Essy The Poet

Sr. Esther Jeruto Koros (OSF) And here comes the tale of three avaricious men Bonded in blood, bold in the ways of the world. Knowledgeable, capable yet untenable! Each outdoing themselves, in pursuit of the wind So they wallowed in discontent. For they knew not the brevity of their breath, And oblivious of the dangers of excesses For they knew not wherein to halt.   And so the elder brother, least gullible Like a dragnet, got drawn to the housing trade Buying and selling, building and rebuilding. At a point of no return, This like a prayer Was his wife and child and heaven and hell His lovely prison! He died wealthy For he knew not wherein to halt.   The second like the first held a bottle. From it, he tasted the delight of his life; Saccharine, irresistible ravishing. Gave him an immense culinary gratification Upon his fill, emerged an irascible human; Intrepid, valiant, audacious.   In a bout of rum, he drunk himself to his maker F

 By Sr. Esther Jeruto Koros (OSF)          There were voices:  Some w earisome, others awesome.  Ringing in his head’s ring round Alluringly lovely, lively seeking to be heard. Others dinky and mucky drove one away But these he didn’t hear.    There were some sounds too The Angelus bell, the beckoning swallow. The quarrelsome trees, tempestuous rivers The guttural engines, the fetid whiff The wiry smoke, the rushing motors Seeking a grin, entreating concession But these he didn’t hear.     Puzzling, isn’t it? How he opted to listen; Not to the Master but to the servant. His distantly vague gaze; Brightened at the sight Of cars glamorous and Porsche. Of outfits fair and handsome His countenance cheered by the jingling coins. Oh! These he heard, and keeps hearing Like Lazarus, he will live on the residues. Not looking the gift horse in the mouth, He's deafness contrived by means of the politician’s coin.  Appallingly sad, for he wil

By Sr. Esther Jeruto Koros (OSF) I bring to you the story, of those of whom we never worry           They were beings alive, oh! would that they could strive Crushed and ousted too soon, as though of no boon For the world was silent, when they all died   A massacre of its sort, a war silently fought When Venus was enticed, a new life emerged And the casualty only fetal, the owner’s hand turned fatal For the world was silent, when they all died     One side was shameful sneer, and the flip side was fear The shame and the fear merged, out an evil cohort matched Murders not avenged, murders not deserved For the world was silent, when they all died   Murder the silence I say, for it deafens as clay When the bans are needy, and the arms are ready Should God be lured, for the gift of life Never tempting fate, for the fruits we needn’t get     A keener ear we ask, that listens till dusk   And an eye that penetrates, and new life celebrates Life fr

By Esther Jeruto Koros                                                                                                                                                            The monk for whom we starved                                         Bald, bulging belly, thin lipped Approaches the fetid, fated shanties The womenfolk hasten, their pains disguised The men reverently, pull off hats He, the moving shrine graced and embraced I swore! God’s face looked like his   Visitation over, he recedes to the baronial mansion Chest sticking out; coins and notes Treaded behind, myself among other kids And my albino friend Chris-t Because he is so white. We are loaded, oh! So loaded Heavy baskets Pumpkins, bananas, quavers, mangoes... Famished, hesitance ties our feet to the mansion For who wants to return to vacuous homes?   The Monk for whom we starved                                                                                     We later learn