“Hey! I know you..” a voiced tap on her shoulder disrupted her thoughts. The daughter to the late Minister of Finance,The Great Ngutukanit, A political mogul, yes whom didn’t knew her, from the grass to the cows which fed on it. To the valleys and mysterious places where you cant imagine such a beauty to be. The only masterpiece of the richest man in the whole land.
“He was your father’s best friend, and a confidant, he knew much of your father’s secrets, more than your father did.” The gentleman added.
“It’s such a pity that both had to die, and in a similar manner, What will be of politics without them? mmmmh! They made it more enjoyable and lively, Poor life! oh! death oh! death, ” he continued. She pulled an handkerchief off her clutch and wiped her tears soaked eyes.
The man brought a memory, a sad memory of the only oily man of the land, the love of her life, her father. ”
… Take heart “ntitoai” take heart “ntitoi” “matanapaio ngai,” take heart my daughter, take heart my daughter, may god bless you.
another old man added, before their attention was grabbed and broughted back into the mourning mood by a poem, A Dirge To The Dead, recited by Namunyak, the daughter to the late. She loved poems.
“Oh! Rich Death
Oh! Poor life!
Oh! Rich Death
Oh! Poor life!
Who’s the next?
What do you want from us?
Why is life birthed in us?
When automatically it’s ultimate prize is death?
Why do we even talk a lot when the last statement to our soulless bodies is,
Rest in eternal peace?
Daddy rest in eternal peace.
Daddy rest in eternal peace.”
The sombre state hemmed in the atmosphere and everyone including the daughter of death fell into tears.
“…and that was the all we have of the late up to his untimely death.” The emcee brought the last verse of the long eulogy of praises came to an ultimate end after the poem. And the entombed soulless body was drawn off the ‘Kwaheri’ Funeral Home’s van. And six muscular distraughted men among them Lenguyan, the eldest son to the late, descended the coffin
feet by feet into the four sided trench until it touched the store’s base. The new home of the dead men. “From the soil we came from and unto the soil we…. Inna lillahi….,” the prophet of doom recited.
At the foot of the Ngari hills she could hear the hilarious bayings of the locals asking God for the rain. And the invocations of the pastor of doom pacifying the ways of the late. The staunch believer of his word. The guy whom graced his fundraisings with millions of cash.
It was on a Friday morning a month now since Lewarani was laid to rest. She sneaked her way out of their home and jumped into the valley, and followed it to the riverside, being very cautious not to be seen in such a place. Naisula was a noble lady from a well respected family. A rich family. Everyone held her with high esteem
She only not loved animals, there was a very special person in her life, a poet.
Lolmbooni was an handsome guy, muscular with an American height. He was a cheerleader. Whom melted her grins into laughters. The smack on her face into a smile. The man who arouses her guspasm. The guy whom enjoys the swingings and swayings of the two halves. She had ringed him earlier for a meeting in their usual place, The serene Samburu Maralal Lodge.
After a savouring meal, poem sessions, swimming in the lavishest pools of the lodge and of course a quickie to lay down the “dryspell” of the sexually starved rich girl. They both jumped into their separate ways. They never risk being seen together, not with anyone but the waiters and the bloggers whom wrote about her click http://www.sechwaazpoetrytothebits.wordpress.com ‘You won’t believe what you’ll see, THE DAUGHTER OF THE LATE HIGHLY RANKED RICH POLITICAL MOGUL WAS SEEN HOLDING HANDS WITH A DRIVER, the photos will amazes you.’ The hungry samburu bloggers.