They Were, They Are And They Always Will Be

They were 2

The mind does not wander as far as where they reside

And when it does, it’s not as keen as to notice their presence

Unlike the gods, they do not feed off the faith of true believers

They were,

They are, and always will be

Omnipresent, acknowledged or not

 

They are the reason the mud-walls have ears

The reason the windows are the eyes to the soul that is your home

The reason your door, despite being shut, whispers all to your neighbour

They hover above the room

And lurk in the corners, light and dark alike, whichever is comfortable,

As families gather to review the day

They know what the mothers heard in the market

They are part of the laughter when fathers compare their brothers’ sons

To the slothful oxen that won’t pull the plough

They will know about the gossip from the banks of the river that the younger sisters won’t talk about

 

As you lay in your bed at night, sometimes they’ll watch you,

Their faceless faces almost touching yours, sharing your breath

Only keen on sharing in your most ghastly of dreams

Where they chase after you through a never-ending forest

And suddenly you’re falling off a ledge into an abysmal portal

The dream will startle you,

And for a second you’ll see their eyes staring down at you when you open yours,

Brushing off the image as remnants of your nightmare

Yet you were to die in your sleep

And not knowing that they handed you back your soul

You will glorify the sun god the next day at dawn

 

They are the keepers of balance in the scale of society

Holding the fringes of its fabric together at the hem

They are the fixed steel stares

From the inflated eyes of the dishonest herdsman

Hanging loosely from the tree in his homestead, as does the last leaf when drought sets in,

His neck wrinkled and craned by the neatly knotted rope he made off with from the grazing lands

They are the cold, cold feel that grips his fellow herdsmen

As they lower his body from the heights he drew his last whiff of warm breath

From the heights where justice was meted out,

The judge and the executioner at the community hearing

And all was forgiven…

 

They do not intercede

Neither for the creator nor his nemesis

Neither for the living nor the dead

But are probably the reason the living attribute happenings to the immortals

They are the darkness the blind find peace in

As those of sight scamper for light,

The fear that welcomes a newborn

And the peace that exiles the accomplished tribesman when his time in this world runs out,

They are the uncertainty of the night

And sure certainty of day that not much is in our control

 

Some minds wander as far as where they reside

And notice them pull the strings that play the sad tune that steals their souls

They are not gods, and do not kiss their goat-skin clad feet

Yes, they were,

They are, and always will be

Omnipresent, acknowledged or not


ANDY AWITI

I am an artistically minded 24 year-old communication and branding consultant who enjoys writing poetry. Besides poetrycontribute, on occasion, to Business Daily, Kenya’s leading business newspaper, on a variety of business subjects including technology, finance and small enterprises.

I also run a blog – Boy Meets Word, boymeetsword.wordpress.com – largely dedicated to introspective poetry with bits of social commentary.

With my passion for poetry and prose, I find it difficult to picture how mundane life is for those blind to the colour of words.

Kevin Rigathi is a software developer (that’s what they actually pay him to do), a writer (that’s what he hopes a mysterious they will pay him for) and an artist (that’s what even more mysterious theys occasionally pay him for). Basically, he is a guy who sits in front a computer and creates things.
He has written for storymoja, penned the article “What Crazy Looks Like” in the second brainstorm.co.ke ebook and is a writer at, and the co-creator of, willthisbeaproblem.com.
His catchphrase is “how the hell did I get myself into this!?”

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