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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Thursday, 30 July 2020

Yamaha - A short story about the pursuit of passion

"Come here, let's play." She said to me. I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was the only thing she said to me. My father and her mother were old friends. I always wondered why they didn't end up together. When I was older, he told me their worlds conflicted but they stayed in touch. He wanted me to get to know her daughter. He thought we'd get along well and play together.

I wasn't big on playing so that day when dad brought her home, I tried to talk.
"What's your name?" I asked her. Her eyes twinkled as if to the ring of a high note. She didn't respond.
"Well, my name's Shaka." I said. "And sometimes, my gwandma calls me babangida. Sometimes I wonder where it comes fwom?"
"How old are you?" I pried further. And for every time I pressed, her eyes would twinkle and light up. It was amazing, but she didn't say a thing. Then I asked her something that seemed to make her sad.
"Where's your daddy? How come I never seem him awound?" This time her mood changed. It grew tense as chimes being blown on a patio. I noticed it and changed the subject,
"Would you like to watch some tv?" She didn't move a muscle. I presumed she wasn't interested. So I stayed and kept her company.

Dad kept bringing her home. And  Sometimes we'd sit in silence. I was shy, and she didn't say much unless I triggered her to speak. A memory I grew fond of in our time spent together was when we'd sing "titanic". She'd laugh so hard every other time I'd call it that and then correct me and tell me, 
"it's called, my heart will go on, dummy! The movie is called titanic," Then she'd start singing,
"Every night in my dreams, I see you..." She had the most amazing timbre. My heart grew warm every time she sung. Then I'd join her,
"Taraa raa tareee ruuu... " I'd sound like a giggling hyena but she never seemed to care..

School started to get tougher for me. I saw her less and less so our relationship started to fail. We grew distant. It broke her. We'd try to play when I'd make the time but it wasn't the same. Our priorities were unparalleled and before I knew it, her and her mother left town. 

I didn't see her for thirteen years. When I look back life seemed rather purposeless. I seemed to be gradually falling through porous clouds. Plummeting towards a dead end. Then one day, during my first year of university in India, I stumbled upon purpose. I was looking for a roommate.  I was trying to find a way to cut costs for my new place. I happened to find this online platform called olx where people have profiles with their info and share what they are looking for. I stumbled on a profile that said, "Yamaha." Held the phone to my face because I didn't have my glasses. When I looked at the profile picture, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I thought,
"this can't be her..."
But I was also convinced It was her. I was elated. I thought to myself,
'how did I not know her name was, Yamaha?'
I had to find out for sure if it was her. So I picked up the phone and called.
"Hello!" I said.
I could feel my stomach rumble like a trill. I couldn't help but feel like she wouldn't remember me. Like she would be mad at me.
"Namaste bhai!" A man picked up the phone
"Helloo, I'm sorry sir. I don't speak Hindi..." I said.
"me kya kar sakta hu apke liye?"
"Sir, Hindi nay. English only."
"Ohoo,Ohoo - Sorri. Vwhat you want?"
"I'm looking for someone called Yamaha."
"Nay! Yamaha, Yamaha, vroom vroom. Like the motor bike, no?"
"Aahh. Yam-haa. She lives here only.  But she went out. I'll tell her you gave call."
"Okay, Okay. Thank you." I didn't get to talk to her that day, and I realised I didn't leave any information about myself. I decided to give it a day and leave it to chance.

The next day as I took my usual stroll home past my local restaurant and the neighbourhood mosque from school. I playfully balanced along the edge of the sidewalk until I received a call that threw me off.
"Hello," she said
"Hi. I received an inquiry from this number yesterday. May I know who this is " she added.
"It's me. Shaka!"
"Yeah, Shaka. Babangida?"
"I'm sorry it doesn't ring a bell." My heart sunk to Beethoven's no.5 symphony.
"Well, you probably don't remember me." I said. "Ayeh, I called in because of the ad I saw on olx. You said you were looking for a 1bhk and you were willing to share."
"Aaahh, yeah. Great! Can I come and see it?"
"Yeah, def! The address is no, 5. Arshiya Manzil, Btm Layout, room 4. Call me when you get here."
"Ooh! how GReaT! I'm in Jayanagar. So am a twenty minutes bus ride away. I'll be there soon." She hang up. I strolled the final distance towards my place reminiscing.

