The Making of a Nation!
The clouds of smoke wore off past the vision of sight,
The ashes freed from the bulk of mass of what used to be to the handful of what was now,
The gravel crashed from the warmth of rocks known for millions of years to the fineness tickling my bare skin,
The sprouting green grass kissing the descending redness of the sun’s givings
As the sunrays hunted the treasures from below and the moisture broke free past the surface,
The roses danced to the persuasion of the whispers of promises known only to them and the bees,
And they yawned in affection, sweetening the fragrance and my nostrils saluted in recognition.
How the skies sheepishly battled to conceal their wide grin but how the cheeky clouds emerged supreme,
Curving the content smile that had wiped my tears at my grand pa’s death bed (all was fine son).
As the tree leaves parachuted from the branches that had nourished their well-being,
To camouflage the bare ground below in the colors of a chameleon.
A lady bird flew past, inches from my face, red, black, white and green in colour,
Just like four decades past, when amidst bright surrounding lit by fireworks and deafened by the frenzy,
The flag of an independent state was saluted.
The coming to birth of a nation,
The making of a nation-for thus I compose!
©Mutua Mugambi
The ashes freed from the bulk of mass of what used to be to the handful of what was now,
The gravel crashed from the warmth of rocks known for millions of years to the fineness tickling my bare skin,
The sprouting green grass kissing the descending redness of the sun’s givings
As the sunrays hunted the treasures from below and the moisture broke free past the surface,
The roses danced to the persuasion of the whispers of promises known only to them and the bees,
And they yawned in affection, sweetening the fragrance and my nostrils saluted in recognition.
How the skies sheepishly battled to conceal their wide grin but how the cheeky clouds emerged supreme,
Curving the content smile that had wiped my tears at my grand pa’s death bed (all was fine son).
As the tree leaves parachuted from the branches that had nourished their well-being,
To camouflage the bare ground below in the colors of a chameleon.
A lady bird flew past, inches from my face, red, black, white and green in colour,
Just like four decades past, when amidst bright surrounding lit by fireworks and deafened by the frenzy,
The flag of an independent state was saluted.
The coming to birth of a nation,
The making of a nation-for thus I compose!
©Mutua Mugambi
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