CHRISTMAS

The memory of Christmas
Won’t age with life
Like seasons
That come and goes
With a fortune
Of childhood smile.

The grown up trees
(Hardly noticeable)
Tells of the night
When their young branches
Were palms
Held high
By the termites of the villages
By the ants of the community
As they sung
Along the village streets
For chrismas.

I still hear
The echo of those joyful songs
Flowing like the mighty Gucha fall
Thundering the villages
With cracks of peace
With breezes of love
And the lighting of unity.

Those were songs of the roses
Roses of the village
Bound by a time of the year.

As essasati dancing
To the rhythm of the blowing winds
The lilies of the villages
Resonated with the songs:
Of excitement
Of joy
Of merriment
Of vacation
Of freedom
Tossing high fireworks
Of ululation
As mandazi filled the atmosphere.

Ululation for girls
Whistling for boys
Drums for girls
Horn for boys
Ribina for all.

Bear feat in the shoes
Of hardened sole
In the stockings of dust and dew
Moved from house to house
Like swam of bees
In search of a hive.

Old mama ululates
With embedded smile
On the face
Like a sunflower in the morn
Dripping with dew
From the consuming sun
The waist dangling:
Karibu mwane:
“Be filled, celebrate Christmas.”

The celebrations unfolded till cock crow
Only the weary grass
Told of path followed
The following day.

Bye old days
Bye unity
Bye sharing
(Bye celebrations that often crucified Jesus
In the celebration of his birth)
As long as river Gucha will flow
I will remember those ageless nights.