The Snake

"Bring me a young beautiful woman."
A woman was brought
after a charismatic shout
came from an able bodied man.
The young beautiful woman was ordered
"hold your "athoch" at the hips."
Oh! - this is to stop the snake from getting away.
As its new polished scales shine to mock us in arrogance.

A snake
that ate or killed
at least everybody's something.

But the GIANT snake is not in a hurry
to slither away
today or tomorrow or next week
because a woman's underclothing or not
they will never see or kill it 

Because they are all part of it,
from the man that let out the shout
to the young maiden that was brought.

The chief and police is its sharp eye
the sweeper, its rattling tail
the accountant, its venom rigged hollow fungs
The cabinet, its deadly poison
and I, the onlooker, its backbone.

by Ken Oketch

She Looked At Him

She looked at him
like a magical train she traveled in
carrying her through the dark night
making everything right
when it was cold outside

she looked at him
like a rocket that took her so high in the space
with painful sweet pleasure

He looked at the train
like a wonderful lover
whom last night her love alone
covered him like a rock
from the common pain that comes with love

He looked at it
like a woman he is waking up from inside her thighs
with satisfaction and sighs.
 

I AM A BUTTERFLY

I am a butterfly.
The coloured wings,
The vanity of my life
when paralyzed by the sting of a spider with a diabolic face

The spider that looms in the dark
but wears white in the light
the true king of comouflage
-all tells it.

They say I was a catterpillar.
Before that, a defenseless being
metamorphosing in cocoon of years.  
as if it would make my fears
of becoming anything else
or not becoming anything at all
and facing the fate of being a butterfly
-stay hidden.

The Only Known Medicine

In the ocean of life
nothing sinks the heart
like a new found loss, - afloat
on top of the deep waters of life

The heart longs to burst open
to empty into the cosmo all that it can not soften
thorns, blades, knives and needles thick an' thin
of life that prick and cut it from within
As  it bleeds only to respond
to the only medicine known -

Time.

SHE’S BUSY

As her lower lips swallowed him
To give him pleasure
She felt like puking
because gilt choked her
The moon is full
whence did the romance associated with the act go?
or dignity it deserves?
Her mind lies there still –thinking
As her hips like the wheels of a train
moves in a quick routine gyrations
to end her continual misery
that sees her with a few coins
She is busy living her life.

My love

The grief of your absence
Takes away
The beauty in a rose,
The glamour in a sunrise
The romance in a moonshine
Its mystic silence and dilemma
Causes tension in the air
Tension so thick
No bird can fly through
Nor a sharp razor cut through.

COME WONDER WITH ME

Come wonder with me
What goes on in His mind when;
he forcefully takes pleasure between
her tender toddler –senile thighs
and wants her other and another innocent sister,
She puts on the counter her body for trade,
she presents her unseen baby for death
he takes money as a wild gesture to butcher her.
he misleads his congregation, Amen.
he let lie with him his fellow men.
he demands pay for what’s rightfully free,
he conveniences for damages and time with money
With generous sharp blade do cut an exit for life
he in ice-cold-blood life do squeeze, -the trigger
or set fire and watch as his life evaporate
Come, Come wonder with me

AS THE SAD SUN WENT WEST TO HIS LUCKY LOVER

As the sad sun went west to his lucky lover
She sought also to be with me
With her coffee cherry lips
And her boiled yams arms
held me tight through the night
Against her bare berry black silk smooth skin
And gave me sweet white wine till dawn
Without letting go or think things through
Until the satisfied and smiling sun came East from lucky lover
To shine and show
What a goodtime he had last night

DO YOU REALLY HAVE TO KNOW?

Maybe I shouldn’t tell you what I know
But this is exactly what I saw
I’ve seen love turn a sweet girl
Into a hateful, revengeful girl
Sprite full girl dull.

ART AND INSPIRATION

It takes more than paint brushes and quill pens to make art.
‘Cause an artist sees not with his eyes but heart.
First he has to make ugly his minds hands.
In exchange for the final beauty that we see through his pens.
Methodical movements that slowly start to make sense.
And hues that combine and begin to take shape.
Different objects begin to attraction your admiration.
But only those that came with an inspiration
By Ken

CHEATING WOMAN

There was a girl and man,
it might have also been a boy and a woman,
just alone, strangers in the lift,
The man looked the woman square in the eye
he wondered, is love a gift?
then I’m giving mine to… and as the lift went high,
and higher, low and lower they fell so deep,
-In love: dark love-
they had kissed when the other man showed up,
I was the other man and I was fed up,
With human promiscuity ‘cause I am God.
The woman was man who can not carry his own load
the stranger is sin-isn’t it odd?

YOUR VARDICT PLEASE (MY DYING WORDS)

The whites, foreigners on our big fat lands
Your toil and family’s all in their hands.
But this was justified; they were not of our own
Then our own people took over after they were gone,
And yet we still continued to suffer under the same loads.
If anything it is even more pain knowing the lords
Are black, with vast lands now lying empty
While squatters became plenty
And the promise of land redistributions remained
          unkept; among many all over Africa.

Now as leaders blacks or whites
Who would you rather fight, for you rights?
          Son you verdict please!
No keepi’ safe with you, and I hope ‘ts not a bother
          to live through you, ‘cause my own life is over.
Let me live through ma dying words.
My son Africa. 

                                                          Kennedy O. Oketch

A POEM

I want to write a poem
But I don-no what to write about
                                  No doubt
There is everything yo mind can come across;
                              Beautiful words in a prose
                                                      The rose-

A flower in the garden,
And yet all over sudden
The ruins, 
The pains,
Caused by the war crosses my mind’s eye,
                                  And I ask why,
Does it have to be this way?
                          I pray
For things to change in a poem.
Is this all I wanted to say?
But then again that’s not for you to know.
                                           I guess so.
This is just but a poem

                                                

                                               

                                By Kennedy Oketch