among thones,
beautiful, strong, hardworking
determined, persevering and, most of all,
tolerant.

Mothers listen first before responding;
mothers understand first before tackling
because that which they are dealing with
are a product of their love.

Mothers are much-needed
in this world full of sorrow
where kids are stricken with cold
and calamities.
Mother’s are the blessings of this world.

To be a mother is not merely to have a child out of one’s body. There are lots of women who beget children but just throw them away or mistreat them, because they are not mothers. There’s a woman that no amount of hardship can prevent from raising or nurturing a kid, be it theirs or another’s. That’s the definition of a mother to me.

There’s a sad story in my country about a mother who lacked food and therefore decided to boil a stone to stop her kids from crying and give them the feeling of food cooking while she went away to beg. 😢💝🌺 A mother is undefeatable.

Happy mother’s day to all ny motherly friends. You’re the blessings of this world. 🌺💝🌺💝

Listening

Listening is the key to understanding, which is the key to finding solutions.

Lamittan Minsah

This quote was Inspired by Grace Y. Estevez from this post.

Published at Spillwords

I’m happy to announce that my poem “The Image of a Sad Mind” has been published at Spillwords.

Many thanks to Editor Dagmara K. and the whole team at Spillwords for accepting my work for publishing.

The Image of a Sad Mind

I know the image of a sad mind
that a broken life gives,
I know:
it is what I saw on the face of a widow,
walking across the streets
begging, beset with gloom,
thinking of her youngsters, haggard and famished;
yet life has nothing but these:
act, and wait.

I’ve seen the image of a sad mind,
that grief and tragedy bring along,

I’d be glad if you go here, read and like/leave a comment. Thank you.

Scars of Lockdown

Some sad memories 😢

Dark clouds
and muffled talks
rocked the atmosphere
at the mention
of the first case
Then came the rules,
and people all over,
both big and small
wore visors,
as the air, it was said,
had grown very clatty

Bitter news, daily,
till we shunned hearing more
of the rising death tolls,
the great disposition
of our foe:
rife, brutal to human breath,
consuming mankind
all his way

There,
sitting on the verge
of hopelessness,
we turned back
the hands of time:
thought of the days
we could kiss and hug
We gloomed,
with hearts dunked in lime,
mourned for our own,
slain by the bug,
burnt without solemnity

We cried
seeing shelves go empty,
children withered,
jobs dwindling
and streets going off-limits

Then I looked out
through my window,
beheld two men
in cops’ kits,
thought,
Time to save my kids and Betty

I wore a mask,
grabbed a pot,
but o my Betty!
Clutched my hand, said:
Nay, you going nowhere
Tis lifeless out there
But for my kids,
her halting I gave no heed,
so out I rushed,
and followed she like a sot

We
ran after the cops,
for hunger’s sake?
But holy mackerel!
They vitiated my Betty,
slew her with a knife
So for my sake
and the kids’ healing,
ran I back into the house,
yet into the hands
of a ravenous drake

And the days
grew desolate,
no sense of hope,
not even of crows;
except fear
tapping on our doors
furiously,
our hearts
fighting back the shove
and panic
seeming to our lives rove
as we waited
for the vaccines to come

Then so they came.

(C) 2022 Lamittan Minsah. All rights reserved.

Tears of Laughter

Synopsis
This is a critique on the persona’s community’s funeral culture. The persona faults how a lot of attention is given to the deceased and not their family. While the deceased is still ill, their friends and relatives do not take care of their medication and treatment. They only show up after he/she is announced dead to do a fundraiser for the hospital bill, costly casket and other burial expenses, and to eat during the send-off ceremony. After the funeral, people scatter off and the bereaved family is abandoned. A list is kept for punishing those who did not participate by abandoning them during their funerals.

If you love listening, you can release your eyes from straining through the text and listen to me narrate the poem. And kindly remember to read the announcements below it.

Tears of Laughter

My people cry,
they mourn for their frelatives sipping tea,
putting butter on their bread,
and spreading cloths for their bed,
my people mourn;
with hearts torn,
with faces wrought with sorrow,
and purses loaded with dough,
my people mourn.

Meat and corn boiling in the backyard,
sweet music playing in the front-yard,
a crowd moots the cost of a farewell party
with voices so loud and hearty:
“I will buy the casket, how much is it?”
“Thirty thousand. Thank you, that’s great.”
“I will pay for the visitors’ meal.”
“And I will set off the hospital bill.”

