David N. Munene Poems

The heights of passion
Heighten the heights of action
Deepening the height of destruction
And destructing the actions of construction
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For I am Catholic, cut out to the core
Remolded through catechism; head to toe
No apologies should I make,
‘cept for re-crucifying Christ
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Have seen little of history unfold
I know that one thing will always be
Africa will be,
But what is Africa's may never be
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She walked down the aisle
By him indeed she walked

By him indeed she walked
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When He set off for the journey
He knew it wasn't about the money
Unlike a be, He wasn't after honey
For the Sun would have shone like yesterday
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Never have you ever sat
Or beneath African Suns lay flat
You insist on rumours fat
Liken to a rainy day's door mat
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That I feel the pain Christ felt when I wasn’t there
Yet I feel not the pain that I inflict on my neighbor when s/he’s here

That I am going to be feasting
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3 am:
Urban time: Alarm clocks, hoots and toots
Rural time: Cocks crow, cows moo and weavers beaker
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It is I oh dear Lord that turned away
Your goodness is perfect and enough
No wonder Hell stands in my very way
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Rains reign in town
So heavily falling down
In speed than rocket's
Every man pockets
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