Cover Image
энэ номыг хаахThe African Saga (FEMRITE Publications, 1998, 102 p.)
энэ хавтсыг хаахPoems of Protest
Баримтыг харахThe Resilient Tree
Баримтыг харахI Am Tired of Talking in Metaphors
Баримтыг харахCrazy Peter Prattles
Баримтыг харахWhy Vultures laugh
Баримтыг харахFishers of Men
Баримтыг харахViewers may find these pictures disturbing
Баримтыг харахWhere am I?
Баримтыг харахI laugh at Amin
Баримтыг харахThe African Saga
Баримтыг харахFlat Topics
Баримтыг харахBecause I love This Land
Баримтыг харахTempting A Troubled Past
Баримтыг харахFreedom Fire
Баримтыг харахYou Tell Me to Wait
Баримтыг харахUganda
Баримтыг харахBroken
Баримтыг харахBirth Attendants
Баримтыг харахIndefinitely Absent
Баримтыг харахThe Old Guards' Circus
Баримтыг харахPolitical Sorcerers
Баримтыг харахRead These Lips
Баримтыг харахDid You Mention Names?
Баримтыг харахThe Peace Lover
Баримтыг харахJungle Sounds
Баримтыг харахThe Lone Soul
Баримтыг харахOur Land
Баримтыг харахOn Trial
Баримтыг харахA Search
Баримтыг харахDusky
Баримтыг харахImages
Баримтыг харахThey Tell Me
Баримтыг харахOn Africa's Nomads
Баримтыг харахThat Woman
Баримтыг харахFestival

Jungle Sounds

In seasons when
The grass trembles with thirst
And trees crackle
Under the ruthless furnace;
Farmers rejoice at a lone feathery cloud
A false promise of rain:
Thus we stand in arid deserts
Clinging desperately to fallacies
Refusing to believe...
Justice is not here with us.

Justice,
At the festivities of your adversaries
Your absence cuts through our unaneasthetised flesh
Keen as a surgeon's knife.
Searing pain numbs our hearts
Leaving them limp lumps.
Your absence is a warrior's sword
A silver dagger in a foe's hand
Cutting down the sons and daughters of the land.

In your continued dearth
We are cowardly hyenas,
Running away from jungle sounds
Soiling our legs
Seized by desperate madness.
You, mirage of our lives
We pant after your shadow
Like thirsty desert Tuaregs
Our shrunken tongues
Cannot even croak your name.

Let the seasons go on holiday
Let there be a sun-moon battle
Forcing curfew on night and day
We rather the earth stood on tip-toe
Than smell the aroma of justice
Wafting to us always from afar