The Maker of All We See

Each blade of grass, each drop of rain,
Each flower dancing in the field—
They tell the story of His power,
They bear the truth we cannot shield.

The eagle soaring on the wind,
The lion’s roar, the sparrow’s flight,
All crafted by the Master's hand—
Each moment born from holy might.

The colors in the evening sky,
The glow of moon on desert sand,
The rhythm of the tides that turn—
All echo from Jehovah’s hand.

No human brush could stroke such stars,
No mind could craft the wings of bees.
He formed the planets, dust to flame,
And shaped the depths of hidden seas.

The eyes we use to see the world,
The breath we take, the hearts that beat,
Are gifts designed with sacred care—
A perfect, endless work complete.

Look close, and in the smallest things,
You’ll find the thumbprint of the Lord—
In veins of leaves and drops of dew,
His silent song is underscored.

So lift your gaze, O soul of dust,
And see beyond what eyes reveal—
For all we touch, and all we know,
Was made by One both vast and real.

Jehovah reigns, Creator true,
No rival shares His throne or right.
He shaped the world we daily view—
And called it good with purest light.

The golden sun obeys His voice,

And climbs each day across the dome.
He calls it forth with just a word,
And sets it like a king at home.

The colors in the setting sky,
The purple dusk, the crimson flame—
Are brushstrokes from His heart of fire,
Each hue a whisper of His name.

The stars that blink in endless space,
Each numbered by His perfect mind,
Are candles lit in heaven’s vault,
So we may see His glory shine.

No sculptor shaped the antelope,
No poet formed the ocean's tide—
Jehovah shaped them all by hand,
With strength no limit can confide.

The leopard's spots, the zebra’s stripes,
The wings that hum upon the breeze,
The coral reefs, the desert stones,
Were placed with awe-inspiring ease.

The moon obeys Him every phase,
She shines with borrowed, holy light.
And tides respond like dancing waves
To keep His rhythm through the night.

The clouds parade in silent praise,
The lightning speaks in sudden flame.
The rain descends as heaven’s kiss—
Each droplet carries forth His name.

He carved the canyons, deep and wide,
He raised the hills with gentle care.
He etched the rivers into stone,
And placed the birds to nestle there.

He clothed the lilies of the field,
More grand than kings in royal dress.
He feeds the sparrows when they cry—
Their flight upheld by faithfulness.

He breathed on dust and man arose,
With eyes to see His grand design.
We walk through wonders every day,
Each one declaring, “He is mine.”

The laughing child, the mother’s smile,
The wrinkle on the elder’s face—
Each one a portrait, signed and sealed
By hands of mercy, truth, and grace.

The mighty whales in ocean deep,
The beetle small beneath a leaf—
From greatest beast to lowly worm,
Each made by Him beyond belief.

No craftsman forged the peacock's tail,
No builder laid the rainbow's span.
Jehovah spoke — and it was done,
By word alone, not tools of man.

The scents of pine, the taste of rain,
The echo in a canyon wall—
All senses shout what eyes behold:
Jehovah God is Lord of all.

The silence of a forest path,
The rhythm of the falling snow,
Each moment speaks of perfect care—
A love that formed the world we know.

The eyes we use to see His work,
The skin that feels the sun's warm kiss,
The ear that hears the songbird sing—
Were all designed for joy like this.

He needs no help, no architect.
No flaws are found in what He’s made.
Creation bows beneath His feet,
Its order set and never swayed.

So praise the Lord with lifted eyes,
Let every sight your soul delight.
For all you see, and all you are,
Exists beneath Jehovah’s light.

The Quiet Killer

 

The Quiet Killer 

In halls where justice ought to reign,
A shadow moves with silent tread—
It speaks not truth, nor merit’s name,
But lifts the unearned head instead.

Behind closed doors, decisions made
Not by the best, but by the known,
The cousin, friend, the favored face—
A throne not earned, but simply thrown.

The skilled are left to rust in doubt,
Their dreams dismissed, their voices drowned.
While empty chairs are filled with pride,
And competence is never found.

A land once rich in youthful flame
Now chokes on bitter, stagnant air.
For when the worthy are ignored,
The future dims in deep despair.

Innovation dies where it begins,
When doors are closed to all but few.
And trust decays within the hearts
Of those who knew what they could do.

Nepotism’s grip is soft but firm,
It smiles while pulling others down.
It builds a tower made of glass,
That shatters when the winds come round.

The farmer’s child, the orphaned bright,
The girl who studied through the night—
All cast aside for someone's kin,
Before the race could quite begin.

A nation’s spine begins to bend,
When posts are bought with family ties.
Corruption feeds where fairness bleeds,
And honor wears a weak disguise.

The courtroom echoes quiet lies,
The teacher's post goes to the kin,
Not to the one with heart and skill—
But to the one whose blood is "in."

