The Shrine
Three rocks, rocks scorched, aged
In the undergrowth, they lie
Oblivious of time
Passed, histories made,
Unaware of ceremonies, done,
To be done
Here, between these rocks
The ashes, testimony, to sacrificial
Cattle and birds
Atop this mountain they,
Yes, they had come, and prayed,
And cleansed,
Their sons, who conquered
The, below picturesque land
That kisses Lake Victoria,
Yes,
This is the shrine
That the high priest would pray,
And harvest would be, and diseases would impede!
Here
In its mystic form I sit, cross my legs
Birds chirp, slithering are Lizards
Pssss! Thought I heard a serpent hiss
No!
Nothing, just what they said,
Here, green grass
Surrounding, grotesque rocks
Down a beautiful land spreads,
I descend!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Added by Poetry Lover
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