A knock on the door jolted me up from my afternoon nap. It was the mail man asking if I had ordered a package. I looked at him speechless for stirring up my anxiety like a movie trailer.
"No, bhaya. I didn't order anything. Try next door, or upstairs."
Just as he was leaving. I saw Yamaha trying to knock at the neighbours door. I couldn't believe it was her. I stood and looked at her in awe for a moment. She had this dingy black bag on her that said, "yamaha". She looked stunning as a Pavarotti showcase.
"Yamaha?" I called out to her in a mellow tone.
She turned round, froze for a moment like a fermata. Then came towards me. My arms were wide open. She smacked me on the face.
"That's for being the first person to break my heart."
"I thought-"
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Take your arms away, I'm not hugging you. I don't know you."
"Can. I. see. The room?"
I was puzzled. I waved her into my place and said.
"Sure... Just don't break anything."
She ignored me and walked in. She took a quick tour of the small place, placed her bag down and made home in the sitting room.
"So where's the stuff to break? You only have a bean bag and guitar in here."
I rolled my eyes at her and asked,
"What do you think about the place?"
"I LOve it!"
"Really? I thought it'd be too small for you "
"You should see the place I was staying in." She shook her head.
"It was a clown car at best. This would be like  moving into a mansion. Besides, I low key found out that my landlord got someone to give him more "value", So he gave me notice."
"That sucks..."
"Oh well. At least we found each other, right? When can I move in?"
"Today, if you'd like "
"Well, how about that." She touched her bag. "I. Have. All. I. Need."

Voices in harmony, we quickly sailed into wonderland. Every other day was filled with a pleasant unexpected guest like melodies to musicians. For many weeks her and I spent many hours in the mornings learning to play fur Elise. She'd teach me all I needed to know. Then I'd make my way to college. Sit and await the day to end so I'd return to her.
"Why are you always rushing to go back home, one of my college mates would ask?"
They'd never understand, so my answer was always ambiguous.
"I have stuff to do." Then I'd side track them. I always felt like an outcast around them. With her I found comfort in figuring out who I was. Even if I was like a note that didn't fit in her scale. She'd chromatically find room for me.

Most evenings were the same. She'd often ask me a similar question that would make me reflect on my graduate pursuit. This one evening it took the wrong turn.
"How were your lectures?" She asked as I tried to fix myself something to eat after a long day.
"I HATE it there." I said
"You're a rebel, hunh?"
"How?" I said. "Even if I hate it. I still wake up every morning and leave you here to go, don't I?"
"Well, why don't you do something about it?" She probed. It ticked me off and my tongue started to let loose.
"Easy for you to say when you've had it figured out all your life."
"What does that mean, Shaka." She said to me with a slight roar in her tone.
"Pssh, you've been singing like an angel ever since I met you. I bet for all these years you've spent all your time with 'fellow angels' doing angelic things. And here I am, a late bloomer with no plan and a conflict on how to use my time."
"Wow! Shaka, wow! So you think I'm grand, huh? HA! Well, I'm sharing a 1bhk apartment with you. Read between the lines. If you keep going around with that kind of attitude, you'll never figure anything out in life." 
I had more to say that night but I realised I was directing my anger to her for the cards I had been dealt by life.  So I cut my tongue short like staccato, left my meal on the marble counter top and went to bed.

That night I thought about quitting school and joining her. The urge was so strong but fear was stronger. It told me the odds were against me down that road, and that I should stop acting like a blonde broad. It got the best of me. I wept for a moment then slept. The next morning, it was business as usual. She never held a grudge. So we picked off were we left off.

