Vestine & Dorcas - Kisima Lyrics
Lyrics
Here are the lyrics for the song "Kisima" by Vestine & Dorcas as heard in the video:
[Chorus] Nguvu zako Eeeh Bwana Mungu wangu
[Verse 1] Ilikuwa ni muda mrefu uliopita Nikisubiri uamuzi wa nyakati zake Yeye ndiye anayenishikilia kwa nguvu Alikubali kudhihakiwa Hasingeweza kunipuuza hata ningenong'ona Hata aliponiona karibu Kuanguka chini angenishika Hata mlima ambao ni mzito Aliniwezesha kuupanda
[Pre-Chorus] Yeye ndiye anayehusika utimilifu ya ahadi Ndiye nasema sina shaka aliniponya maombolezo Yeye ndiye anayehusika utimilifu ya ahadi Ndiye nasema sina shaka aliniponya maombolezo
[Chorus] Nguvu zako Eeeh Bwana Mungu wangu Zimetuma tena ni nimeshota Kwenye kisima ya sifa Zimetuma tena ni nimeshota Kwenye kisima ya sifa
[Verse 2] Eh hakika hakuna hata neno moja Lililosemwa na Bwana lililowahi kumezwa Njooni njooni muone Nguvu za mkono wake Kujeni njooni muone Nguvu za mkono wake
[Verse 3] Nyinyi watu mkingali mbali Yoyoyo Na sauti ya faraja Kwenye visima vya migogoro Yoyoyoyo Hapana msijitie shaka
[Pre-Chorus] Yeye ndiye anayehusika utimilifu ya ahadi Ndiye nasema sina shaka aliniponya maombolezo Yeye ndiye anayehusika utimilifu ya ahadi Ndiye nasema sina shaka aliniponya maombolezo
[Chorus] Nguvu zako Eeeh Bwana Mungu wangu Zimetuma tena ni nimeshota Kwenye kisima ya sifa Zimetuma tena ni nimeshota Kwenye kisima ya sifa
Nguvu zako Eeeh Bwana Mungu wangu Zimetuma tena ni nimeshota Kwenye kisima ya sifa Zimetuma tena ni nimeshota Kwenye kisima ya sifa
[Outro / Bridge] Wewe ni kimbilio Tena na makao Umebadilisha huzuni kuwa sifa
Wewe ni kimbilio Tena na makao Umebadilisha huzuni kuwa sifa
Wewe ni kimbilio Tena na makao Umebadilisha huzuni kuwa sifa
Wewe ni kimbilio Tena na makao Umebadilisha huzuni kuwa sifa
Wewe ni kimbilio Tena na makao Umebadilisha huzuni kuwa sifa
Wewe ni kimbilio Tena na makao Umebadilisha huzuni kuwa sifa
Video
KiSiMA - Vestine & Dorcas (Official Visualizer 2026)
Meaning & Inspiration
I keep coming back to the phrase “kisima ya sifa” (well of praise) in this track by Vestine & Dorcas. It’s an odd construction when you sit with it. We usually think of a well as a place you go to extract something—a source of water, a place to pull up relief when you are dehydrated. But the lyric flips the mechanism. They aren’t pulling out water; they are pulling out praise.
Is a well a source of praise, or is it a container? If it’s a container, then it’s waiting to be filled. But if it’s a source, like a deep, hidden aquifer, then the praise is already there, subterranean and pressurized, waiting for someone to drop a bucket into the dark.
The spiritual tension here is jarring. In the desert, a well is life; it’s the difference between walking and dying. In the context of the song, “kisima ya sifa” feels like an act of defiance against the “visima vya migogoro” (wells of conflict/strife) mentioned later on. The authors are suggesting that our internal landscape is littered with wells—some dug by trauma, some by promise. The work of faith, then, isn’t just about waiting for God to pour water in; it’s about choosing which well you’re going to lower your bucket into.
It calls to mind the woman at the well in John 4. She came to the physical well for physical necessity, looking for a way to manage the exhaustion of her daily life. She was essentially looking for a way to keep going in the heat. Jesus offers her something that doesn’t require the bucket at all—a spring welling up inside. Vestine & Dorcas seem to be singing about that same internal mechanics. When they sing about God holding them up, or healing their mourning, they are describing the moment the bucket hits the bottom and comes back up not with dry dust, but with something worth singing about.
Is it a cliché? Perhaps. We talk about “wells of praise” so often in church circles that the image can lose its grit. But look at the surrounding lines: “Hasingeweza kunipuuza hata ningenong'ona” (He could not ignore me even if I whispered). That changes the "well" from a generic metaphor to a specific point of contact. It suggests that even the smallest, quietest, most pathetic whisper of a prayer is enough to activate the flow.
It’s messy, though. The transition from “huzuni” (grief) to “sifa” (praise) in the bridge feels almost too abrupt, like a bandage applied over a fresh wound. I’m not sure I always buy that it happens that fast—that the weeping just dissolves into a song. Yet, that seems to be the point of the song. It isn't a declaration of how easy it is to switch modes; it’s a statement of where you decide to camp. You don’t camp at the well of conflict. You move to the well of praise, even if your hands are still shaking. It’s a stubborn, intentional realignment of where you draw your life force from.