But oh my God!
The widow, seated far off in gloom,
feeling lonely in the jam-packed busy room,
turns back the hands of time,
and with a heart dunked in lime,
bemoans her youngsters –
the blurry future, the crippled stars;
she cries so loud she nearly breaks the roof,
she mourns heartlessly for her life standing aloof.

My community,
my people in unity,
my friends and relatives
are a full house, and money falls like dry leaves,
as though everyone girded up their loins,
yet for a surgery of sixty thousand coins –
oh! Not even a sausage could fall,
that’s my people, lol!

Then comes the fare‐thee‐well day,
all folks up and on their way,
their testimonies are a sweet cider:
“He was a good man, kind, with good order.”
“He was generous.”
“He was humorous.”
And we siiiiiiing… but oh! The clay is vile beneath our feet,
eating our finest without a beat,
leaving kids stricken with cold;
a father is lost; a plague seems to unfold,
at the graveside, they break into a wail,
reminiscing the hard past, and the foreboding hail.

My people console, shedding tears.
What! Shedding tears?
Yes, they also mourn, and then sit by the fences, waiting
for food before leaving in twos kibitzing;
that’s my people’s way,
and a list is kept till the next day.
A list?
Yes, of contributors,
and for punishing the debtors
while a weaker future continues to unfold,
wrought with myriads of uncertainties like a movie mold.

Why should our gatherings be for grief
while all the hardships we give no brief?
My community,
my people with unity,
Why do we gather and shed tears
and mourn and shed away our fears
In the face of death
while inside us we laugh so hard we lose our breath?
We cry to shield our laughter
and to cut ourselves from the blames thereafter,
“Oh oh oh, he is gone too soon,
Hahahahahaha… he almost took away my moon.”
That’s my people.

Announcements

1. Coming Soon: Twilight of Freedom (Tomorrow 28/04/2022)

My new ebook (a play by the way) is coming up tomorrow. Please do grab a copy from our central bookshop and support my writing (the link will be made available).

Due to some delays in logistics, paperbacks will be made available for purchase in mid May. If you love manual copies, be sure to grab one then.

Book Description: Abel Layland, a dairy farmer from Santow County in Gremalock Kingdom, meets Jolene at a milk collection port in his village. After their wedding five months later, he realizes Jolene has been secretly having an affair with his brother Benarch. The lady also becomes part of King Lutan III’s dominion, a reign that has interfered with the economy of the dairy sector and of the of the entire kingdom and which Abel is determined to dismantle. Working closely with his friend Clement Ryan – a dairy cooperative manager, Dr. Delia Hitleigh – a dairy farming professional, Santow County Governor Calipso Reinsal who has openly rebelled the king’s dominion and other key fugures, Abel steps up on a delicate and bloody mission that he hopes will bring sanity to both the kingdom and his marriage.

2. Upcoming anthologies

Submissions are still open for the following upcoming anthologies:

a). Tales of a Tearful World: Narrative Poems. Open until May 31, 2022. Worldwide writers.

b) The Voice of Kenyan Poets. Open until June 10. Exclusive to Kenyan writers.

Living a Desolate Lie

Today I revisited this spoken word poem I made some years ago. It came right from within me as I was facing a terrible storm in my life.

The truth is, many people often live between two worlds; the imaginery and the real worlds. The imaginery world is a perceived world, a misrepresentation of the real world. In the imaginary world, people create an impressive image to feed the curiosity of their friends, relatives, coworkers etc. It could be through photo-posts, cool dressing codes, warm facial expressions, general grooming and style of talk. However, behind these impressions are a distraught self, one that suffers physically, emotionally, or spiritually. That’s exactly what this poem is about. People often smile, but it doesn’t mean they are totally okay. They don’t just want to unleash their deplorable self in front of the world and his wife. So it’s advisable that before you judge or underrate a person for their actions, please listen to what they have to say. Maybe it could be their only chance to tell their painful story.

Don’t forget to subscribe to my YouTube channel.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

1. New book release

A story about the struggle for liberation from the whims of economic oppression and poor governance.

2. Upcoming anthology – call for submission

Submissions are now open for our first ever anthology entitled “Tales of a Tearful World: Narrative Poems“. Click here for more details.

