the Quarterly Colour Series of Poetry©

Fifth Edition
N o v e m b e r 2007
Compiled and published by Al Kags
Design & Layout by Qboidesign
Poetry by • Olina Jaya, Malaysia • Vee, Kenya • Vera Mshana, Tanzania •
Sibusiso, Zimbabwe • Phoray, Kenya • Neema, Brooklyn USA •
Daniel Duwa, Kenya • Yliana, Kenya • Al Kags, Kenya
Forward
Brown Steps is the fifth edition of the Quarterly Colour Series that is published every three months by Al Kags. The first four editions were Gray Spots, Blue
Smudges, Red Streaks and Green Piece. All of these eBooks can be downloaded from The Al Kags Trust Web site, www.alkags.org. Brown Steps is about
social issues – the issues that drive our lives - from politics (in general), issues like corruption and all, the idiosyncrasies of life, the gap between rich and poor
and all those issues around which our lives revolve.

As many countries, including Kenya, USA, Sierra Leone, Nigeria, Morocco, and others go through their electioneering process in 2007 and 2008, we are
awakened to the issues that drive our lives – economics, justice, education, health, that thin payslip etc. This ebook contains poems that speak to that awakening
but in a fresh way. For the most part, we avoided the poetry that was the usual anger and instead looked at fresher expressions of these emotions that we feel so
strongly around this time. This ebook is a synopsis of views from around the world, of real issues that affect our lives.

The Quarterly Colour Series is a poetry ebook series that is published by Al Kags. The whole objective of the series is to provide poets with a platform on which
they can share their work freely and without prejudice and to provide the rest of the world with the spiritual nourishment that only poetry can give.

The poetry is shared virally over email from one person to another, free of charge and free of prejudice. The rules are pretty simple. You may read, recite, share,
forward, republish – indeed do what you want with the poetry. All you must do is to share it free of charge and acknowledge the poet and the book where you
found it.

To share your poetry, please send it to poetry@alkags.org and to contact Al Kags, the publisher, send an email to alkags@alkags.com
Have a colourful quarter.

FEATURED
Olina Jaya, Malaysia
Vee, Kenya
Vera Mshana, Tanzania
Sibusiso, Zimbabwe
Phoray, Kenya
Neema, Brooklyn USA
Daniel Duwa, Kenya
Yliana, Kenya
Al Kags, Kenya
 My eyes open, reluctantly
I am awake
to the fact that it is dawn
a new day
that I must brave the cold
step out into the world
and meet my destiny
Off the bed
my feet step, hesitantly
the cold hard floor revives me
another day,
that I must walk16 kilometres
stretch out limb for limb
A NEW DAWN
AL KAGS • KENYA
and meet the future

My hands deep tentatively

Boy! Is it cold
the water in the old cracked bucket
a new day
that I must shock my system
with near freezing water
and remember, I am going to school
not to the ridges or the street,
I am going to school.
 Hey mama, tell me how you doing
Nkosi has been good to you, has he,
that you come to the queues in a new
car?
or did you get a job at the UN
where they pay in real dollars
but then you wouldn’t be here
because they don’t queue at the UN,
just like out there, they don’t queue
but for ATMs.
SIBUSISO
ZIMBABWE
So mama, what did you do
that you new purse glitters in the dust
of the shopping centre as we queue
for sugar and salt and toilet paper
lugging around us all this paper, that
pretends to be money
do you know something we don’t
that the policeman whispered to you
last night as you shagged in his jeep?
Mama, I know what happened
as they drug me from the queue
so that I can assist with investigations
and tell them who has been talking to
the media
about Shabe, Stephen and that white
man
who met their untimely end
escaping this our plight
Mama, be aware,
while that the world is round
and the sprits are high
i’ll still come back.
 I have climbed mountains
I have been to hills
CLIMBED THESE
Taken to the valleys MOUNTAINS
Laid on those plain DANIEL DUWA • KENYA
Then the alleys laid me
Nailing me to the plan
Not knowing how
Where and when I got there
Once there I drunk from the palm
Drowned in the lamp
Taken by the tribe
A boy to a man
A man clouded in by the light
I shell off my skin
The right not to
A new being to be
But has to climb this forsaken plain
Seek not in my olden ways
Rocking and rocking and rocking
From this date
Time seals a convert
From the walls of a convict
Emerges a convert
Leaving my former convictions on the
rear
ME BEING To pursue a life devoid of
DANIEL DUWA • KENYA Enlaced in.
POCKETS The coin it flips and lands at my feet.
New and shiny,
YLIANA • KENYA
Presenting a way out of my pit,
Dark, dreary and slimy.
The Pockets from where it “fell”,
Never run on empty.
They point me to their well,
Where shiny coins lie in plenty.
Inscribed on the back of this coin,
“Tunanunua uhuru”
If I fill my own ragged pockets,
I’m a slave through and through.
The Pockets tell me I’ll start at the
bottom,
But soon my coins will multiply.
The cost of wealth is my freedom,
Sold, just to don suit and tie?
I think to myself, “I’m a prisoner either
way”
Shackled by poverty or by wealth.
“Freedom” isn’t too high a price to pay,
For life, happiness and health.
The Pockets seem to read my mind
Painting colour over what’s at stake.
They assure me soon we’ll be two of a
kind,
The deal is sealed with golden hand-
shake.
Then my benefactor turns slave driver,
A coin tossed for my sweat and blood.
For everything I agreed to waiver,
My ragged pockets lose what they
never had.
For the Pockets never did reveal,
What coin I make is theirs to keep.
My options; beg borrow or steal,
To buy back “freedom” hidden in
pockets deep.
 FLAG & FUTURE
NEEMA • BROOKLYN USA

