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Poems By Poet David Yobby  7/24/2016 11:34:26 AM
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My Head Is Gone

I brave the morning chill
In my coat of white mud
And my numbed nerves
Curse the cold waters
Of the river Isikhu

I push my chest out
To show my courage
But the beat of my heart
Reminds me
Of an isukuti drum

Krwii! Krwii! Krwii!
The knife is sharpened
Thu! Thu! Thu!
'Mukhebi' spits his blessings
On the unwiped knife

I refuse to tremble
As I stand nude
When I hear the gasp
Of my brother
He is now a man

I refuse to see
The red, drunken eyes of mukhebi
As he smiles
An ugly smile
And menacingly pulls my skin

Pain! Excruciating pain!
And all falls hush
Is my heart so loud?
But I will not scream
And I shall not cry
For I am a man now

But the pain!
Mukhebi pauses, then moves on
The ceremony must be completed
And should not be stopped
Because of half a man

But the pain!
I defy the rules
And look down at my manhood
My God!
My head is gone!

'Mlakusi' the witch
Picks it up
And puts it in her mouth
The men rush at her
To try and save my head
And all this
Becomes a blur
As my head
Hits the ground
David Yobby



She Sliced My Something

Hear the women coming,
From the hills of Keroka,
And the markets of Keumbu,
Hear the cock crowing,
It is dawn,
It is dawn,
And Kerubo must ask,
Her mother for a hen,
A hen to pay for the cut,
A hen to be given to Omwaroki
the circumciser

Kerubo must be brave,
Kerubo must leave the house naked,
In the early morning chill,
The fog hides her nudity,
But the cold dew rests,
Upon the rock on which she sits,
As she waits to be cut

Her face must be serious,
She must not be afraid,
Even though Moraa bled to death last year,
She must not be afraid,
Even though her aunt holds her firmly,
She must not be afraid,
Even as Omwaroki applies the white flour
On her eight year old womanhood,
she must not wince
When the knife slices off,
Her clitoris
To transform her,
From childhood to womanhood

The women dace,
And sing erotic songs,
They know too well,
that nothing can pleasure them,
Nothing but words...

Kerubo is marched back home,
Where she must squat,
Behind the granary
Until her mother finishes cooking
For the many guests
David Yobby



The Inherited Woman

Nyasaye yawa,
Atimo ang’o?
What have I done
That death is now my husband?
You have taken Okoth,
Just as you took his brother Ochiel,
And K’ochung, their brother

I am tired of shaving my head in mourning,
Let it remain bald,
I am tired of crying,
My eyes are dry
I denounce my name Akoth,
Call me Chi liel,
A widow,
You have killed all my husbands, Nyasaye
Chwora ne otho,
My husband died,
Owad gi K’ochung’ otera,
K’ochung’s brother inherited me
Owad gi Ochiel otera
And now you have killed Okoth

His cousin is already smiling at me,
Yet Okoth has not yet returned to the ground
I am not human,
I am a pleasure factory,
They say an margi, an chi gi
I belong to them,
I am their wife,

Have mercy, Nyasaye!
My womb is tired!
Shall I not know peace?
Shall I not know the love,
Of one husband?

If not for my…
Their children…,
I would be buried next to K’ochung’
My first love

They cannot wait
For the burial to be over
So that they pack my bags
And ask me to go with Okoth’s cousin
I have no choice,
I have no choice…
David Yobby

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Poems By Poet David Yobby