Poetry

Alexander Opicho

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Dialogue with the Suicide Bomber

Loud and confused crying,

Sound of human beings in agony,

Is coming to my ears with no fetter,

With no dizziness I hear Paris crying,

Sires of Hugo, Napoleon and de Gaulle,

Are shouting and cursing amid blasts of terror,

Reminisced in my mind is Charlie Hebdo’s siege,

What ails the Frenchmen, dear children of Europe?

Lovers of peace and reason in liberty, equality and

Fraternity, what ails Toulouse and Paris?

Is it you dude, in your madness of Islamic state?

Yes; for oppression kills the oppressor,

And the oppressed in an equal measure,

We are bombing Paris as we bombed Charlie Hebdo,

Like a widow of the old times crying for her sons,

The Arab Nation cries for loss of Palestine and Gaza,

You are bad then, my eyes and ears are dazed,

You kill the innocent in your mania of suicide bombing,

You destroy your young lives for fun like fools,

You bomb forlorn Africa in your ceaseless vim,

Nairobi, Gariissa and chapel in Mombasa, Kenya,

You shot a suckling Baby Osinya in the head,

After shooting to death her peasant mother,

The slug of your cannon stuck in Osinya’s brain,

Utmost brute of your religion and terrorist piety,

Don’t you see you are exporting a novel testimony;

That religions and pieties are a betrayal to humanity,

For you brutally kill the innocent and the harmless,

But like a snake’s tail you shrink before true enemies,

Permit me to sing that terrorism is global cowardice,

No, you are not permitted,

Terrorism must be seen without,

Selective blindness and silence,

Israel also commits terror in Gaza,

It hits son of Arabia as if they are a beast,

In the hungry hunter’s trap, they hit them brutally,

They now hit Syria with bombs and drones,

The terror of their offenses lacks a match in history,

Listen my friend, reason of your terror acts,

Makes me to borrow a social microscope,

They are tiny to be seen with a genuine eye,

And they are not reason on a final scan,

But chaff of religion blended with blood-thirst,

A special state of the mind and the heart in your clime,

Its justifiable state linkers among its savage worthies,

To rave for universal Islam is power of reason abused,

Still; massacre, siege and annihilation of un-armed ones,

Never will it make the earth a footstool of Islam, But

Only anti-path and hatred as violence begets violence,

Survivors of the Twin Towers hail beyond your message,

Truly, they rather die than condone their souls into Islam,

We don’t care, our happiness is that we now

Have Islamic nuclear and atomic gadgets,

In the days gone they were reserve of the West,

Then the romantic gifts to the troublesome Israel,

Islam will now prosper to corners of the earth,

Given our oil, our Quran and now our Syrian Nuclear

Fiendish you are it’s my testimony,

Shelves of history must make you learn facts,

Syria; the Old Persia is the land of the Jews,

Here is where Jesus sang the Sermon on the Mount,

The nine beatitudes that shaped universal thoughts,

Mohammed and Gandhi both bask in its pearls,

Thus, Syria must be pacified back to Persia,

Into its old station of cradling the peace,

From menacing eyesore of current nuclear hulks,

Don’t tire me with your empty reason,

Your scroll of logic and reason is now worn out,

I call the museum keeper to collect you away

As a palimpsest no longer harbouring any content,

Negev in Israel is a city of nuclear hulks

None sings of it but Mordecai Vanunu,

Islam and Christianity were sired by Aristotle,

I call on humble scholars to aver me the saddo,

Condemned for my faith as a terrorist,

You are not humble, but a clown of faith,

You the Boko-Haram, Al-Shabab or Hezb-Allah

You kidnapped innocent girls in Nigeria and raped them,

For nine months to make them pregnant of Moslem foetus,

You bombed England for no reason as you did in Bamako,

You bombed Uganda football field to kill the innocuous,

In the Waste Gate terror siege at Nairobi, you harmed me most,

You killed the saint of poetry; Kofi Awoonor, the son of Ghana,

He sang the innocent song of this world my brother,

You suicide bomber I will never forgive you,

The religious state you dream to make will never be,

Killing harmless people is not state-building,

My turn is now to put you on the open road….

 

Between Going and Coming To Uganda

At Malaba Border,

You are easily pulled back and forth,

Emotions surge to divide you at the middle,

Between going and coming

To Uganda, the land of kingdoms,

You look back to Kenya,

You say to it good bye till we meet,

You walk a kilometre like a hustler,

Then hospitality jumps your way;

Nothing but the Ateso culture of carousing

Sends you bananas from Kenyan frugality

To African prodigality as you take the siphon,

Long enough to drain money from Kenya,

You sink it into a common beer pot of Busa,

Homemade beer brewed from Millet flour,

You sip and swallow like a fresh ex-prisoner,

With the Kenyan fear that people will finish,

But no man on earth can drink dry,

The beer pots of Ateso, a seventh wonder!

You only go tipsy and then drunk,

As you belch on your way to Kampala,

Selfishly chewing the roasted drumstick,

Sold at Mabila forest just near Kampala,

Swallowing with appetite fuelled by beer,

Entering Kampala with an excited stomach.

                                            ALEXANDER OPICHO                                       

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