Hannington Mumo Poems

The rain is never enough for the lazy man
To produce a sufficient harvest,
He blames Providence for lack of food;
The lazy man is never blessed
...

Now it's almost half a millennium since it fell
The astute pen that joyed England and the world.
The enigma of all times that no man can tell,
Nor had any sage of the long past foretold
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Throw a great feast and the world fills your halls,
Cry for help when disaster strikes and few will come;
For every man has enough pains and sorrows of his own
And none really cares about yours except your mum.
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Gag my mouth to thwart my speech and seal my protests
But the language of my eyes will be heard in the hallowed highs,
I speak not to be heard by those that have no ears to hear
But to confirm that my words have reached the skies.
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The Infinitude of the Private Man

What fetters will chain the legs of man,
If the Creator himself so much liberty gave?
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Oftentimes life and Nature decide to give you
That which you'd never give your bitterest foe,
A bitter cup from which you must drink;
And sour content like gall, you'd think.
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They say that life begins at forty,
And since I'm still a score and six,
I shall hold myself a captive of sense,
Until all youth's fickle flaws I fix.
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(For Kenyan athletes assiduously winning medals in Commonwealth games in Delhi, India; 13th October 2010)

A patriot to death my heart does with satisfaction throb
For yours is praiseworthy an effort and so sterling a job;
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(UPON READING THE PRELIMINARY CHAPTERS OF “THE MINISTER’S CHARGE”,
BY WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS)

Give not in to the adamant lore of the aged,
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I shall fight the numbing dew of goalless skeptics,
I shall overcome the smother and bother
Of devil-filled and visionless cynics,
And sit again on the throne of victory.
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