It kills the dream before it grows,
It tells the youth: “Don't even try.”
For what's the use of burning hours
If merit's just a hollow lie?

In offices, you hear the sighs
Of minds that could have shaped the land.
They bow to those less fit, less wise—
While watching time slip through their hands.

It breeds resentment, seeds of hate,
Divides the strong from weak in name.
It breaks the rules, rewrites the game,
Then claims the prize without the shame.

And soon the brightest flee abroad,
To lands where worth is truly weighed.
They take their gifts where they are seen—
While home is left to slow decay.

A child sees this and turns away,
“What’s the point of school?” they ask.
For every honest path is blocked,
And dignity becomes a mask.

Yet still, beneath the heavy fog,
Some rise and fight this quiet crime.
They speak for those still shut outside,
And call for fairness, loud with time.

So let the voices rise again,
Let merit, not bloodline, decide.
For nations bloom where all are seen,
And justice walks with open stride.

 

 

“The Pillars of the Continent”( African woman)

 

“The Pillars of the Continent”( African woman)

In the cradle where the first dawn broke,
Where baobabs stand like sentinels of time,
There walks the woman — with dust on her feet,
And galaxies buried in her eyes.

She is the drumbeat of the village square,
The lullaby in twilight's hush.
She bends to plant, to reap, to raise —
A quiet strength, a sacred rush.

From the Sahel's edge to Congo's green,
In desert heat or coastal breeze,
She carries water, carries fire,
Carries legacies beneath the trees.

She is the mother of storytellers,
The weaver of wisdom in strands of hair,
The keeper of proverbs, echoing truths
That empires forget but she still bears.

She bore kingdoms upon her back
When kings fell short and fled the fight.
She nursed rebellion in whispered tones,
And stood where silence swallowed light.

She is the market’s vibrant hum,
The laughter stitched in colored cloth,
The merchant, healer, midwife, scribe —
The voice that never once fell off.

In boardrooms, courts, and parliaments,
She now reclaims the seat she lost —
But still she walks through shadows deep,
Still counting freedom’s hidden cost.

She sings in tongues the earth still knows,
She dances rites the sky once taught,
She bridges what was torn apart,
She speaks for those the world forgot.

Through wars, through hunger, plagues and chains,
She stood — unbending, yet so kind.
The womb of nations, fierce and wise,
The map of Africa in her mind.

Not just behind — but far ahead,
She leads, though often seen too late.
She is the pulse beneath the soil,
She is the architect of fate.

So let the histories carve her name
In granite stones and desert sand.
For every continent’s beating heart
Was first cradled in her hand.

 

She teaches under mango trees,
With chalk and dreams that do not fade.
Her classroom walls are open skies —
Her lessons fierce, though poorly paid.

She stands in clinics short of aid,
Wiping brows with hands worn thin,
Fighting death with herbs and hope,
With knowledge etched beneath her skin.

In fields of maize or cotton rows,
She sows not only seeds, but change.
She reads the clouds, commands the soil,
And makes the seasons rearrange.

She’s not a whisper in the wind —
She’s the storm that broke the gate.
The voice that rose from shackled days,
And turned her pain to something great.

With daughters dancing at her feet,
And sons asleep against her chest,
She builds the world from broken bricks
And teaches all to do their best.

She codes, she leads, she writes, she heals,
She builds new bridges with old scars.
Her stories fuel the future’s flame —
Her eyes outshine the northern stars.

She kneels in prayer at dawn’s first light,
With strength disguised as quiet grace.
Her faith is carved from mountain stone,
Her soul a deeply rooted place.

And when she sings, the earth stands still,
The ancestors lean in to hear.
For in her voice, a thousand years
Still live, and rise, and persevere.

So tell the tale and tell it true:
Africa stands because she stood.
Not in the shadows, not behind —
But where the brave and righteous should.

 

 

 

True friendship and true Love

 True friendship and true Love

Not a gilded cage of fleeting grace,

Nor a whispered promise, lost in space.

True friendship's fire, a steadfast flame,

Burning bright, defying time's cold game.

Through laughter shared and tears that fall,

A bond unyielding, answering the call.

A listening ear, a helping hand,

A whispered word, across the land.

Love, a tapestry, woven with care,

Of shared dreams, anxieties, and prayer.

A gentle touch, a knowing glance,

A sacred space, a timeless dance.

Where hearts entwined, in harmony reside,

A love that nurtures, deep inside.

Not a conquest, nor a fleeting prize,

But a quiet strength, beneath the skies.

Like roots entwined, through sun and rain,

Friendship's roots run deep, a silent strain.

Love's whispered secrets, soft and low,

Whispers of devotion, to and fro.

Through stormy seas and sunlit days,

Their loyalty shines, in countless ways.

A constant presence, a guiding star,

A love that lasts, forever far.

In quiet moments, shared with grace,

Friendship's bond, a comforting embrace.