After five solid years of us spending a precious amount of time together. It was time for us to go back home to Kampala. We both knew the day would come. We both knew it was a turning point.
"So what's next?" she asked me.
I almost told her I wasn't a fortune teller.
"Well, honestly. I don't know?"
"What do you mean you don't know? You always have things planned and figured out. But when it comes to us, you. Don't. Know?"
"I mean-"
"Come on, Shaka. We've spent all this time together, and that's it? It was a mere college affair for you."
"That's not-"
"I don't know what's wrong with you guys."
"look, Yamaha! Stop getting ahead of yourself. "
"Well, say something."
"You won't let me put a word in."  I said with a high pitched tone.
"Okay, so what do you have to say?" She said with a sarcastic undertone I didn't put much thought to. And I told her;
"Look.  I want to be with you. We've built such a strong bond. And that's really all I'm looking for. You've also helped me find passion. So life without you would be empty."
"What's the but?" She jumped in.
"Well... " I said.
"Is this all you want to take away from the conversation?" I asked.
"everything else before the 'but' ceases to matter after the 'but'. So don't blame me. That's just how it is. So... what's the 'but'?. She asked.
"Well, you do know we're from different religions, right? You see what I did there. No 'but"
"Enh... Tomatoe, toe-ma-toe. So what does that have to do with anything after so many years?" She inquired.
"There's going to be conflict. Us family, kids. Ever since we've been together, I've had conflict.
"help me understand what kind of conflict"
"I don't know, conflict."
"Riiight" she shook her head. "I know you're afraid but can't you at least come up with a better excuse."    She said.
"Babe, it's not an excuse. Have you met a Muslim family? If I walk in with you anywhere it's like an abomination. And with all the hours I spend caressing you like you're some kind of grand piano. They'll start telling me I waste too much time with you. I won't hear the end of their reckless comments."
"So are you living your life for them?" She asked.
"It's not that, but you and I both know we live in African societies. We're nothing but selfish if we throw out our families"
"Yeah, I get that, but-"
"But what? Besides... That's just the half of it. I'm a practicing Muslim, and being a Muslim, I'm not allowed to do all of this. there's bounds I'm not supposed to break. I know right now I'm breaking them and putting my desires first. This doesn't mean my soul isn't burdened. It is. It's just my love for supersedes everything."
A pregnant pause rose amid us. The conversation then took a softer turn, after which I sung to her a love song I had written.

We moved back to Kampala with our hearts set on giving it a shot. 2 years in, the troubles I anticipated arose. I turned into the family "mudongo." A word which is supposed to mean musician; however, it has long since turned into a derogative statement to insinuate that one is a joker/time waster/ fool. Despite this, we are supported by our immediate family. It's a blessing. And once in a while my mind still visits the things that burden me. They are arrow heads, the barb makes it hard for me to extract them. So once in a while, like a song I tried to keep far away in the banks of my mind, they come back for a while.

Recently, she broke down and opened up to me about something that has been troubling her. I had just returned from a trip upcountry looking for trading opportunities. After I took a breather and made myself something to eat, I sat down besides her and she said,
"Honey, is there something wrong with you?"
"Why?" I asked.
"You're changing. You don't give me as much time as you used to. And it's not about me. I'm just concerned about your well being."
I sighed deeply to let out an air of exhaustion and I said,
"Look, I understand why you feel cheated of time. And I agree. I miss our halcyon days when we'd spend hours and hours together but things have been flaky since we got back home. And you and I both know we need the money I'm trying to figure out how to make. So I'm just trying to keep us afloat. I just hope one day we find a balance."
And she said to me,
"I'm sorry, darling. I don't mean to take it out on you."
We went silent for a moment, and she said to me,
"Come here, let's play."

Monday, 23 March 2020

Barely Dylan

Barely Dylan

I used to worry about being the best at poetry,
I wanted to go down in the books of history,
Among those that were the writers of our time,
The covid-19 generation writers of our nation

Ayeh, while I tried to arrive
as I butchered the English language on my grind,
My heart grew weary and wanted to sing,
So I used my poetry to write songs,

I used it to craft melodies and tell stories,
I soon became forgotten because I was mistaken,
For a budding singer that once tried to be a poet;
An aspiring Dylan with impaired vision.


Saturday, 18 January 2020


"NABIRYE!" Her mother called. It was 3.30 am, the sun was still on leave and crickets rubbed their wings together to chirp. Nabirye was fast asleep trying to recuperate but her mother wasn't having any of that.

