Aging

Aging

The one the grandchildren called Herbie
is blind; called Karanja
by the swing when she mutters at dusk
to the passing wind. As if she didn’t need
the visit. To feel.

Ka Gari,’ the old owner to himself,
to the swing as if it were the grown up
child, who doesn’t visit much.

Karanja has heard so many prayers
he believes he will turn to dust
bit by bit. Karanja tithes.

©Ngwatilo Mawiyoo

Photography: Wambui Mwangi

7 thoughts on “Aging

  1. Pingback: Cleansing: Two – Aging

  2. I love where this poem’s quiet melodiousness, its music, and where ends, how Karanja tithes, gives and thus gives back, in recognition of and response to this shifting status, a powerful and simple sign of agency after the poem has presented so many expresssions of Karanja’s non-agency, objecthood, otherness. Very nice.

  3. I love this because we had a baby blue beetle and also called it kerby. Insane. From the really old disney flick… :P I’m confused. Ngwatilo, Are your poems featured on here or on your blog? or both…?

  4. We are cross-posting the poems on multiple forums, so my blog and hers and also Diary of a Mad Kenyan Woman, because we are all part of the same collaborative, Koroga.

  5. Thanks. I follow the two and about to add the third. I will probably blog about you soon, once I get what you’re all about. So far, you guys rock.

  6. keguro,

    this is poignant piece of poetry. old age is a frightening sight for someone’s life. the anticipation that your reward from heaven will be due. we all, that hopeful. thanks for sharing such a brave insight.

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