I Am The Best Of Myself

I am the one, the light, the diamond that glows in the dark

They threw me out but I built a shelter with the bricks they rejected

I am the one they still hear, the sound of the music in the CD they ejected

They spat on me in the streets but I showered in the cold rains

They smashed my heart but I still had blood flowing in my veins

I am the one, the bolt cutter that conquered all their chains

They stopped me at one but I became the master, I made it to eleven

They took away my voice but I still sang like angels in heaven

They stopped paying my tuition fee but I still am the talent I was given

I am the one, the artist, the poet, the one who is self driven

They showed me two roads but I took the third one

They took away the bullets but I still cocked the gun

They called me a bastard but I was still my mother’s son

They only showed me storms but I still waited for the sun

I am the one; the man that did what they thought couldn’t be done

They hid the stars but I still made a wish in the darkness of the night

They stopped the wind but I still floated in the dry skies like a kite

They chained me and paralyzed me but I still stood up to fight

 Blind folded, I still painted their black with my brilliant white

They even denied me a student visa but I still booked the flight

I am the one, among VIPs. The guest of honor they did not invite

-Edwin Onyango

Beggars's Status Quo

So, he asked them to bend over and they did

He knew all they had was heads filled with sewer liquid

I don’t mean to be mean but yes, they were all stupid

He asked them to play dead for the late night show

But to please him they actually died on the stage!

The next crew was a cluster of idiots from Stone Age

They read the white blank book page by page

And when they came across “Aaarrrggh!” his rage

They ran like headless chickens. No! They ran Like Hell

Another group of imbecile buffoons did the same as well

They later had a “turning point” realization of his magic spell

His vast wealth, his Money and his ultimate power,

His knowledge - Something they knew nothing about

Not even street smart! They were all life lessons-dropouts!

He delayed their peanut salaries but they still stayed

He broke their legs but they still danced to the tunes he played

Too ignorant to notice that a soul for fifty shillings is not a fair trade

They filled his Jacuzzi with their painful tears and sweat

They painted red roses on his walls with their blood

Just to show his gratitude he fed them rotten spud

They addressed him as Sir or even better, Master

Some of them were peasants. Even worse, beggars!

He laughed at the popping sounds of their blisters

They joined in with (we are used to this) laughter

They were stupid but good actors. They suffered!

Beggars’ status quo, beggars down on their dry knees

Beggars’ dictionary, defined him as the only help

And their favorite words were Sir, please!

-Edwin Onyango

Back To My Roots II

I’m going back to my roots, back to run in the forest nude

Or for special occasions, to wear animal skin for a suit

Traveling on foot, back to gathering fruits for food

Back to mama land, where my grandmother was wooed

Back to my roots, back to show Babu my gratitude

For reminding me my tradition, my customs, my roots

Back to show mother nature my heartfelt solicitude

Back to listen to birds sing and watch them brood

It has been long; I might have forgotten the route

But I’ll get there. In my heart the map was tattooed

Back to take away the thick green jungle’s solitude

To take a walk to the woods to play Nyatiti and a flute

Back to my roots, back to the village where I really belong

Back to listen to my grandmother sing her favorite folk song

Bye bye skyscrapers. Back to the wild, “Hallo Mugumo tree”

Back to run in the greenness of Nature. Back to feel free

Back to the mountain top, you will see my silhouette

You will see me watch the beautiful warm sunset

Back to drinking porridge from agwata (traditional Luo calabash)

Back to bartering. Back to the days of no money, no cash

Back to build my own simba (a traditional Luo grass-thatched hut)

East or west home is the best. Back to my roots

http://edwinonyango.blogspot.com/2014/04/back-to-my-roots_10.html

-Edwin Onyango

It Is Not Yet Time

Six feet under!

Not until lightening comes after thunder

Not this season, not even next summer

Not until rainbow colors turn to umber

Not now, not even in my deepest slumber

Not until God Almighty starts to wonder

If I will ever respond when He calls my number

Taking the last bow!

Not until Indians butcher the sacred cow

Not until I learn Enochian. Until I know how

angels and other celestial beings say hi or ciao

So, not anytime soon, not yet, especially now

Not until God is pleased by the sweat on my brow

Not until He says, “Son, good job. I mean, Wow”

Promoted to Glory!

Not before I finish writing my life story

Not until I get God’s number in my Directory

Not until He personally tell me not to worry

That I will go straight to heaven not to Purgatory

Think of it. This place cannot just be a theory

Real or not, do not go there.  That’s my travel advisory

Give up the ghost!

No. I’m not leaving the ones I love the most

Not until we make our last toast. Prost

Not until I know which angels will be my host

Not until I shake the net. Not just hitting goalpost

Not until I score. Until the stadium is closed

Not until all the secrets of life are disclosed

Kick the bucket!

No. I’m not ready to sleep in any casket

Not until I hear the sound of the last trumpet

Until I hear the soft lively tune of a tucket

Not until I solve the life equation in the bracket

Not until I drown. Until I lose my life jacket

I will take the last train to glory when I buy my ticket

To bite a big one

No. Not until I touch the eye of the sun

Not now. Not when my life has just begun

Not with all the cheers. Not until I hit a home run

No. Not now. Not when I’m having this much fun

Not until I become God’s favorite son

Not yet. But God, may your will be done

-Edwin Onyango

Forbidden Fruit

Good for food, pleasant to the eyes

Fruit in the woods, desired to make one wise,

suspended from reality and stupid at the same time

Sweet as sin, you’ll eat it from dusk to sunrise

With a Fruit that ripe, not eating it is considered a crime

Small or big, the taste is not in its size

But don’t be fooled. To your surprise,

the worm might just be anaconda in disguise

Climb the tree, pull the branches astride

Fruit squash, ready for the thrust of the first tide?

Take a bite, feel the juice streaming inside

Hard to swallow?!  Open it a little bit wide

There you go, now you feel like a cloud in the sky

You feel like an eagle soaring up high.

What now? Why are you crying?!

Oh! I get it. You feel so alive! And you also feel like dying

Forbidden fruit is sweeter

Yet tears in the eyes of the eater!

-Edwin Onyango