"Olowoza chai aida kwe kola yenka?" Do you think the tea is going to make itself? Her mother asked. Mama Nabirye had been through hell and back so never gave her only child any room to slack. They did everything together.

"Mbe mama," no mother, Nabirye responded under her breath. Afraid of her mother throwing the habitual shoe at her if she tried to talk back.

Nabirye pulled the mosquito net from below her mattress where she had tucked it and slowly dragged herself out of bed. They lived in a kasisira close to the skirts of a famous swamp area near Kyoga. It was peaceful for them but the distance to the city centre was a nightmare.

"Yeh lwaki tolongosa sapatu Edo ekifo kyotukubira kelele?"
Nabirye's blue sapatu were torn on one end of the right, so she dragged about as she attempted to move. Her mother had grown exhausted of telling her to fix them nonetheless, every morning, it was the usual complaint. Nabirye had grown numb to it so paid her no mind. She dragged along to the outside where she had stored water in yellow cooking oil jerrican for future use. She dubbed the water over her face, pulled out a stick from the pockets of her dress and used it to brush her teeth. After freshening up. She walked back into the kasisira.

"Maama," she called upon her mother.

"Tuja fumba chai ki leero?"  Nabiyre's mother run a tea business in the city centre. She made a mean cup of tea for the city men that did all the manual labour and had to be in town before the break of dawn.

"Buli eido tufumba ki?" What is it we cook everyday? Nabirye's mother responded. She wasn't much of a morning person. So there was always tension in the house between the both of them before they were fully woke.

"Gya oteku sigiri." Go and light the charcoal stove, she told Nabirye as she prepared their clothes for the day. Nabirye dragged her way back outside to put charcoal on the stove and light it. She stacked charcoal atop the grill, put a couple of papers into the stove's chamber, lit up a match and Burnt a green poly bag which she shoved right into the chamber. The papers lit, and she continuously added a few more till the charcoal caught fire. She kept waving down at it with a small piece of iron sheet until the stove was lit and ready to cook. She walked back into the house, picked the soot filled kettle and took it outside to the stove. She picked the Jerry can filled with water and poured it into the kettle and let it sit for a while.

As the water boiled, Nabirye picked up the broom made out of sorghum straw, and swept the yard  in the dark before she would be told by her mother. It was another one of her morning chores. One she always did after putting on tea. After which, she had to clean the house as her mother made snacks that she sold to her clients.

After they were done with their chores, Nabirye and her mother dressed up and left home by five thirty to make it into town right after the break of dawn.

Their morning walks were silent strolls towards the rising sun. For them the beauty of the rising sun was sign of another day in the hard knock city. Nabirye silently dreaded it, but had to study because she knew her mother had invested in her. Their hope lay in her succeeding in school

When they got into town, they went their separate ways and Nabirye walked to her school and her mum to the centre where she sold her tea. School for Nabirye was a breeze. She was smart and hardworking so she picked up things quiet easily. This day was different.

The morning was a cup of tea for her until the next session after lunch came her way. Nabirye was seated in class, and felt a sharp pain in her stomach. Her first period had come, and she was unaware of how to deal with it in the moment. She was embarrassed to tell her friends so she kept silent and her mood dampened as time went by.

"Nabirye, what's the problem? Teacher Isabirye  asked her.

"Nothing, sir." She responded.

"Then why yo are lookingi like samsing is bazaring you?" He added.

She couldn't point out her situation and her teachers concern was genuine because Nabirye was among the good children. The pain from her stomach took a toll on her over time, so she eventually raised her hand, and her teacher walked up to her. When he walled her way, she stood and tried to whisper in his ear not to let her friends ease drop.

"Sir, my stomach is probleming me"  she passed her English tests, but when she spoke, her English failed her. So she was shy to speak  among her friends.

Her classmates at the front of the class started to giggle, the giggles grew louder till the back, and when she turned. They were laughing at her and pointing at her. She got embarrassed thinking they had heard her speak to her teacher. She put her picfare books into her black polythene bag and rushed out of the class crying before her teacher would give her permission.

"NABIRYE! NABIYRE!" Her teacher called out to her. But she didn't turn back.

"Ploosi" teacher Isabirye called Nabirye's neighbour.

