Hannington Mumo Poems

Mutaitho is a hill that from far can be seen
By those who with hawk-like eyes scan distant things.
None has ever got near that spooky hill
On which the lethal wizard lived.
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A highly corrosive acid that raptures
Numerous times more the vessel in which it’s stored,
Greatly more than the one on which it’s poured;
Earnest flames that consumer the bearer;
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Make me wear that crown of thorns
That adorned the Savior’s head,
I’ll forever be by wisdom lead
Till they cease the storms of fate.
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I know not what time remains
Before Your beloved son returns;
It could be eons upon eons to come,
Or before I compose this amateur rhyme;
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There lived long ago a man of modest means,
A meek and a docile soul;
An elderly man who’d studied law,
And who went by the name David Ingersoll.
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Father is there not a song for the mute,
For your children who in paradise’s Diaspora live?
Is there no sovereignty the dumb his lips to twitch,
And himself from relieve
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Granny said in the world
(Whether this or the next!)
You have to bite or you’re bitten;
It’s you to smite or you’re smitten.
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Think of your life and its slither to vanish,
Think of the bliss of the grave
Where never reach the echoes of sorrow,
Nor reverberate ebbs of agony and cry;
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