Meshack Sewe Poems

My heart was a vessel
Hungry for a morsel
My soul was cold
As dreams of the old
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I’m a spoiled child, my dad is Bill
Our kingdom great, we masters of thrill…
My conception on a desktop, in a hard wheezing disk;
My delivery, through a window, dodging swine-virus risk;
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Born by a woman, born in the neighborhood
Fed by a woman, through tough livelihood
Raised by a woman, all through childhood
Married to a woman, enjoying your manhood
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If you try too hard

And your luck remains bad
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A hard bone....... I beg to pick…
With those whose hearts no poet can prick
If I serve my poems on plates of pain
Will they miss its contents so bare as plain?
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Niongeapo na waTanga,

Wengi hucheka wakitanga,
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Books in front of me…
I stared through the window…
Uncertainty, hit me with a blow…
Persistent yawns I tried to suppress…
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It was yesterday, I was a tiny seed…
Planted in a soil so warm… a soil void of any weed
Nine months under the earth were never in vain…
Finally germinating amidst trumpets of pain
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Love, help my hands write…
A poem that whispers loud
With melodies full of moisture as cloud
With lyrics that never fails to caress
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Isn’t that a choked voice… from your silted tunnel?
How cramp and lifeless… is your power kernel!
Isn’t life ever a contrast…..as the shape of a funnel?
Stop now and fight….for your breathing channel!
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