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Best Poems Written by Emanuel Okwii

Below are the all-time best Emanuel Okwii poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Lazy Man S Prophecy

To those who measure the depths of their power,
In the fathomless pools of tears of the oppressed;
To the human hyenas that gorge themselves full,
While the sons and the daughters of the incarcerated,
Battle with the sharp arrows of hunger and dearth;
To those who appropriate to themselves,
Mother Earth’s allotments to the destitute;
To the dragon-mouthed whose fiery flames of hatred,
Sear the reputation of the guiltless;
To the puckish tongues that uproot family trees,
Wresting the blossoming babes from Pa’s loving arms;
To you all, Satan’s scamps; I say and say again:
The wrathful wind doth gather the celestial armies;
And the saintly swords of the beleaguered,
Will chirpily chaperon your souls past the netherworld.

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Not This Rose

I saw a dazzling rose,
Whose red petals cast blinding hues upon me.
She shot her cupid arrows from the Kabaka’s backyard,
And punctured the cocoon of my innocence.  

My heart burnt for a feel of her spangled petals,
My ferocious passions lost their sturdy grip on restraint as
I, like a pollen-famished bee, sniffed her whiff;
I gorged on her rosy scent, like a Don Quixote.

Then, I plucked her off the tribal bough;
And navigated the Nile River with her,
Tacked in the valves of my heart,
For a cross boarder allogamy.

What a welcome from my kinsfolk!
Furrows ridging the faces of my kinsmen,
Spittle of disgust masticating the hungry soils,
Grey beards wagging and waging a silent war;
 Alien!

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Cannibals

The visceral pains were sharp, stinging and stern!
She swallowed them, in the bloody biting bitterness.
The gory talons of the fat obstetricians hung loose,
Ready to clamour for the afterbirth, salivating like hungry female canines. 
“Think of the baby,” said the stony-hearted, vampire-looking hag;
Whose fat mouth dripped blood.
Back home, a shrieking owlet flew over her husband’s hut.
A strange whirlwind shot through the door, and tore the roof atwain.
The news broke: she had gone mortis gestationalis!
The evil child had popped out his left leg first, in protest;
And had strangled mama with its hands - from inside!
It was not about the flat-tyred ambulance.
The drunken doctor,
Who stored his equipment at Mama Phina’s bar, was not to blame.
Neither was it about the theft of sanitisers and lignocaine, 
Nor was it about the leaking roofs;
And the stench all around. 
It was the craving for sweet blood and tender baby flesh!
William Smelly lay snug in his grave, 
As we lowered the two caskets to their final resting place.
One carried a dysfunctional human factory,
And the other was empty.

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Song of the Rock

Upon this rock, was my fate etched
By the hands of Akooke Olemo. 
I lingered on her laps like mummy’s boy,
Though my own blood at me, distantly beckoned.
Her Martian hand nurtured and nourished me, 
And made me dance to the Luo drumbeats;
Singing sweet songs in tongues, tongues of discord;
Music that ruggedly rutted the faces of my kinsmen!
Then our native drums sounded a call,
A call to a wayward son of the soil,
An invitation long awaited, 
A time for initiation into the ways of Ateker.
And to the cadence of Atenus beats, my feet did rebel.
Now, to my motherly rock, I must return;
For in her rough rugged back,
Was my dismally dark destiny scribbled:
“Emoit.”

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To My Son

Son, let your mouth strangle silence - 
The silence that breeds pushovers
For profitless is the burden of a caged tongue
When spikes in thy bottom doth lodge. 

Son, let not the bubbling discourses,
Of the raucous raconteurs
In cold blood, butcher your hardihood 
For rhetoric is just but the flailing of the tongue. 

And, Remember, O son, the ways of the wise;
That gold lies snug in potted jaws,
And a little chatter cocktailed in a little hush,
Make amity in the depths of humanity.