They declared black the colour of my people,

the Luo and Taita and every shade within,
including they who chose here over past homes.
Green signified the land and its fertility,
of Marsabit and Muranga and Malindi,
every altitude and region between.
Red, was the blood spilled till ’63
in wars our own and not, every encounter
known and shrouded in silence a declaration
of our right to direct our destiny.
White was the way they hoped we would live
for posterity: in peace, love and unity.
Still, in the city blood spews
as rocks fly and kill traffic lights,
while youth are target practice for police,
who are scared and righteously pissed
vengefully armed outside Main Campus –
and blood spews in the Rift Valley
an artery bearing a jagged rift
cut a century deep, no antiseptic imported –
so of course we’re still fighting, flying,
though there are healing-salts at Magadi.
And the people sing:
White man – save us please,
bring peace, love and conformity.
look at our blackened bony fly infested
kwashiorkor ridden Malaria and TB-weakened
bodies,
how personhood in these lands is a prison
Mandela cannot save us from.
White man - peace, love and weed-sleep,
You love me;
Say yes.
You will teach me right from wrong;
Say yes.
You will help me dream a dream like yours;
Say yes!

If my heart is spread across lands,
divided more by immigration officers
than by mountains and oceans
If I must translate and censor myself
in each country, because
each Man’s scars ache uniquely
and one must watch how one prods
If I can find here what I long for
from there, smell deja vu in seaweed
which I hate to feel drifting or growing around my toes,
but which takes me, nostrils and all to Dar-es-Salaam;
for as long as I don’t open eyes
to see this grey pebbled manmade beach here in Dover
If I have loved across cities
in and beyond that of my birth – Nairobi –
and cannot see where I will rest, to live and work;
have given up even the hope
of collecting my pieces in one lone patch
below the ground
If I am weary of looking in
THOT, BEFORE THE FIRST NOTE SOUNDS
for Jean Sibelius and Lloyd Stone
NEEMA • BROOKLYN USA
on my various limbs across the globe,
and sometimes my circulation slows,
I lose a limb; I run too fast,
skip a beat and offset
the rhythms of that song
If I should suppose that knowledge
abounds in my mind, yet cannot see
to believe in a god who is God, what
but drink and folly would comfort
my despair for dying lands, and what
can I say to my nephews and nieces –
because the same despair
will not allow a child to escape my womb,
nor allow me to waste my breath
on a song of peace
for lands that are not separated
by laws or gods, whatever the lines
on the weatherman’s globe say,
whatever men of old said
What will I say in defense of life,
theirs and others,
when peace is propaganda and a lie
 Smothered
CROWDS by the crowds I contend with
VEE • KENYA
from point A to B
in all corners of Nairobi
the Railways, Odeon & Kencom crowds
eager to get home & spend their pay
they who in the morning
determined to make their way
walked in droves to the city
working fingers to bone
to gain respect - not pity
Bothered
by the hawker crowds
peddling their wares
competing for wananchi stares
battling askari batons, riot police guns
& unsympathetic glares
from they of the so called elite
who would rather not see this riff raff
on their newly paved, freshly painted,
pothole filled, hawker-free streets
they who gobble the icing off the cake
proceed to lick the crumbs off the floor
leaving the masses to eat at each other
at 3am - thief banging on grilled door
Perturbed
by the let’s-circle-around-the-religious-looking guy
crowds
who wait with baited breathe as he
chalks the next doom’s day conspiracy
on the muddied pavement
Only for all to be distracted by
the “Mwizi! Mwizi!” crowds
always ready to beat civilization
into any suspected young man
who a short while ago
was rotting with frustration
as he reached out to her bag for salvation
but salvation came in the form of kicks & blows
how he’ll escape today…only God knows
Amazed
by these metropolitan people
of the green city in the sun
(& yes that was an intended pun)
they that just came from upcountry
they that will better their lives
come pharaoh like hail or hives
they that walk tall & proud
they that won’t be put down
through high tide or low times
police bribery or tax fines
they that will run towards trouble
& overindulge in political squabble
those smothering
