Her skull digging reflections turn mental tables upside down. She has discovered her on literary style like a gold mine- prosaic poetry. Stories tucked in her golden verses are told with the rhythmic precision of a sculptor and they are carved wittingly not for just for the pleasure of the reader but to usher positive change, meaning and dialogue among the living. Jerusha is a bold word-slinger wielding up her poetic scythe to bravely weed out human vagaries, savagery, earthly sorrows and societal decadence. Her narrative poems are didactic and they carry a glow of moral lessons on humanity and society. When you reading Jerushas poetry, you are like watching your life and other lives in a mirror of irony, satire and vivid imagery. Her poetic storytelling is intriguing and vivid. Another rich ingredient in her poetry is simplicity as it is thus concocted with reason, awareness and meaning. Superb. AFRICA WRITERS CARAVAN values truth, reason, creativity and inclusivity. We are proud to present an accomplished educationist, acclaimed poet, a resilient literary arts projects curator. Author of a great poetry collection, Echoes of Military Souls, KANANUH JERUSHA- (Blurb by Mbizo CHIRASHA).
SMILE AGAIN KATRINA
Happy was she before the news,
Laughed her heart out before her woes;
She tumbled and tossed
With her son while they played;
When will Katrina smile again?
How could such news pass her by?
She hadn’t gotten a wind,
She had been playing with her lad,
The breaking news broke her;
When will Katrina smile again?
There had been a serious attack,
In the camp where Kibby worked;
Many soldiers were feared dead,
When will Katrina smile again?
She checked the list,
Her eyes misty;
He was among the dead,
Her Kibby
When will Katrina smile again?
She broke down,
She wanted to die.
Her son thought it was a lie,
On the floor she sobbed
When will Katrina smile again?
She grieved mourning her sun,
And forgot her son;
She locked herself in her room,
Her life was now gloom.
Her all soaked in tears
When will you smile again Katrina?
Her son sank into depression,
Tried to get his mother’s attention;
Katrina never got out of her room,
Your son needs you Katrina
When will you smile again?
During the burial
Her eyes sunk deep into the sockets;
Her mind far away,
Her face a blank stare,
A zombie:
When will Katrina smile again?
She went back to her room,
Broke glasses and whisky bottles
Fighting inner battles—
She was slowly losing her son;
Smile to your son, Katrina.
Sam sat silently in a corner doodling,
His room messy,
He didn’t talk to anybody,
Hot tears scalding his cheeks.
Sam needed Katrina
She was about to do the worst:
She served whisky,
a cocktail with poison—
She was tired—
Your son is knocking, Katrina!
She looked at the glass;
She cried.
“Open the door, Mum;
I want to sleep next to you.
Why do you hate me, Mum?”
He was sobbing.
Come back to your senses, Katrina.
She went to open the door:
Her son was there, his nose bleeding,
She hadn’t known, he was sick.
It was not time to cry, her son needed her.
I’m sorry, Katrina, take heart.
She gave her son first aid, but she was scared,
“I’m sorry, son,” she told him.
Sam picked the poisoned glass,
He thought it was soda;
Katrina had forgotten about it—
She hit the glass off his hands.
You almost killed your son, Katrina.
Her son was shocked,
Mum had never been like that before.
Katrina lay on the floor, crying:
Stand up, Katrina; your son needs you.
Sam knelt beside her,
‘Get up, Mommy,
I am here,
All will be well.”
It’s okay, Katrina; put yourself together.
She looked at her son,
She tickled him, he tickled her back and they fancied the tickles
and smiles for the first time in a long time;
She stood up,
Wrapped her son in a lingering hug:
“Come here little Kibby
We will get through this together.”
She whispered
Sam imitated his late father:
“You look beautiful, Mrs Kibby.
Kibby misses you
But I love you more.”
Katrina is laughing again.