Love's tender touch, a soothing balm,

Healing wounds, dispelling the storm.

A haven built on trust and truth,

Where souls find solace, and find youth.

For in these bonds, a strength resides,

A love that time can never hide.

Through whispered words and silent pleas,

A sacred space where hearts agree.

Friendship's embrace, a gentle hold,

Love's quiet strength, a story told.

So cherish these, these gifts divine,

Friendship's warmth, love's gentle shine.

For in their depths, a treasure lies,

A bond that time cannot disguise.

SHORT STORY: MINE IS NOT SHINING

 

 

    SHORT STORY: MINE IS NOT SHINING

Once upon a time, there was a rich man who lived in Akamahoro village. He was about 50 years old, and he had one wife and four children. He lived with his family in a normal house, which wasn’t luxurious; his job was cultivation.

This man was not interested in buying expensive things just to show that he was rich. Apart from that, he used to help poor people by paying school fees for their children and even paying for medical insurance for those who were in need. He and his wife were always ready to help others rather than enrich themselves or enjoy their lives by living in luxury houses, wearing new fashions, and other things that demonstrate someone to be rich. These characteristics of being humble and helping others, rather than striving to show how rich he was, made the village inhabitants excited by his heroic deeds.

 Other bosses used to laugh at him by saying, “What an idiot man! He’s always throwing his money to dogs!” They wondered why he was doing that, in spite of fighting for personal development. By the end, these rich men decided to marginalize him from their group because he didn’t mingle with them on their habitual celebration days, where they invited each other for enjoyment. Therefore, he wasn’t aware of their actions, and he continued his activities without caring about how they abused him, such as insulting him for not joining them. 

 

LESSON 1: Self introduction (introduce yourself)

English	Ubusobanuro	Kinyarwanda
My name is Andrew	Jina langu ni Andrew	Nitwa andrew
I am 18 yaers old	Nina umri wa miaka 18	Mfite imyaka 18
I live in Rwanda, in kigali city   Burera district             Sector             Cell             village	Naishi inchini Rwanda, mjini Kigali	Ntuye mu Rwanda, mu mugi wa Kigali
Subject:   I You   He She It   We you they	Ingenga ( amagambo   Njye(we) wowe     we cyo,yo   twe(twebwe) mwe(mwebwe) bo	Nafsi:   Mimi Wewe     Yeye     Sisi Ninyi,nyinyi ,nyie wao

 

 

 

                                                   

                            POEM : UMUGANURA IN RWANDA

It’s time for cerebration in my homeland,

 Recognizable, and joyful day,

Citizens throughout the country are busy,

Even naïve, and noble families are aware of it and interested,

Come forth, come forth, Umuganura, the day of celebration.

 

Praise the lord, the offer of what we’re enjoying for,

We buried seeds with no hope, but you lit up our life,

If you didn’t, what should we have us a topic?

Rwandans shouting, singing God’s blessings provided,

Come forth, come forth, Umuganura, the day of celebration.

 

Did you harvest something?

Yeah, It’s all set. various crops, and fruits fill my granary,

Invite your neighbor, friends and families enjoy together,

Ubushera, sorghum bread and isogi are ready, come and enjoy together,

Come forth, come forth, Umuganura, the day of celebration.

 

Welcome, welcome the day we wish, and admire,

Day which emphasize Rwandan’s unity and dignity,

Let’s join hands celebrate umuganura day,

 Come forth, come forth, Umuganura, the day of celebration.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shairi: Sauti ya Lugha

Katika maisha ya kila siku,
Twaamka, twafanya kazi bila shaka,
Lakini pasipo kujua lugha,
Mambo mengi hutupita kwa kasi.

Lugha ni daraja la mawasiliano,
Ni taa katika njia ya uelewano,
Kwa mkulima au mwanafunzi,
Kila mtu huitaji kwa dhati.

Wafanyabiashara huuza vizuri,
Wajuao lugha ya wateja wao,
Walimu hufundisha kwa mafanikio,
Kwa kutumia lugha kwa ufasaha.

Ukitaka kusafiri duniani,
Lugha ni pasipoti ya kwanza,
Huwezi kuomba maji wala msaada,
Bila kuelewa ya wenyeji.

Maisha ya kisasa si kama zamani,
Tumeunganishwa kwa teknolojia,
Na lugha huendesha mitandao,
Ikiunganisha mataifa na watu.

Kila siku tunakutana na wenzetu,
Wenye mila na lafudhi tofauti,
Lugha hutusogeza karibu,
Na kuvuka vizingiti vya uoga.

Kujifunza lugha ni kujiamini,
Ni kujijengea njia mpya,
Ni kupata kazi, marafiki na ndoto,
Katika dunia isiyo na mipaka.

Hivyo ewe kijana, au mzee,
Jifunze lugha, ujipatie hazina ya kweli.

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