"You follow her and find out de problem."

When pross made it outside to try and catch up with Nabirye, she was long gone. She had run to the school latrine area, and sat there to shed a tear until the pain washed away. She gathered herself, held her black polythene bag tight a round her chest and decided to make her way back home.

She knew her mother would make her way back home late, so she decided to use and alternate route to cut her journey shorter but her mother's voice kept ringing in her head,

'Eyo tobitayo, waliyo agayaye eyo aganwa endaga'

She was worried about the warming as it rung in her head but she was too down to take the longer route. All she wanted was to get home.

As she made her way through the dirt path filled with gullies to the side because of the rains, she meandered as she watched how the city dwellers went about their busy lives. Close to the exit of the pathway, it narrowed and was filled with shrubs and there was a group of goons that were playing omweso to pass time. Her heart startled in the moment, and her mother's words echoed.

'Oba ndireyo?' Should I go back? She thought to her self. She had made it to far to go back, so she held her poly bag tight and moved forward.

"IWE!" One of the goons barked,

"Biki ebyo ebiri mu kavera?" he added. He was prying over what was in her poly bag. He got up, spat green slime from his mouth to the ground and reached out to reach for her poly bag. She pulled back and said,

"NDEKA!"  the boys started to get roudy, some through the green leaves of mirunji from their supply at her to tease her. She stood her ground in the moment, it made them furious because she wasn't being  submissive. The boy then shoved her and she fell face flat to the ground, and they started to make raucous noise to scare her. One of the boys noticed the stain of blood on her dress and said.

"Onto aidwireh musayi tumwendeza ki, ye?" She has blood all over what are we going to do with her? He said. Then it struck her why her classmates had been laughing at her.

As if her day wouldn't get worse, they started to kick her and tell her,

"Vva wano, twalele omusayi gwo!" Leave this place and take your blood with you. She felt embarrassed and powerless and a man from the distance shouted to the boys.

"OMWHANA MUMULEKE!" He came dashing towards them, some of them scattered to save themselves but one. The leader of the gang that started teasing her.

"Oja kola wo ki?" The boy asked the man as he approached. He stood his ground and wore a senseless arrogance to aid his bravado. When the man reached he jabbed him in the stomach and pushed him to the side, and in that moment, the boy retired.

"Oli bulungi?" He asked as he tried to hold her up. Her mind was baffled, she could barely keep it together. When she looked up, she realised it was one of her mother's clients, in that moment; a guardian angel. He walked her to the main road, and saw her off till she disappeared in the far distance.

The walk home took another toll on her, when she reached home, she took off her dress, placed it on the floor and pondered how her day had gone before she had slept off as a solution to numb her pain

Wednesday, 15 May 2019

I thought I knew love...

I thought I knew love

I thought I knew love,
When she struck me like thunder,
At the pinnacle of my mind,
And triggered emotions to rush,
Into the hallmark of my heart,
She was a dark skinned girl
Ayeh we were only babies,
that's all it'll ever be, an imprint

I thought I knew love,
Ayeh, I was still young,
my emotions got sprung,
I was emotionally dumb
She was mentally older,
I should have kissed her,
All I did was blubber,
At least I met Naivety

I thought I knew love,
When we tried to rekindle,
A spark we once cooked on.
But you were full grown,
Body full like a blow up doll,
I really should have known,
Loving you would tick me off,
I chose you but got Jealousy

I thought I knew love,
I was only a budding teenager,
Eager to discover the wanders,
That love unveils through others,
And I met you my neighbour,
I kept you in my paper stacker,
Aka a wallet you had me eager, 
Curious to fondle till I kissed you


I thought I knew love,
And there she was, oh God!
beauty and brains I went insane,
We'd chat on phone and wonder,
Journeying colours and numbers,
Dislikes and likes childish insights,
So on holiday I took her for a date,
Met her ego, never to see her again

I thought I knew love,
Felt like I had been through enough,
till she lit me up and it was surefire
Beauty like a punchline micdrop
So it was time for me to get some,
She would give it to me, me to her
We were in our own world a while,
Till she opted out and gave it to him

