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.