Telling Jokes... Poem by Merlin Mwaura

Telling Jokes

Let me start with our leaders,
I suppose they should borrow a leaf or two…
Cover what is otherwise their,
Sickly gifts at charming us.
I am on my eighty something notes…
Hardly what we call achievement
Not of course if I won’t pull off,
An award of some sort.

I remember my days,
Those days called nineties…
The songs that we call ‘in the nineties’,
Like we all weren’t there …
When there were no ringtones.
Like mobile phones didn't come the other day.
I remember when a letter meant it all…
A tissue paper to give your piece,
Peace of mind while others winced…
Remember when a first edition
was the only edition of particular books,
Days with a merchant of Venice,
Brag I read Shakespeare…
Even with a head on corrosion,
KJ still meant something on Sundays!

Attempting to tell jokes,
Watch this crowd go blank,
With my hopes still waiting…
To hear that laugh.
Unless you are a Professor ASPIRING,
Too tall to bend down doors.
Or impose presence like a communist,
Communication skills meant everything to our loins
Until we were lead to ruin,
When a gold ring came glistening.

Lost and found serves some purpose,
When mugged at upper hill from a campus,
A fellow came knocking at our doors,
Said he lost everything,
even a laptop…
He was telling jokes, so we laughed
Until he put a happy face,
Then we knew something was wrong.
He is not gay,
Nor would we want him to…
Though his assailants didn’t think so
For he had to blow
just to get through…
So no wonder he won’t speak,
Afraid of what might come out…
Like telling a joke to this crowd,
With blank faces reading an eightieth note…
With my hope still waiting,
To hear that laugh.
Writing notes is like telling jokes,
Telling them to people who do not laugh,
Who take forever to catch up,
To what am getting at.
Lest they ask, “what did it all mean? ”
And then am forced to tell a joke,
Waiting still in hope,
To hear that laugh when am done
Because when you tell the truth,
You can’t help sound absurd!

I’ll say I read the paper,
Hate that Gado is the only feature,
Which tells a joke won’t make me laugh…
Until I surf on a facebook page,
Cracking ribs and wasting space…
With updates and crazy mates…
Telling jokes on my eightieth note,
Waiting still hopefully,
To hear that laugh when am done!