“Kaĩ ũtoĩ noowe kĩambĩrĩria na kĩrĩkĩro gĩakwa (…)
Horera, horeria meciria.
Nĩgũo ngoro yakwa nayo
Igĩe na thayo ta wa toro
Horeria meciria.” (Njeri Wanjari)
“¿No sabes que tú eres mi principio y mi final?
Relaja tu mente
Para que mi corazón
Pueda facilitar tu sueño.
Relaja tu mente.” (Njeri Wanjari)
I have begun to read poetry in Kikuyu to the psychiatric patients. I started doing it because, strangely, I realized that when I asked: How are you?, Where is the pain?, Do you have any relatives?, etc, etc, their minds closed off and they looked at me like they wanted to escape.
So I thought it was a good idea. And I watch them, secretly, between the lines. The first day I was anxiously watching their minds turning into a sort of rift. But they stayed. There. Listening.
The second day I saw great emotional receptiveness, until one of them tried to lick me. I asked why. He answered: those words are gnawing something inside me. I stopped to look at his face.
- Tell me about it- I said.
-Will you stay reading forever?- he asked.
-No- I smiled.
-Then stop making me have these reassuring feelings- and then he started crying.
At night I wrote about wrecking each other's lives. Always. Everything is a war, everything is like if thoughts cannot be beautiful without turning into sin. Everything is pain over here. And I can't help them because I can't even help myself. And, obviously, I can't help you either.