Essy The Poet

When a fresh mound simmered on her head, My heart was a thousand pieces. Everybody’s faces a million creases She was no more. Now, the fresh mound is a garden, beautiful and colourful, Just the way she would have liked. And a million rays of memories gushing forth old wisdom.   The mother of my mother, a remarkable woman…. About school, would say: Read and read, daughter of my daughter And come riding motorcars and flying planes….   The mother of my mother, a remarkable woman…. Her philosophy, would be: ‘If everybody’s head is chopped off and each asked to pick randomly, I would still pick mine. You never know what people’s minds rummage through, Day and night. At least I know mine.’   To the lazy would ask: ‘Who disengaged your shoulder joint, So that you are fed without lifting your hands, So that the sun is standing while you are seated? So that the sheep and goats are still caged at noon, While your belly is bulging with satisfaction! Don’t be like the swallow who cri...

Peace is the desire of every heart.  Love is the comfort secretly hidden in the manger. Joy is the outline of happiness.  Trust is the place that fear is yet to discover.  God is Love!  May His coming This Christmas be for us and for you:  The Peace you've always desired.  The comfort that you have always sought. Happiness in all completeness.   May He dispel every fear of yours,  Raising you from grace to grace, Away from timidity and desolation.   He's the Prince of Peace.   Emmanuel!  God with Us!  What Great things shall we witness when God mixes with us?  Wishing you The Best of Christmas Blessings.  Sr. Esther Koros OSF 0726179789

Among the schools that recently went up in flames include; Buruburu Girls High School, Ofafa Jericho, Kijabe Boys, Vihiga Boys, Chavakali High, St. John’s Nyamagwa High etc. Everybody pretends to not to know the cause of the fires thus leaving the education stakeholders in an awkward position. ‘Who has failed?’ is the question in everyone’s mind. Well, I guess we have all failed. When I say all, I refer to the education stakeholders. But only one ‘person’ is able to bring this problem to an end. I will be explaining ‘who and how’ in a few. First of all, I would like to register my condolences to all the families that lost their loved ones in the recent school fires. What a shame to lose such young lives! That done, let’s trace back to the upbringing of these kids who now are in their teens. We are dealing with a generation that has seen way too much of TV and internet and have received very little of values, discipline and love. They have been mostly raised by absentee parents, mishand...

When Africa writes, she tells her untold story When Africa writes, albeit in borrowed tongues When Africa writes, she pours and drips and unearths When Africa writes, she begins to heal her wounds When Africa writes, it is not the luxury of just another book. When Africa writes, she claims justice for herself From the cruel injustice of a single story.   2.       When Africa writes, she tells her untold story She will make a change to ‘the old truths’ That once fed and overfed history She will cool the sweltering on the forehead That wants to say, ‘it is not true. When Africa writes, she claims justice for herself From the cruel injustice of a single story.   3.       When Africa writes, she tells her untold story Unveiling the mantle of old glory, held in white hands She will feed the fat strands of ignorance With the thin sieved knowledge Like an infant whose pain is yet to be deciphered ...

There is a man elevated from the rest By his grace and style and taste The man we’d all want to be The man who has conquered, by me.   Not a monk, he wouldn’t have been remarkable Not a husband, he wouldn’t have been charitable Not a politician, he wouldn’t have been sincere Not a poor man, he would be wallowing in excuse.   The man who never wobbles even when grappling, I tried being him for a day My words unmeasured, my acts ungraceful My steps unsure, my taste wobbly The pedestal so tall, I fell before sunset I had to go digging for his secret.   His gaze lay on a man so great Though unseen by many as heroic As he vulnerably hung on a tree Such a secret!   The man elevated from the rest Draws his phenomenal character from the C ross Nothing he does is gross.   A shepherd of shepherds Bishop Dominic! On your 35th priestly anniversary.   By Sr. Esther Koros OSF 

From the tiny voices of the valley  We are the lilies surviving at the valley  We are the future, featuring already We are the lilies of this great nation  The combat's on! Beware you all There were so many on this road Beaten down,  weighed down, clamped back We are the lilies surviving the desolation.  Some girls ripped off school,  Promised something absolutely cool. Carnal knowledge,Children having children.   We are the lilies surviving at the valley.  Some boys   ripped off school  Promised superpowers; guns for cattle  Child soldiers,misled and now, no more We are the lilies surviving at the valley.  These children having children Their sexuality mutilated, numbed up. They know not the pleasures of childhood and adulthood.  We are the lilies surviving at the valley. Surviving is all we know We got books and bibles, and sanity.  We've got God too.

Sr. Esther Jeruto Koros, osf You don’t know love; I was telling you. Love is the warmth in your guts That makes you act irrationally. Love is the strength in your mind The resilience through a dark night.  Love is the morning song That escapes from your lips Untamed, unpretentious yet perfect. Love is the candle in your eyes That lights the others Drawing a little joyful tear. Love is the outstretched arm Whose embrace kills the pain. Love is the unsettling desire That holds its breath Until it is told, ‘it went well.’ Love is the rare phone call That seeks genuine responses. Love is the tainted window Whose unclear shape boils into a mystery. Love is the bold graffiti shouting Letting the soul out in the streets. Love is the little baby girl Who falls asleep in your arms. Love is a mother’s candid voice Saying, ‘he is not the right man for you.’ Love is the bird at your window Acting free at spring. Love is the understanding without words That says, ‘I know.’ At the summit of love...