I AN INSTRUMENT

The sounds of a Trombone,

Melting inside my femur bone.

The Recorder sounds flowing through the violent districts,

Calling for law and order.

I am consuming this nutritious fruit as she plays the Flute.

It’s my mother’s birthday and all I can buy her is a Viola,

For she is called Viola.

It’s the Orchestra playing and I am listening to the Violin one and two.

Stimulating my insulin,

It’s my musical teacher Maloe playing the Oboe.

The beautiful sounds of the French horn,

Remind me of where I was born.

It’s me playing Cello and Piano,

Reminding me of my vocal color yellow.

When someone plays the Piano,

I begin to recall my fallen Heroes.

It could be Bob Marley, Mahatma Gandhi, Tom Mboya,

Thomas Sankara, Anesto Che Guevara, Gautama Buddha,

Kwame Nkrumah, Philly Bongole Lutaaya.

The Double Bass’ strong voice,

Remind me of the various African rebellions.

Maji Maji, MAU MAU, Nyangire, Fashoda,

Walk to work, Black Monday.

It’s the Harmonica being played,

Reminding me to master my harmony ability.

The sounds produced by the Drums,

Remind me of my weight in Kilograms.

The Microphone, Saxophone, Xylophone,

Remind me of how special my voice is.

It’s the Ukulele calling for silence and less kelele.

The Akogo is playing,

Reminding me of my favorite dish the Katogo.

It’s the guitar playing reminding me of my favorite film star Gen Figiter,

Or your own film star.

The percussion drove me into writing this piece.

Enjoy and come up with a discussion.

©Slim Emcee (UG) the poet.

This poem is authored by Slim Emcee (UG) the poet, READ HIS FULL INTERVIEW