Peace

Peace
The words etched on the pedestal
Of a colossal glass house halfway across the globe?
Or, the scribbled meaning in a dictionary? No!
It is the voices in my head;
The conversations with self.
 
It is walking around sans the fig leaf garment
In the apartment when alone!
It is the afternoon tuo zaafi;  Ante Akweley’s komi ke kena;
The pigment of sobolo on tongues, the taste of hibiscus and ginger.

Peace! Mama’s cooking outside under the starry night;
The flavour of koobi in kontomire,
Yes! It is the sizzling of onion-flavoured palm oil.

It is Mzbel’s laughter, her smile.
Peace is Prince Bright’s voice;
Samini’s baritone on beats!

Those inside jokes that friends share;
The gossip between lovers.
The moments of respite at end-of-day.

It is the resilience of the schoolkid on his belly,
Giddily making the first steps of writing, reading –
Powdered by dust yet believing.

Oh! That one attire we won’t let go of:
Weathered, threadbare but sweet to don!
Peace! Brethren, peace is not the inscriptions on buildings.