Adapted from
Echoes Of Military Souls by Jerusha Kananu Marete
WHERE THE OAK TREE GROWS
If I had to live for friends I would do for trees
Beautiful for the eyes to see
Even their shadows in the sea
Such a pleasant view
I love the whispering pines
I adore the soothing vines
Oh! Trees! Our unsung guardian angels
With my guitar, I sing where the oak tree grows
You ooze kindness
Even in face of ruthlessness
Purest beauty for eyes to see
Earth’s known solace
You painfully bear human malice
You, inspiration of the world
Your sprouts give glimmer of hope
I look at you I see life
After the storm the giant oak stands unmoved
Resilience!! Oh dear tree teach me resilience I pray
Oh! Trees, our unsung guardian angels
With my guitar, I sing where the oak tree grows
Blooming flowering growing beautiful trees
Damaged Leafless lone trees
Native old strong disappearing trees
Pay them not with what they have done to you
Still in this era of darkness dear trees
Retain your kindness
It is in your kindness that my hope rekindles
You have me
Oh! Trees, our unsung guardian angels
With my guitar, I sing where the oak tree grows
THE BOLD
Herod Kamaliza took me to the highest pinnacle
T’was like visiting the oracle
Showed me his Very Valley View Estate
Lively lights shone
The estate screamed great glamour
The Spackle and span merged silently
Silence, as if shaking he stared at my teen breasts
His lips parted menacingly, his pang like nails pointed
At the glamorous Very Valley View Estate
“Baby just say yes and all this will be yours”
Trying moment, did a flashback at my horrific home
The savagery
The poverty
Here lie one time chance to end that filth
My mind turned into a battlefield
I felt as if suspended into an abyss
I saw the black smoke soiled Jesus’ photo hanging
In my mother’s soot filled kitchen
This time He was not smiling as usual
He made his face the way an infant does when it wants to cry
I saw my mother working in neighbor’s land,
Sun scorched and clothes torn
I saw myself working along i almost could hear her shout
“Keep working if he sees you standing there will be no pay”
I saw my brother begging the taut to give him ten shillings
He was hungry, thirsty and worn out
I saw my son chewing premature dirty cassava
NOOO! It was too much to bear
He had omniscient eyes, he read my mind
He came closer, I felt his reptilic touch
I moved further
He came closer
I moved further again
He came closer
I was at the edge, I couldn’t move
“Baby Just say a word and all this would be yours”
I parted my lips as if to talk, seriously shaking
The inner bitter battle began, someone inside shouted
“You impoverished Idiot, say yes stop being silly take wealth”
The photo came into view again ,Jesus was bleeding
The blood merged with soot
I shook my head, I was wet all over
As if smeared with the mixture of blood and soot
I saw my father in his deathbed, he repeated his last words
“Character counts don’t you ever sell your soul”
Herod came closer, he stood tall
Money not managed to hide his wrinkles
His cold hands held my neck, he held my waist
Pulled me closer to him, I freed myself from the grip
My mother’s face appeared again
She was smiling, I saw her gap
Her laughter seemed to say “I am okay”
I saw my brother helping a customer to a boda boda
They were engaged in a conversation
I struggled to listen, i heard him smile and say
“Mine is clean money “I was shaking like a leaf
My mother’s voice was clear as she begged neighbor for salt
Herod now near my lips …
He was getting inpatient “I don’t have all day Esther
I have to drive my daughter to the airport,
Make hay while sun shines “he hissed
His daughter in her early twenties, five years older than me
He unbuttoned my cheap silk blouse
I heard his touch, I disentangled myself forcefully
Eventually I found my voice, amidst tears I said
“Character counts, I can’t sell my soul”
Like a snake his limousine slithered off
MAU MAU VETERAN’S WAIL
Why are you so heartless?
Why did God create a being so insensitive?
Why why why?
You ate my meat, you sucked my blood
And now you are refusing with my bone!?
We shared the tears, we shared a master
We shared the pain, went through hell together
I used my teeth to unchain you
Tore my tattered coat to cover your bleeding wounds
I silently wept when the master lynched you?
I confronted the master when he imprisoned you?
My courage made me lose my eye, I am partially blind
I did it for my brother!
In the bush we had sleepless night
You became our eye as we fought for our land
We waged battle in the forest, we fought in the mountains
We fought in red rivers, the white master gave up
He run to his white gardens, left our black heavens
Excitedly, we sang freedom songs
We almost kissed freedom, solidarity was our intention
We needed our own, not a master but a servant
We looked around, almost everyone had a dent
One had lost a leg, another had lost his teeth,
The other lost both legs, I had lost my eye
Protecting you from murderous master
You hadn’t lost anything, you were fighting from the house
You also knew how to hide when we went for battles
They chained you and fed you from the forest we still protected you
We now needed our own who had no dent
Tumbo has no dent he became our leader
He knew how to write he became our leader
I vividly remember the day we crowned you our leader
I tried to talk to you but your mind seemed far away
Your lips were curved in a sinister smile eyes piercing through the sky
You seemed like a small god, immortal, you didn’t see us anymore
I was worried for the first time, we became invisible
We disappeared into the tumult they were ranting your name
Fighting among themselves for coins the new master threw at them
Your soldiers were similar to soldiers of the former master
But their color was black!
We had hope when we waited!
We had hope when we fought!
You have eaten my meat, sucked my blood
Why are you refusing with my bone?
The bone is my graveyard, why are you grabbing my graveyard?
You want me to be buried in the air or to be devoured by vultures?
My children and grandchildren roam in the street
Others slaves in your estates
While you enjoy the freedom we fought for
I am old and eager to die, memories of my sacrifice kill me softly
But when i die, where will i be buried?
You have grabbed my meat, sucked blood
Why are you refusing with my bone?
My bone, my graveyard
Is it yet independence?
WIVES’ REVOLUTION
We are a weeping lot, we weep because of our Lot
He will turn us into salt stones
Our husband has gone mad again!
Yesterday, we wept, today we are weeping
Tomorrow, we will weep
We aren’t weeping for his ailment, he is medically fit
We are weeping for his madness, help us weep
Our husband has gone mad again!
We are not weeping over his infidelity
Ai! Who does that? If we did, won’t our tears refill dams?
