Haiti Cherie

What word can encompass stretch its arms and wrap them around
A day when the world returns to the dust it was
Before we fashioned orderly chaos and became free

A powerful poem on Haiti.

private thoughts of a public man...

Poet Mike Kwambo pulls the strings on our series on K-Street otherwise, called Nairobi's Red Light District. This poem could as well be meant for performance. Read on.

Fourth ballad of K-Street

Read more from kenyaImagine's poetry editor.

imagine Poets

Lameck Arika on Inheritance
am blind of the famed Swiss crafter,
whose hands, chime behind the illustrious glow,
of clustered diamond hours,
Read more here.

Neema Mawiyoo on Teacups

Eleven years old and accustomed to seeing
the Jacaranda trees carpet the hill-side
with their lavender flowers, loving them even
when they wilted and returned to dirt; I still hoped

Read more here.

Hope

Minda Magero survives the crisis and looks only upward, resilient and recalcitrant in the wake of all life throws at her; she refuses to go under. Read more here.

The Day I Died

The light struck my eyes, but without painI was floating among clouds;
deep blue skies and fresh ocean windsI was clad in white silken robes

A poem from Lameck Arika here.

Resurrection

Smutty talk, plantains, Jamaicans, and a Buddhist monk: Bee, like M. Defarge, recalls us to life..

Unsure where to start. Except that I have been far. Never thought I would end up here.

Highlight: Sitting in a Jamaican restaurant listening to the Jamaican chef, a large, beautiful, freckled woman, asking the Buddhist monk about sex.

Read more from Bee Dablewkay here.

On Metrosolipsism

I am sitting calmly in a blessedly quiet part of Kenya, enjoying the fact that I'm back at work, surrounded by students who are back at school. Still, I try to remain reasonably aware - and it would seem to me that there are many who believe that the relatively quiet of the city of Nairobi means all is well, over and good and proper and cricket-like.

Read more from Stephen Derwent Partington here.

Flags of our Fathers

How much differencethe small matter ‘ a few years this little land,ours just yesterdayfloating on the runway of promisereadying herself for flightinto the stars

A poem from Dorothy Adhiambo here.

Dust, Heat and Smoke

Now I miss the dust; not the clouds trailing the heels of fleeing crowds -I miss the friendly brown sheets of earth - dancing with the wind during merrier times.Though the dirt reddened my eyes, all that cried was my eyes.Now my heart is crying out, for my old, peaceful dusty street.

Read more from Wilson Wahome here.

Her Redemption Song

Atandi Anyona's poem of redemption for Kenya. For more click here.