Looking through the window of the bus that moves so swiftly,
The air squeezing in by the two pores excites.
Like a gulp of cold water on a heated day.
The black clay and cotton soils,
The grass glowing amber against the sunset..
They all conjure up a life back in Mwea.
Where at times as now, the rice fields send sacred scent
Of grown grains ready to be plucked.
The euphobia fences, stocked in lines of unfading green,
An occasional father of a house drunk in Karubu,
Staggering, calling out to his wife to cook him mukimo…
Some long horned cattle cleared from pastures,
And young boys with butttonless shirts running from school
Reminds me of a life I once lived,
A life calm and peaceful, a life stressless.
But a life I wouldn’t go back to.
It reminds me that a dream was once my house, for nothing feels real when I look back
It fills my heart with the urge to tell but still…
Let me take a breath in,
And remember that I’m just from the lake,
That I just drowned a fish or two into my belly.
That I’m in an advanced episode of the same life