Reminiscing In The Twilight (In Memory Of Stephen Mwaniki) Poem by Ishmael Onserio

All this is beyond the wandering of my presumed wide-eyed imagination,
The glimpse of this one fact, his egress, has torn my doubting heart apart,
I can't comprehend the cause for this mighty fall, I'm blinded, I'm human,
The hill's treasured crest has been leveled to seabed, just like in surreal art,
I heard from the captions, fuming winds passed with freaking cyclones,
Blaring of his depart on the foot of my path disclosed such true gossip,
It's true that he's no more, it was a sudden entry to the one gate of hades,
Mind holding on a memory, reminiscing of the twilight in that follow up.

I recall that contact when we lived as brothers at the sheds of the valley,
Lives got molded by real fire, mind cleansing, life-making, and tutoring,
At that forefront he stood and beat odds of time with unknown courage,
Guiding the third group that was to complete their tending career call,
We liked his innate talent in that execution, it was fun, it created a gulley,
He got that eternal label, many use it even now at his bed of mortal living,
I see his usual smile that never faded over my brow with sapping rage,
He dwindled fast to the daunting twilight; he has left a huge mind brawl.

He fought like a preyed antelope to make the irreconcilable ends match,
He was a doer, he was a determined servant, he believed his hardy faith,
He lived long ago before we were called for service from uneven scratch,
His life was blessed, he ate from a plate of satiety he devised like a wraith,
No one knew his fair paying ways of tossing a life, he was a bold warrior,
The grave's stare eyed his throat, not once, but he was lucky all the way,
Till now, he's gone to the cackling baulk, his fading image is a big barrier,
Minds that knew him fully have fluttered like ocean waves' mighty sway.

His flying being left us quick like transient rains of humid summertime,
A young family left bare on the island of hope, I know he'd a wary future,
For the newly opened page of life, his passing stage was not predictable,
Like scary tales of scant paths across the woods, it was a chilling mystery,
He's gone to the halo-hue of pale dusk, mind tinted with memory's grime,
Shades of his sapid wings at bay, his boyhood clan eying that departure,
A pause of his priced life has choked my mind, it's true, life is so pliable,
Death snips life with untimely rest, we stay marveling at the rich history.