HARD FEELINGS
(reflects the plight of a Kenyan IDP)
I am a legal destitute,
In a legal institute;
That they did constitute,
With their rotten attitude.
What wrong did I make,
To suggest whom I like?
What law did I break;
To deserve a slash in the neck?
Otula was a brother to me,
And so was Njuguna and Omwami;
People who all knew me,
Until they decided to break my knee.
We wined and dined together,
And our goats used the same tether;
Our Augusta married their Agatha,
And our son became a proud father.
Our grandson was their grandson,
And we all celebrated in moon and sun;
We praised and thanked in return,
For the new gift in our town.
Now before our grandson stood on two,
Strangers came to paint you blue;
Suddenly you changed and started to boo,
A brother who did no wrong to you.
I am bitter Otula, Njuguna and Omwami,
For you created who is now me;
A man who now can’t afford a meal,
A victim of a brother-turned-enemy.
You know what you did to my daughter,
Just like sense did not matter,
And you applauded in deafening chatter;
As you wrecked her body in the gutter.
You know what you did to my wife,
As she ran for her dear life;
I saw Otula taking out the knife,
Before she fell and cried like a calf.
I don’t know what you did to Augusta,
But am told he was a bit faster;
You wanted to kill the father of our granddaughter,
And drink his blood like spring water.
You, people who refused to grow,
You, people with the brains of a crow;
You kept your senses in the store,
And put innocent lives in death row.
(reflects the plight of a Kenyan IDP)
I am a legal destitute,
In a legal institute;
That they did constitute,
With their rotten attitude.
What wrong did I make,
To suggest whom I like?
What law did I break;
To deserve a slash in the neck?
Otula was a brother to me,
And so was Njuguna and Omwami;
People who all knew me,
Until they decided to break my knee.
We wined and dined together,
And our goats used the same tether;
Our Augusta married their Agatha,
And our son became a proud father.
Our grandson was their grandson,
And we all celebrated in moon and sun;
We praised and thanked in return,
For the new gift in our town.
Now before our grandson stood on two,
Strangers came to paint you blue;
Suddenly you changed and started to boo,
A brother who did no wrong to you.
I am bitter Otula, Njuguna and Omwami,
For you created who is now me;
A man who now can’t afford a meal,
A victim of a brother-turned-enemy.
You know what you did to my daughter,
Just like sense did not matter,
And you applauded in deafening chatter;
As you wrecked her body in the gutter.
You know what you did to my wife,
As she ran for her dear life;
I saw Otula taking out the knife,
Before she fell and cried like a calf.
I don’t know what you did to Augusta,
But am told he was a bit faster;
You wanted to kill the father of our granddaughter,
And drink his blood like spring water.
You, people who refused to grow,
You, people with the brains of a crow;
You kept your senses in the store,
And put innocent lives in death row.
RESENTIMENTE
(reflectă durerea unui deportat kenyan)
Legea m-a osândit
Într-un sistem legal
Pe care ei l-au clădit
Prin meschinării fără egal
Cu ce am greşit
Când gândurile mi-am rostit?
Ce lege am încălcat
Să merit să fiu linşat?
Otula frate-mi era
La fel Omwami şi Njuguna
Ne cunoşteam cu toţii foarte bine
Până când s-au lepădat de mine.
Mâncam şi beam împreună
Caprele noastre erau legate de aceeaşi parâmă
Augusta al nostru a năşit-o pe a lor Agatha
Şi fiul nostru a ajuns un mândru tată
Nepotul nostru era şi-al lor
Şi ne bucuram cu toţii, zi şi noapte
Rugi înălţam cerurilor
Pentru darul cel nou din comunitate.
Dar nu apucă nepotul să facă doi ani -
Din cauza unor străini v-aţi schimbat
Şi v-aţi luat cu nişte huligani
Împotriva unui frate ce nu v-a greşit niciodat’.
Otula, Njuguna, Omwami – voi aţi creat
Din mine un alt eu, şi m-aţi nenorocit.
Acum abia de-mi mai permit un dumicat –
Sunt victima propriului meu frate, îndârjit.
Ştiţi ce-aţi facut din fata mea -
De orice legi v-aţi lepadat
În chiote v-aţi bătut joc de ea
Şi-n şanţ trupul i-aţi aruncat.
Ştiţi ce-aţi facut din soţia mea -
Cum ea fugea să scape cu viaţă
Otula cu cuţitul în mână stătea
Când ea s-a prăvălit fără suflare, direct în faţă
Ştiu ce i-aţi făcut şi lui Augusta -
Dar el v-a luat-o înainte, mi s-a zis
Aţi vrut să ne rămână orfană nepoata
Şi setea să v-o stingeţi cu sângele încins.
Voi, cei ce-aţi refuzat să vă maturizaţi
Oameni fără de minte
Nicio milă n-aţi vrut să arătaţi
Cu preţul unor vieţi inocente.
Traducător: Sînziana Mihalache
ABOUT THE AUTHOR/DESPRE AUTOR
David Kagwi is a young poet, publicist and civic activist in Mombasa, Kenya. His writings are a mirror of contemporary life and a diary of his personal feelings. David Kagwi is one of the new contributors in Africa of CHMagazine.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR/DESPRE AUTOR
David Kagwi is a young poet, publicist and civic activist in Mombasa, Kenya. His writings are a mirror of contemporary life and a diary of his personal feelings. David Kagwi is one of the new contributors in Africa of CHMagazine.
* * *
David Kagwi este un tânăr poet, publicist şi activist civic din oraşul Mombasa, Kenya. Scrierile sale sunt o oglindă a vieţii contemporane şi un jurnal al propriilor trăiri sufleteşti. David Kagwi este unul dintre noii colaboratori din Africa ai revistei Orizont literar contemporan.
David Kagwi este un tânăr poet, publicist şi activist civic din oraşul Mombasa, Kenya. Scrierile sale sunt o oglindă a vieţii contemporane şi un jurnal al propriilor trăiri sufleteşti. David Kagwi este unul dintre noii colaboratori din Africa ai revistei Orizont literar contemporan.
Daniel DRAGOMIRESCU, editor of CHMagazine
3 comentarii:
So sad and beautiful at the same time!
A great peace I must admit in honor of the plight of IDp's
What sinewy, powerful prose he crafts! Your blog is always a treat to visit, Daniel. Be well.
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