I thought I knew love,
I swear I thought I had graduated,
And seen it all but love is underated
So I met this woman that was older,
she made me feel like the only one,
I didn't know I was a hit and run,
Role played till the movie was done
Toy boy for a lady on lonely ploys

I thought I knew love
Till I realised it just ain't enough,
I put in that work they say it pays,
They forget to mention it pains,
I put up with my insecurities,
Let her in and made meals for free,
But she had expectations to meet,
For her "all out" meant a cash-out

I thought I knew love,
At this point I learnt that it's blind,
I fell hard for my ex's best friend,
She was perfect, it was destiny,
the broken road to her was agony,
I finally made it home; temporarily;
Because of uncertainty, I left...
Fear drove me down my mistake

I thought I knew love,
But what I carried was a void,
My brains had been abandoned,
So I felt like I needed a companion,
And voila, a black mare for the road
So we'd watch the moon in tandem,
Travelling without any direction,
Till it was done and we parted ways

I thought I knew love,
But I just figured out that I'm a liar,
I glimmered coated in experience All I carried was Disappointment,
It all started with turning celibate,
Good intention but I lost direction,
I made promises but broke them,
Heart and body were disconnected

I thought I knew love,
Until I shook hands with desire,
She never run her lips on my skin,
Never laid a finger unlike wind,
But when she spoke I quivered,
She often glanced, my spine tingled,
My mind sizzled as blood rushed,
Am still not sure if this was lust...

I thought I knew love,
But for each curve ball a lesson,
Moments of blessing then stressing,
Moments of profound knowledge,
Then moments of ... What? How?
And now here I am once again,
Scarred, scared, hopeful and lonely,
feeling nothing yet you're so ideal.

I thought I knew love... 

Monday, 22 April 2019

Mu Maaso awo (in front there\in our eyes)

Mu Maaso awo (in front there\in our eyes)

Rubaga, Nsambya, Mengo, mulago,

Ug is the new baby boomers home,
Ayeh, we are producing poverty
What worries me is there's minimal opportunity for our ill trained mentalities
We Import three times more than we export,
Records say a quarter of our exports are cheeyo,
The remainder is what we signed agreements never to add value to,
so we borrow money just to reinvest in imports, and retain perpetual debt

Tubilabila mu maaso awo

Kamocha, Munyonyo, Muyenga, Kololo, bugolobi

Since anchor families of different nationalities run the country,
We've become minorities watching our coaches play hard ball on home ground,
And we are an audience with the excitement of a kivulu.
We get carried away by trivial things failing to see the bigger picture.
The power struggles are our  entertainment,
the top guns run the show so we're short of options,
So we cling onto people power because of fleeting hope,
And if you speak to the masses most of them don't really understand what they want.

Tubilabila mu maaso awo

Awo ku Parliament, state house, nku kirira NY govumenti

Having failed to dictate our own ideology,
we adopted westernised capitalism so power and money
zisigala mu bagaga baffe abayindi na bachina naye bameka abakimanyi?
So they script that we're entrepreneurial
but we don't really know how to do business,
our businesses are not in production
We sell imported clothes and boda, and add no value to our produce,
So how do we compete in this fourth revolution?

Tubilabila mu maaso awo

Iganga, Ibanda, kotido, mubende

Some roads have been made owaye, the bypass' and highways are commendable
Abasoga twafunye bridge, batunooma nti tusika chapatti,
It's steady progress if you ask me,
Ayeh, ownership is going to be reverted back to those we contracted,
So with corruption embedded in the system,
our credit loans  are impossible to finance and sustain,
And any change of hands won't make a difference,
when the change we need to make is from within

Tubilabila mu maaso awo...

Industrial area, namanve, katwe, kasese

Canneries are literally pouring out of the skies,
We're just too distracted to understand why,
We have Turkish in our salt, Indians in our cotton, Arabs in our gold, British in our oil, Chinese in our coffee, & and no Ugandan to stand in and halt.
Our debt burden and dead aid has given way for our take over, Ayeh;
we're too busy listening to leg over to fathom the weight of the burden on our shoulders.
We're the third poorest country; it's alarming,
and with communism advancing in stealth,
a lot of us are bound to end up in bidukulu.

