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Samson Rapando Poem
At the very edge of the rocky descend,
At the entrance to a peaceful haven,
At the open of the doors
by an angel with a charm,
With a touch scented breeze.
Behind me I saw no thing,
For my back minded me not,
What was in front of my eye
Was more than enough
An angel with a lock of a smile.
In a printed African top,
Covered by a white blouse,
Like an icing on a cake.
Behind her trotted a kid,
Inquisitive his second skin,
With a tinge of anxiety,
I call it innocent suspicion.
With a closed hug,
That joines us into one;
In a moment of satisfaction,
In a moment of unknown self,
In a moment so short yet long,
In a moment so sure.
We proceeded down,
Step by step,
Each with a tinge of fright
That would fall off my step,
For my eyes saw no stairs;
My look depicted stares.
When she opened the doors,
I knew the moment had come,
The moment that made my mind calm.
Copyright © Samson Rapando | Year Posted 2014
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Samson Rapando Poem
He sits down,
In the farthest forlorn corner
Of the mud walled cracked windowless room,
The teacher calls it classroom,
the dictionary says otherwise.
He knows many a people,
Prominent and low,
Nelson Mandela,
Koffi Annan,
Gamel Nasser,
All of them,
Aren't they kids in the hood?
In fact Koffi is Nasser's twin.
He knows not the blue waters,
But the dusty drops,
That merely quench the thirst,
In fact,
The drops so dusty,
Aren't a remedy at all,
They leave the throat scratched.
He has a sister Aisha,
19 year-old wrinkled face,
She is a mother of three,
Traded off
To a nomad with sheep.
She was booked when three,
And sold off at thirteen,
She is such a punch bag to the man,
Thin but bone-hard.
The man so ruthless,
Even to the eye.
He passes his fingers,
Through his dust washed hair,
Coiled as the only form of comfort,
In the distance are gunshots,
He can only fathom the receipient,
The scattered flesh,
Just like his aunt, uncle,
And his other cousin,
Tears cloud his eyes,
The same tears that cloud The Sun of Africa.
Copyright © Samson Rapando | Year Posted 2014
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Samson Rapando Poem
The night knight, donned in the clanging shielding armour,
on his dark horse, the symbol of death he rides on,
with a sword the size of his rib, the smallest but mightiest in his unit.
He comes with the hush of the evening breeze,
with courageous smiles and pride, mind you it may be his very last,
but care and worry are the last he may think of,
the night knight.
He takes in a deep breath, as his eyes take in the sight of the loot,
he intends to make riches out of the would-be captives,
now resting on their hard beds, their peace uninterrupted.
He is assured of victory, and robbing thousands of necks of their heads,
He relies on the war cries of his men, the outer source of his strength,
his mind is full of the praises and women back home,
the prize for his result, an outstanding victory.
He stands his guard, but he sees not the poisoned arrow,
straight from the tree he passed by, to the joint of his neck,
He falls from the dark horse, the symbol of death itself,
down to the ground, which awaits to swallow him,
he draws his very last breath from the breeze,
the very breeze that gave him a false promise,
a promise of victory.
The death of a night knight.
Copyright © Samson Rapando | Year Posted 2014
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Samson Rapando Poem
Words of a poet,
flowing through a winding valley,
are like the waters of the river,
straight from the source.
clear, from the start, crystal clear;
clean, devoid of any filth.
The words of a poet.
They flow from the source,
never to come back.
through silent cracks,
foaming over rocks,
Getting dirty with each mile.
Like the Nile so great, they divide,
some red, some blue, others muddy.
Peasants find their pleasure in the waters,
together with their faithful flocks.
they quench their thirst in the dirt,
the dirt from the same waters
once so clean and worshipped.
The words reach their end of journey,
the mouth of a speaker,
To the ears of the hearers.
Naked of the cleanliness it wore,
but the poet never tires,
he spits and spits.
the words of the poet; the unending waters.
Copyright © Samson Rapando | Year Posted 2014
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Samson Rapando Poem
Looking into her pair of rainy global eyes,
With mine depicting a pool of mist;
an impending storm.
My arm made an involuntary stretch
to her always warm flank so tender.
She shoved it away.
My eyes stuck on her smooth flawless face,
The one I used to carress,
Those days begone,
I thought my apology was belated.
I could say no more, nay cry.
I had poured out my heart,
sprinkled her with sweetened vowels,
with an icing of truth,
My word bank ran dry,
My convincing smiles were puppet tricks,
My voice intonations were toxic mimics,
She was reluctant to move a cheek,
She was reluctant to move her feet,
At last that was a sign.
She stared at me with a smile,
That legendary smile so preserved,
the kind kind of smile only I earned.
Those days when our passion was a kiln;
A furnace of love driven lust;
What a concorsion!
Memories reeled like a clip,
In my mind, jealous-worthy cuddles,
In a moment of unaccounted for shock,
I was taken in her arms,
those tender fingers that pampered my skin.
That simple warmth that made me sweat,
That warm breathe that raced mine,
That heartbeat that fired up mine,
That husky voice that held hostage my soul and
mind,
That soft touch that erased all doubt.
I forgive you.
A warm kiss on her lips,
was the gratitude I could afford,
And yes,
She kissed me again.
Copyright © Samson Rapando | Year Posted 2014
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Samson Rapando Poem
Smile like the rising sun,
Daughter of her father,
Her breasts,
Proud as the virgin hills of Ok valley,
Her voice, inherited from her mother,
Fresh as the dew at dawn.
Teeth aligned, like spikes on a hunter's arrow.
Her voice kills me slowly,
soothing like the royal flute.
Her skin so soft, soft like the hairless head of old Omar.
She leaves a fragrance in my mind,
Like the breath from the princesses mouth,
Laced with the taste of the palace milk.
Her feet, like of the gods,
Her steps, soft like her oil filled hair.
Her eyes, like bright stars, of the night dark,
Two balls of fire, that light up my heart,
Mysterious as the wind, soft but mighty.
Say yes to my plea,
And my soul shall be set free.
Copyright © Samson Rapando | Year Posted 2014
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