WHAT HAS BECOME OF US?
I never would have imagined that it could come to this; two birds of the same feathers flocking away from each other, but maybe in due season when fruit departs from tree and the sun from the day; when night falls and darkness covers the firmament; when the tree divorces the leaves and clouds are seen no more; when the poet lays down his pen and can't write anymore, because his inspiration is gone; when the artist can no longer draw any attention from his followers and the composer can't make do with his ‘heart' beat. I wonder, what then shall become of us?
It was inevitable though inexplicable, we just played dumb and it remained unspeakable. This day was coming but we both ignored the truth and comforted ourselves with that which we desired and wished for; I swear I could pen them down in art, all the things I dreamt of; all that I desired and hoped for, see! Because the same things I prayed for scratched my heart beyond bandage repair, but who am I fooling? It has been too delicate; I swear this heart has experienced more falls that the mighty Niagara itself; so to say I paid attention to this journey would be but a blatant lie, because we both know how broke I was. I just wonder, what then shall become of us?
They told me what they thought, but I rejected their counsel and when they called me fool for making ‘Tazama pipeline' dreams I just darted from them; I mean who are they to comprehend that which I feel? Who are they to question my emotions? I swear if I was a story teller, I'd tell it to my children's' children so they can understand, because as it always has been, ‘those who know not of history are doomed to repeat it! ' I know the reader wonders too, what then shall become of us?
All I had I gave away including the biggest part of my heart, but I guess no one could ever resist that which comes quantitatively more than just a mere heart; then I heard a bird shout, "It is too far away a place, the ground for me to fall for you." I smiled at its honesty but it was raining heavily on my cheeks and even I could not fathom the act but my heart knew than most, that that which it held on for had finally given out and left, so profusely it bled and to this day I still wonder, what then has become of us?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem