Treasure Island

Jonathan Karanja

(Nairobi)

Poisoned Generation


Life may not be rosy as a bed of putty,
Ne’ertheless, it’s at least bearable and good,
In place of ashes, soon shall come beauty,
It all began in the house nasty word here and there as well as rude,
All ’ cause I wanted the cow to milk, to do some duty,
Very soon got tired, fed up, longed to move out never to feud,
Thinking as well, my own life to live earning my own booty,
Living free as a bird, a lovely mate in my arms wishing to be understood,
On my own property, doing as I please, well as my duty,
To God, mankind and self, since that’s what’s noble and good.



Scarcely had I ventured out to the roads and alleys,
Said a first ‘hello’ to a countryside soul,
To my consternation, didn’t get an answer,
Never gave it a thought, rather to proceed forth thought it wiser,
Said a second ‘hello’ to a maiden so fair who never guessed my goal,
This time to my utter shock, didst she her tongue at me click,
At me! Who once had honour and status as a prince,
Said a third ‘hello’ this time to a toddler,
‘Hello’, she replied though she be knee-high,
And I be tall as a flag-post, a gallant man honourable as a prince,
All the middle-aged and elderly ne’er at that time deigned to greet or at me to look,
But the younger generation of toddlers showered me with love and fondness,
In that (far, far-away) land lived a poisoned generation who mistook,
Me for some outer space alien or a proud outsider,
From that far-away land shall I permanently move, ne’er to go back.

Submitted: Monday, December 16, 2013
Edited: Monday, December 16, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

I live in an area known as Kinangop in Kenya and all this really happened to me. Well, well, they say that if life deals out lemons, make lemonade out of them (lemons themselves) .

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