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Poems By Poet David Yobby  3/4/2015 4:44:15 PM
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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



Ugly Reflections

I wanted to write a poem
That would change the world.
I wanted to speak of
The pirates of Kismayu,
Of corruption and impunity,
Of war and genocides
Of leaders offering false hope,
Of the lust for power,
Of crippling economies and xenophobia,
Of racial profiling and misogyny,
Of suicide bombers and trigger-happy officers,
Of blood diamonds and oil,
Of sex trafficking and pedophiles,
Of child labour and abuse,
Of dissatisfaction with governments,
Families controlling economies,
Presidents above the law,
Everything revolving around
Those precious pieces of paper called money,
The misconceived notion that
The more currency you have,
The more successful you are.
Money, at the expense of humanity,
Money, buying skin-deep love,
Money, turning brother against brother,
Marrying, knowing that divorcing is earning

I wanted to cry and yell and shout,
If only it would make things right,
In my prejudiced sight.

Then I realized that it is people.
It is you and I that make the world terrible,
You and I that advance the very things
We love to complain about,
'Cause when we offer bribes,
Or turn a blind eye to thugs,
When we assume someone else will complain,
We shame our purpose.

I wanted to write a poem,
That would change the world,
Then I realised that you and I
Need to shout at the top of our voices,
And make that poem...
David Yobby



We The People

One day, Mr. Politician, sir,
When the burden of your impunity,
Becomes too heavy for our backs,
We will lay it down,
On Parliament Road,
On Freedom Park,
On State House Road

One day, Madam Politician,
When your mini-skirt reveals,
The thighs of your corruption,
We shall cover you with a blanket,
And wish you goodnight

We, the people,
Are watching
We, the people,
Are ready

We shall go without food,
We shall go without warmth,
We shall bear the bruises,
Of police brutality,
We shall shed no ones blood,
For we are one,
Our voices will be heard,
Underneath the bang of gunshots,
Our voices will be heard,
Underneath your propaganda,
Our voices will be heard,
Even if we are locked up

And when silence settles,
Our will will not be broken,
Our resolve will not be shaken,
Until this revolution brings,
The promise of tomorrow today

We the people,
Have spoken
David Yobby

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Poems By Poet David Yobby