The Nairobi River turns green
so green,
dead leaves sink.
I never believed in love,
not the stitched-in-heaven kind.
Still, I searched for signs and found
a shade of green that stayed.
You appeared a rainy April,
no lightning strike in sight.
Only floating jacaranda leaves,
and the jacket you offered.
Your clothes summoned me
back to my body.
The light fabric bruised
as it brushed my skin.
I loved the tide
in your voice when certain.
Everyone
I conversed with – a shell.
When I pointed out
the water’s shine,
In Mukuru,
you smiled and said,
‘‘The Nairobi River’s full of litter,
Now it’s green,
So green
it stinks,’’
Your silence began.
A rain river fed litter.
Slow, steady, it swelled
until it burst
drowned my name
My cheeks grew a garden
algae green with grief.
I said god was deaf,
Maybe he lives upstream.
It rained again,
My tears came clean,
I wailed then
tossed your jacket
in the river.
Now it’s green
So green
it sinks
Victoria Kerubo
Victoria Kerubo is a writer and architectural designer based in Nairobi, Kenya. Her writing gravitates towards the absurdities of everyday life. She is particularly drawn to the human condition, exploring it through lyrical, traditional, and free-verse poetry. Her work has been featured in the Kalahari Review, Afrocritik, Writers’ Space Africa, African Writer Magazine, and elsewhere. She is also a winner of the 2025 Uwazaji Ndindindi poetry competition. Her article is featured in the print and online versions of the NYIrobi magazine. You can find her on Substack: @atamisijui and X: Vict007a.
