alexander opicho

Veteran Poet - 1,082 Points (when dictatorship began / kenya)

Re-Creating Kenneth Binyavanga Wainaina - Poem by alexander opicho

I am Amadioha the earth goddess of Igbos, Ngai wa mugo wa gatheru
who created the nine daughters of mumbi, and Gikuyu a man,
I am Wele of Dini ya Musambwa, creator of Elijah Masinde
I am Katonda the creator of Kintu and Namiremeb hills at Makerere
I am eshu the god of the Ijimere and Achebe and Soyinka,
behold today I stand in Egypt, where the sun comes from
where I similarly stood billion and billion of years ago,
to create all the stars the moon and the universe
not even known to the son of man until today,
this is where i created my first born of humanity;
dear Africa the generations of Negroes,
the beacon of my eye, i enjoy a look at you minus blinkers,
i stand here a fresh to correct my creation mistakes
i formerly made, when creating my dearest son in Africa;
Kenneth Binyavanga wa wainaina, who hails at Nakuru hills,
he is the sweetest song to my heart, classical music of my ears
i contrite much, as i were not to create you a blended blood
from an Omuganda girl and an Omugikuyu boy,
i was to create you a pure Muganda, like Okot P' Bitek,
or a pure Kenyan, like Francis Davis Imbuga,
i were to control your academic fortune, that you don't start,
your maiden education Lena Moi primary school,
an epiphany of a divorced woman, spelling curse of wifelessness,
on those that pass through the very school, i was wrong.
had i known i could have not sent Cleophas to work
in your fathers home, for him to sleep in the horse shed,
cursed is the fucking memory of what he did in that quarter
as you preened and eavesdropped outside like a hen
listening to the eagle's contralto,
why did i sent Wambui to be your nurse maid, only to preach
the gospel according to the power of peasant vagina to you,
she tangled her buttocks before your nude eyes, senting
your young heart to sensuous extremities, Wambui, a she devil,
Wow! Kalenjins are bad neighbour, they are dark and ugly
slow in the brain and sadistically malicious in the heart,
i know not why i made them to abode with you within the
great valley of kenya, they throng schools and they cannot learn,
but i have now held them captive, i have made them your footstool
for ever and ever my dear son, as you hold the scepter of power,
i goofed beyond remedy by all ethereal to send you to Njoro boys school,
for you to meet Sigalla, that extra-masculine Sigalla, the asshole hunter,
i gave you wrong sisters, they made you put on your mothers dress
and her long hair, then you posed to the female public as an Americanness
your romantic number was fwive fwive fwive fwive, fwive at New-york,
i wonder why i did not give you enough power of languages
so that you generate a numberless fantabulousies and Goalies and so forth,
only to borrow from a young woman; Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
the yellow sun's slapslap slapslap slapslap slapslap slapslap slapslapp!
Mangu Boys School to you was a blessing, had it not my fault,
of giving you a mutton headed faculty full of annentcy,
that went for the persiflagery and aesthetic phantasmagoria,
in the art and theatre prose and poetry; the Bigger Thomas Lawyer,
your only misplaced mentor that gave birth to what i love in you;
hence i am writting about this place now, this place kenya,
folly of folly is when i goofed to take a natural writter like you,
to commerce class in the land of apartheid, Nadine Gordimer's front
that sired Brenda Fasie a top Lesbian, the song bird of my times
as you all know we the gods also jealously love,
she only charmed you with her naked boob
swinging like a pendulum on the musical stage,
after her communique of being a top lesbian, she call it Africa,
o! no, Africa never came from Lesbians, it comes from simple nature;
mother and father, in natural and collective heterosexuality,
You only saw and revved in dope culture in the cubbyhole of Victory,
and hoped clubs from Dazzle to the rest, in hunt of your boyhood,
sadly to be befallen by dark clouds in victim-hood of optical nutrition,
abiding among the tall, beautiful, smoking bunch of Lesbians.
My son, from today and henceforth, i the Africanus,
the god of African fertility, poetry and art,
humbly chose to recreate you the king of kings and queens,
of African story telling at global status, to tell all African songs,
beyond sham fallacy that gay and Lesbian literature
are the begotten apex of modern and Global literature
these are only white lies featuring a death bound imperialism.

Topic(s) of this poem: love and art

Comments about Re-Creating Kenneth Binyavanga Wainaina by alexander opicho

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

Poem Submitted: Saturday, August 16, 2014

Poem Edited: Monday, August 18, 2014

[Report Error]