Goodness in Singing

Think there’s some goodness in singing,
some hidden jubilation that does ring,
even the little knows it gets a warning ringing,
when one begins to sing, and loudly sing

Songs are tunes and words expressing feelings,
sometimes of sad and moody tellings,
or at times of good and odd turnings;
maybe, also some beggings

At times, you can’t touch the piercing thones,
you feel you can’t weigh two heavy bones,
you lack grammar to express the pricking cones,
o put it up in merry lovely tones

Songs create all sorts of emotions,
sometimes tears gushing down mid commotions,
at times, sadness or self-glorifications;
in fact, songs are the best love portions

Well, do you love her or him?
a song will help bring up this new theme;
you don’t even need such a huge or good team
to ring into that mind the right scheme

Are you sad, are you really annoyed?
And you want to speak out the unsaid;
yes, within your own heart it is laid,
scream it out now like an angry maid

Songs are these and those that may be stinging;
sometimes when you feel like a pond toadling,
it’s awesome to sit down and start singing,
for there’s some great goodness in singing

Flowers on This Field

Yey!! 😀😀 I’m finally back after such a long sick leave, thanks to God and the prayer and encouragement of friends.

It’s okay to get ill and convalesce.

For those who wondered why the sudden disappearance, I had malaria and a small worrying indention on my head. Following a checkup, I had to take anti-malarial drugs and other antibiotics, and keep off too much work. But now I’m up and about, in full strength, ready to meet you here again!

I finally had the chance to come out and get my ears lowered. Been a month of Sundays to me!

To those who reached out to me directly, I feel fully obliged for the lovingkindness and the encouragement you’ve shown me. Daphny Aqua, oh dear, you’re such an amazing person inside out – a friend indeed. I’m so happy to have met you here, dear. Your prayers and continuous check-ups on me have quickened my spirit and bodily strength.

Cindy, the one and only Cindy Georgakas, I received your prayers and comfort, dear. Such a treasured woman and friend you are. Thank you in a big way.

All my lovely followers, I’ve missed you terrifically, you and your great works. Y’all know I’m better at reading than at writing, and so I will be heading to your sites one after the other to unveil for myself what I’ve missed. For now, I leave you with this poem about our friendship. (Don’t forget to read the announcement below it)

Flowers on This Field

Once, I was a lonely lily
on this field,
drenched by the evening shower,
withered by the currant bun,
alone

Then one morning came glories,
lupines, lilacs and iris,
and afterwards uncoutable others:
Ashers, gazanias, sunflowers,
Bleeding hearts, birds of paradise

Dahlias, magnolias, marigolds,
Daisies, pansies, peonies,
Chryses, roses, lotuses, plumerias,
Orchids, daffodils, tulips

Buttercups,
sunshines,
carnations,
and a whole host of others

So now, when the rain comes,
when the sun shines,
when the wind blows,
we just hold onto each other,
and all the pain goes,
that’s you and me –
us

We’re flowers to each other
on this planet.

(C) Lamittan Minsah 2022, All rights reserved.

🌷🌷🌷

ANNOUNCEMENT: Laminsa Indies will be releasing two written plays this season, one on April 28th (my birthday) and another on May 20th. Please save the dates. To access ARC’s of the books for advanced reviews, kindly email your request to laminsaindies@gmail.com or write to us on WhatsApp through +254762063580

Be Ye Not the Sacrificial Lamb Anymore

Awake, little lady, be ye not the sacrificial lamb anymore,
for thy own siblings have risen against thee
and made ye a middle ground for their battle;
awake, be ye not the sacrificial lamb anymore.

Thine sister, Narcisista, hath been an iron fist in a velvet glove,
seeking to stretch her fame and influence over all thine siblings,
and thy elder, Potenza, hath verily sought to suppress her;
awake, be ye not the sacrificial lamb anymore.

Often hath Potenza shown, that with thee she stands forevermore,
yet together with her allied sisters, they’ve one thing refused ever:
to allow ye to be part of their household agreements;
awake, be ye not the sacrificial lamb anymore.

O for long, thine sisters have Narcisista’s hubris known,
and sought to cut down her wealth and influence over all,
and now, by thine beautiful homeland allowing her to first ruin?
awake, be ye not the sacrificial lamb anymore.

Narcisista hath demanded thee on her side, not even asked;
and thine sisters have watched, as she butchers thine youngsters,
simply watched, and only many wealth blows dealt her;
awake, be ye not the sacrificial lamb anymore.

Awake, little lady, straighten thyself up,
watch not calmly as ye are led into a slaughterhouse;
nay, be ye not the common ground that was used for an economic battle
and discarded as the battle of wits and weapons escalated.

🌷🌷🌷

I stand with Ukrainians in prayer at such a time when hopes are tight and the spirit and longing to protect their country from wrecking by colonial begots is high. It’s a tough battle brought to their grounds, one of contempt, selfishness and ill-will.

(C) 2022 Lamittan Minsah, All rights reserved.