Tom MuyungaMukasa


Kisubi Hill - Poem by Tom MuyungaMukasa

Thy grounds, Kisubi! And thy green ivy grass,
a monarch once told,
that here a fountain will be found. Be glad, whispering spirits!
your limb, ear, eye and soul witness,
She of Avilla called humility a truth no more truer than which to oneself can be,
Magnificat! A spirit is only joyful in a saving Grace!
by this grass Nebuchadnezzar, Solomon, Mohammed and you seek lessons,
to one pride and a belligerent bearing led to a fall,
to the other humility led to a profound confidence,
to the third Divine prosperity and health,
to you a lesson in consequences of conflict,
"where two elephants fight..."
O fond one, these lessons make you a catalytic innovator,
unlock your wells, and let your hands stretch,
gather around you all those fond minds,
Nnabinoonya calls and your task; O fond one bear witness!
how else fond one can there be life?
for in you lies tufts whose roots,
tell tales of how Earth's foundation came about,
Yes! Your mind has wondrous tales,
here is the key: Duc In Altum
(An exhortation and Social Justice Thought) ,
there you will find meaning as a Divine hand goes with you,
go with your doubts and fears but your mind is firmly held,
by the Most Steadfast of all Hands,
your doubts bind your feet,
blindfold and send you off on a detour
then pull you to a roadside stop,
there seduced to partake of alava,
that ferments your lymph and blood,
which numbs all nerves of reason,
your fear is a broad path,
upon which no sign posts exist,
leading to nowhere and exhausts the wayfarer,
remember doubt and fear are deceptive predators,
whose prey is a mind without practiced purpose,
in there is an abundant saving Grace never far,
that is the ubiquitous lesson,
place your feet deep in the firmness of reason,
your breast will fill up with flames of inspiration,
a fire lapping about in tongues of confidence, consistence and beauty,
there is your compass to the four corners,
knowledge, wisdom, ingenuity and accountability,
now you are armed to go on with your adventures,
turn the mountains and valleys your sport,
toil and don't be afraid of discord,
that is the nature of life,
displaying a checquered drapery,
be assured, you will reap,
up the mountain and down the valley,
you will reap what you sow,
am sure those of the White Robes,
drum this home so well during,
those warm addresses that both provoke and repress,
the talks that light up furnaces trapped in your breasts,
but at the same time control the breadth the fires go,
interspersing experimenting with control,
like manicured lawns and wild glades,
allowing shades and light to co-exist in these plains,
crimson, yellow and blue blooms abound,
this former wilderness in whose tufted canopies,
the birds of the air nested and made their homes,
now, O! Fond one your mind is host to intelligence,
by your own thought precious ideas,
and by your hands inventions are born
nothing nobler and well rounded than what we behold,
for here are assembled the graces and blessings,
industry sits smiling among our pews,
go out and claim it to all,
raise up cities, pull up wild vines and calm the storms,
let your showers filter the light,
and be known by how you share your yields,
go where hollow winds howl and where waves roar,
hue pillars out of timber clasped by weeds,
Over the ruins lies the hidden stately substance,
that is your noble duty and calling
you are the hope and listening ear to many cries,
purer spirits that visit here also go before you,
securing trust and faith on your behalf,
and one day, you too will join the same Pantheon,
and as the eagle you will spread your wings,
your wings a sign of spirited vitality
swift, genial, patient and bold,
nimble, fleet and dexterous of limb,
a tongue of silver and no stranger to fame,
nor to the vicissitudes of life,
one time the dove and another an eagle,
swift and fierce when an eagle,
capable of controlling fury like a dove,
share your space and groom one to take up your place,
leave Kisubi! Thy green ivy grass,
may peace descend and scatter blessings from her dove-like wing,
may all your days count,
a monarch once told,
that here a fountain will be found. Be glad, whispering spirits!

Topic(s) of this poem: school days

Form: Panegyric


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, November 9, 2019

Poem Edited: Friday, November 15, 2019


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