those bothering
those perturbing crowds…
I do love our Nairobi crowds
 Police are investigating the crime
It happened in a rocky area
THE HOTLINE The man-thing burst out
PHORAY • KENYA
But no stone will be left unturned; From the dark urine-pungent alley
There are some suspects in custody Dread locked and liced
They came forth to help the authorities Scrawny beard, sackcloth
Anyone with further, helpful info Nothing but jiggers on his feet
Should kindly report to the nearest station Plodding down the patches of asphalt
Officers will be awake, vehicles will be fuelled Clutching the golden purse to his heart
There are always bullets for the chase; Like his lively form of death
All calls will be treated with utmost confidence Depended on it;
(Even though some officers are on the take). Or did it?
Apart from the suspects in custody For in his rear-view mirror
Three others lost their lives The hysterical mob hot in pursuit
When they were confronted with kindness Baying for that fluid in his vein
But opted to open fire. Poisoned, intoxicated and charged.
In the ensuing battle to close this fire A Wellington stretched out ahead
Officers on the scene returned it Across his hawker-infested path
Leading to the said fatalities. A beefy shoulder plummeted
Two others escaped on foot Into his fractured ribcage
(Unfortunately, with half the loot) But on he ran,
Police are in hot pursuit. In the pounding sleet
It was a normal robbery Having charted out his morrow.
Crime is not out of hand His feet no longer heavy
Anatomy a burden no more
Light as a feather his lungs felt;
Came a streaking bolt of lightning
Followed by rolling thunder
On soldier-man, on.
When the tuk-tuk suddenly materialized
NOW OFFICIAL His was the fatal oral embrace
PHORAY • KENYA That shattered its screen.
 If rich are not poor
And if poor is not rich
It could be anything
Education, politics, love
What would it be
If north is not south
And if south is not north
If east is not west
And if west is not east
How is it going to be
What would it be
If humans are not computers
And if computers are not humans
What are the scientific and possibility
Will it be, come to think of its
Giving a space and thinking
PEACE
OLIANA JAYA • MALAYSIA
Is all sound unendingly
It does not sound properly
So why think so much
Where all are now jumble up high
Give your time a space
If all this don’t exist
What will the earth be
What will the planet be
Come to think about it is nothing
Why do we need to fight
Why can’t we just be in peace
Fighting does bring anything in good
Among each other
Make world peace
Make the world smile
Make everyone happier
For the best is better.
 Dream?
Gold?
YOUR DREAM AWAY
OLIANA JAYA • MALAYSIA
What it is about?
Life would not be hard
If you choose your path or dream
Look deep in your heart
Everything comes from there
You got to believe it!
And you got to know that
It will happen in you
Course that is what you
Want to be
And that is your dream away
Your wish will come true
If you believe and imagine
Anything could be true
Use your time and responsibility wisely and
properly
And then
You will see your dream away
 THIS IS WHY
VERA MSHANA • TANZANIA

Laughing at myself
Sincerity
Water
Family
Sunsets
Sand
A good story A job well done
Malibu
Khangas
‘Kinky’ hair Moonlight parties
Mduara
Falling out of the arms of Lovers Beads
And into the faithfulness of Friendship Kiswahili

Snocream sundaes and mabuyu Layers

Spice
My village Embe dodo
Makande
Music
Henna Konyagi
Young crushes Bongo flava
Hand-holding The quiet knowing of wazee
Kiti moto

Passion
 Whilst it has its uses,
We know there is more to ourstory than
Animals
And beautiful Swahili doors.
(The mountain is not in Kenya by the way)

Whilst it has its uses,

We know there is more to ourstory than
Corruption
And donor hand-me-downs.
(We are not all being fooled by the way)

Whilst it has its uses,

IT’S PRONOUNCED We know there is more to ourstory than
Dancing Maasais
TAN-ZA -NEE-A And spice islands.
VERA MSHANA • TANZANIA (It is not all so fun–loving by the way)

Whilst it has its uses,

We know there is more to ourstory than
Tanzanite
And Baba wa Taifa.
(the wealth is yet to trickle down by the way)

Whilst it has its uses,

If we do not tell of ourstories,
We will continue to be spread out on someone’s
coffee table in london.
Or perhaps,
Not even that.
EPILOGUE
“ In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act.”

~George Orwell~