Essy The Poet

  By Esther Jeruto Koros (OSF) Alteration isn’t alteration in the sense of transformation I have come to learn, it’s simply a backward clasp A flaw in the mind’s grasp, Or just the blindness from the mundane. Upon sad unpunctual yet advanced interrogation, Emanates gradual peel of deception Emanating in effect Acclamation lobular with popular applauds Isn’t this why relics are desperately sought? And funerals wrought in praises? Oh! The mind’s laziness in seeking truth. © September 2020 0726179789 

By Sr. Esther Jeruto Koros (OSF) What great deception to claim immortality  When you know not the whenevers of eternity?    The author of life, reclaims his hive A total loss of the brawn-less thrive    Tough is the when, when the harvester’s bell rings The victim his transgression brings Engrossed in nuggets of entanglement, While the harvester seeks detachment. Christian by day, miscreant by night; Redrafting boundaries to suit momentary delights Bickering something so good, mustn’t be brittle Drenching and wading in interim fiddle-faddle Oh! May the harvester catch me untangled, For what misfortune to both worlds abdicate? © September 2020 0726179789 

By Sr. Esther Jeruto Koros (OSF)  ‘Make us proud,' they said, 'read all you can!' ‘Don’t fall into their niche,’ they warned! ‘Read the Bible too!’ They intoned.   The throng getting strewn, Filled with longing for the outcome: ‘To your graduation, we must come!’   Her feet paralyzed with euphoria, Beholding the affectionate campus towers ‘I made it here.’ She thought And she met mirrors that mocked her. Surveyed her want of things; Her relic outfit, her disheveled hair, alarming shoes   Instantly, unworthiness crept in She needed a quick fix, A complete metamorphosis Who would ford her urgent alterations? And it was lonely as a cloud And none to lean on.     She found someone competently whetted in crookedness, The tutorial commenced while she listened hesitantly: ‘Don’t be seen with bibles, makes you look ancient, Don’t walk stooped as though scared of tomorrow, Don’t be dressed like nuns, heaven is fictitious, Don’t b

  By Sr. Esther Jeruto Koros  There was a feast of pearls, way across the palms; We harvested the jewels, in huge incredible junks. Our identity was nacre, the cradle of lustre We sent our adept diver, who also was a driver An errand with ore, for cash it bore And our beloved Kimalany, is now held in felony For he found them feasting, and who wouldn’t want to eat?   We learnt of a king, who to us would bring And there was a list, of what the village missed; A dark road, snaked water, night time sun, These and many more, and a good school adjure We sent our honed nimrod, for a visit to Herod.     Our beloved Kimalel, now held in felony For he found them feasting, and who wouldn’t want to eat?   Acquainted with dejection, we bask in trepidation For who sends a child, hoping for a heist? Every betrayal hurts, but an heir’s deeply cuts. How rapacity dissolves values, and favour spells gallows We shall send again, for despairing has no gain. Please