Mambo Huangamia cha Chinua Achebe

bullet said:
Wago the leopard killer. Kweli alikuwa na roho mbaya.
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Siyo roho mbaya, alikuwa warrior, alibeba jukumu la kitaka kumwua Olumba hata ikibidi kwa kutumia ndumba, nakumbuka wrestling yake na Anwuanwu the Village Dibia, akapigwa juju lakini kakataa kuomba msamaha.

Mpaka dibia aka surrender, akakubali kumroga Olumba, ila ikashindikana, na hapa mzigo wote alikuwa kapewa Wago in case iki backfire.
 
hiki kitabu huwa nakitafuta sana baadhi ya pages zimechanika, kina mashairi mazuri sana ila uandishi wake umekaa kama matusi flan hivi, nilikiokota hata jina sijui kinaitwaje
 
Jiwe uyo na watumishi
 
Mwenye PDF ya ''You Can Work Your Own Miracles''-Napoleon Hill,,,au yoyote ya Robert Kopmeyer
 
Your pain
Yet more my pain
Shall sufocate oppression

Your scar yet more my scars
Shall remembering the whip

Your blood yet more my blood
Shall irrigate out victory

Hili poem kaandika nan?
Na linaitwaje nimelishalisahau
 
African child, The river between, devil on the cross, and a man of the people navikubali sana ukisoma vitabu hasa hivi vya waandishi wakubwa huwezi kudanganywa na wanasiasa wa africa utagundua janja janja yao ni watu waliopo kimaslahi tu.
 
Nashukuru mkuu.....Nimeipata YOU CAN WORK YOUR OWN MIRACLES
 
64gb said:
View attachment 933121 hiki kitabu huwa nakitafuta sana baadhi ya pages zimechanika, kina mashairi mazuri sana ila uandishi wake umekaa kama matusi flan hivi, nilikiokota hata jina sijui kinaitwaje
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Song of Malaya and song of Prisoner
Author: Okop P'Bitek




The stone floor
Weeps ice tears,
Poisoned thorns
Pierce my naked feet,
The sweating walls
Shoot needles
Into my back
And throw cold insults
At me.
The heavy smell
Of Death
Fills the room
Like darkness,
The alcohol
Of black silence
Intoxicates me.
There is a carpenter
Inside my head,
He knocks nails
Inside my skull.
My feet are a pair
Of pregnant women
Heavy like grinding stones
And full of the fangs
Of the cobra . . . .
My penis
Is an elephant's trunk
Vomiting blood
Like a woman
In her moon,
My wife is
The barusus palm
That has fallen
On a dung heap,
Her breasts heave
And whisper a welcome,
She sobs,
Her body rocks
With grief and regrets.
My bed
Is a Lake
Of tears . . . .
 
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