We wept, we weep, and we will weep
Our husband has trodden on the poor, help us weep
Our husband has gone mad again!
It is not jealous that make us weep, no, we are unified
I love the women my husband shares with me
The women my husband shares with me love me
So we are unified in in the strive and so we weep
Our husband has gone mad again!
You think we are weeping for we want his property?
Shame on you! It is not his vast lands we weep for
It is not his lucrative position that make us weep
No. We weep because that widow weeps
We weep because that orphan weeps
We weep because that old man dying there weeps
The old man weeps, our husband grabbed his land
The widow weeps, our husband squandered money for widows
The orphan weeps, our husband plundered money for orphans
The old man weep, soon he will die and no grave
We too weep for them
Our husband has gone mad again!
You think we won’t solve the problem by weeping?
Shame on you!
As we weep one is suing him for divorce
As we weep the other is suing him for child support
As we weep the other one is suing him for property
As we weep the other one is accusing him of a scandal
As we weep the other one has called the media to cover his infidelity
As we weep the other one is searching for the title deeds
We are doing team work
We destabilize him
Soon the widow will weep no more
The orphan will weep no more
The old man will weep no more
And we too will weep no more
Our husband will go mad in the mud
MORAL DECAY
There alight beauty and the beast
He’s older than Galilean yeast
She fiddles with his fist
I like the watch on her wrist
She’s lucky to have a father
Mine joined my forefather
He brushes her hair
She is a lucky heir
What a lucky teenager
Her father must be a manager
But me? A scavenger
Alas!! Too much of a father
Ain’t this the end of tether?
Lips to lips? Noo!!!
That’s not her father
Oh my God! Save her mother
From knowing her daughter
Manners she sent to slaughter
The world is ending!
The young girl feels no shame
The old man thinks its fame
They call it a norm?
Bad breed of worm
The gray hair that was wisdom
Had become broke of decorum
The tenderness of youth
Has now become filth
Morally bankrupt
Emotionally bankrupt
I know life is changing
Are our morals also aging?
We are held loosely by stinking morass
Kenyan Writer JERUSHA KANANU MARETE , is the author of power-parked -package anthology of poems titled Echoes of Military Souls that promise to keep you at the edge of your seat. She has her heart in narrative poems. Her touch on the military theme in her anthology is splendid. https://www.the-star.co.ke/sasa/books/2020-06-07-poetry-book-puts-war-philosophy-in-focus/https://www.amazon.com/dp/B085DTG4X3/ref=cm_sw_r_wa_apa_i_rSS8EbJ5J7H5http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49779503-echoes-of-military-soulsShe graduate from University Of Nairobi with a degree in Education (English &Literature) and currently a MA student at Kenyatta University (Literature/Theatre departments). Jerusha is a teacher, a performing artist & a film and theatre enthusiast .She is also a full time mother to Emmanuel. Her poems have been published in Best New African Poets 2019 anthology. Her work was also featured in the annual military magazine Reconnoiter.https://www.facebook.com/753351328130418/posts/1926515544147318/?app=fblhttp://www.africanbookscollective.com/books/best-new-african-poets-2019-anthology
MEET THE TIME OF THE POET PUBLISHER AND PROJECTS CURATOR
Mbizo CHIRASHA, Contributing Editor to the Diasporian Online. Chronicler and Publisher , AFRICA WRITERS CARAVAN. Chief Editor at TIME OF THE POET REPUBLIC. Projects Curator at WOMAWORDS LITERARY PRESS. Chief Influencer at Brave Voices Poetry Journal. Author and Editor at Porcupine Quill. UNESCO-RILA Affiliate Artist. 2020 Free Speech Fellow at PEN Deutschland.2020 Poet in Residence of the Fictional Café . 2019 African Fellow of the Ihraf.org. Contributing Writer at Monk Arts and Soul Magazine . Literary Arts Activism Diplomatie at Bezine Arts and Humanities Magazine and The Poet A Day. Featured Poetry Artist at World BeyondWar.Org. Arts Features and Political commentary Writer at Cultural Weekly. Featured African Writer at Demer Press International Poetry Series . Featured African Performance Poet at 2020 Medellin International Poetry Festival. Featured Poet/Writer at INKSWEATAND TEARS Journal.2019 Live Literature Hub Curator/Producer at Sotambe International Film Arts FESTIVAL. 2009 Poet in Residence at International Africa Culture and Development, ICACD). 2003 Young Literary Arts Delegate of ZimBookFair to Goteborg International Book Fair, SIDA African Pavilion . Co-Editor of a three Languages International collection STREET VOICES with prominent Germany Author Andreas Weiland . Featured Poet at Cervena Barva Press Newsletter. Literary Arts and Poetry Contributor to the Zimbabwean Voice of the Voiceless Newspaper. African Participant to the World Poetry Almanac Book Series in Mongolia. Resident Coordinator for 100 Thousand POETS for Peace- Zimbabwe. Founder and Creative Director at GirlChildcreativity Project . Writer in Residence. Global LITERARY Arts Projects Influencer. Published Author and International Acclaimed Poet.
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