I Am A Mud Man Poem by Sekate Paul Junior Atwooki Kisoromani

Upon the turning wheel of ancient years,
A Mud Man writes, from dust and sorrow spun,
To One unknown, amidst unheeded tears,
'Art thou there, Maker, 'neath the fading sun?
This world Thou shaped, a cruel and fleeting stage,
Where ash and breath dissolve in swift decay,
Why death's dark hand turns every hopeful page?
My heart, a drum, beats mournful through the day.

'The sun ascends, its light I still behold,
Yet shadows cling, consuming eve and morn;
Each moment whispers tales of stories old,
Of joy once promised, now a hope forlorn.
This burden deep, a weight I cannot bear,
*Huu mzigo ni mzito*, Creator, hear my plea.

'I tread this path, a soul beyond repair,
For purpose sought, a fractured entity.
But thorns and thistles pierce my weary stride,
A bitter song, this sorrow, strangely sweet.
Why endless toil, where lonely echoes ride?
I grasp no meaning, 'midst my stumbling feet.

'Laughter of others, a distant, mocking sound,
My voice, it falters, lost to time's swift flow.
Didst Thou forget the plan, on hallowed ground?
Or fashioned me with hand that could not sow?
*Ninaumia sana*, a constant, deep unrest,
I am a mud man, from the earth's dark clay,
Returning ever to dust, by life unblessed,
For solace longed, a guiding, gentle ray.
What am I to do with this short, given day? '