Kampala, mbarara, karamoja, iganga

There's a disperity between the economic mainstream,
the poor-Urban and the rural-rural ,
Information is asymmetric so many are stuck in a matrix,
Knowledge is available but still some have no access,
While some think they know it all, it eludes them.
The major similarity is that money is the major motivation,
So it's no wonder some of our leaders still let us get plundered,
Ayeh, What's the difference between them and the poor?
Those out there selling rich land only to become oppressed squatters

Tubilabila mu maaso awo,

Kiryandongo, Rwamwanja, bidi bidi abagenda,

The man is talking peace and stability maybe you don't see it,
Well open up your eyes can't you see the refugees
This man has got a lot of knowledge up there where he sits,
But you can't guarantee the work that's carried out by your team,
That's why the foundation of our nation was infested by greed
I don't know if you agree but its the reason why his vision went right off of its heels.
So you've got to be careful who fills that vacuum he leaves

Tubilabila mu maaso awo,

Muje tugende tuyuta ku Kampala road

Banks are getting digitally challenged, non performing assets are at their highest,
Our currency is going down south and we can only watch as IMF toys with our interest rates,
Our economies were designed to be divided and provided with help,
So we have a long way before we can dictate our own fate.
Yet still most of us aren't wide awake,
We're laying under our trees, eyes fast asleep. mouths wide open indulging in our blessed abundance,
but the works of our hands aren't counter acting we're about to get out of balance.

Owaye conductor, mu maaso awo,
Nze kanji vvemu

Figures/ number game

Figures/ number game

It seems like all our life all we do is play the numbers game,
The sperm that swims the fastest  after its been shot wins first place,  collides with its mate and turns into a zygote, hibernates and fully forms.
After 9months, it's  an honor to have you,  a
nd the clock starts counting it's- numbers
you're  squealing,  You probably know all you're  going to be doing in this seemingly forsaken place is chase after misery
Ayeh, everyone else around you is rejoicing.
Luckily  you can't see them so you carry  on  un wavered like a rock so they rock  you, soothe you until  you  stop, and the game continues...

A couple of months down the road
it's your first birth day,
and  from zero you all over sudden turned hero,
they celebrate you,  you've now been seduced  and have come to terms with certain things,
You enjoy  the sweeter things of life, cake,  attention, care and what not.
You go through  baby , middle,  and top class,  then back into the numbers system: P1,
and the game continues.

You're handed report  cards,
assessed by the numbers,
You're posessed by the numbers,
Some don't care about the numbers,
Some don't make it through  because they don't  understand the numbers,
Some never make it in  because  back at home they are low on the numbers.

Down the road you climb up the scholar levels,
The numbers there are much more frustrating,
But those that didn't make it are trying to-
put two and two together  to make it but the numbers just don't add up.
Little do you know about the outside  world,
you're  just eager to count- figures, you can't wait to mature,
your heart has been triggered, induced by sweet numbers,
Never to realise that once you're set free,
the numbers don't lie, and your clock is ticking,
and the game continues...

 You've  graduated , the social  pressure is on,
if you're  not careful it turns you on,
You start to act queer just to keep it together,  you figure,
That  a nice set clothes will get you up and going and stack you up  on your  followers,
You like the views, the numbers tell you  truths that in reality aren't true but they keep you astute,
you're feeding your ego but little do you know that you're going to face the legal - consequences,
You can put on a show that  social statistics don't  show;
Ayeh, if you're numbers  are truly low
there's  only just how far you can go before it blows,
and the game continues...

You're  just too old to be chasing social numbers,
Your  better half at home needs you to up your pocket numbers,
Your parents  think you're grown you should get your self together,
Your homies are moving  on you feel  slightly under the weather,
You start to ask your self whether you'll  keep up with the pressure of, chasing numbers before you start to wither...

So you get a job that's secure and pays okay- numbers,
Your boss has experience in his figures and figures,
He should milk you out as your superior to up his numbers,
You're now a slave at best but you hang in there because you need  those numbers.
Your kids  are growing older,  you forgot how it started,
so you make them climb the same ladder.
You're too bothered by the outside world  to make them better travellers,
And the game continues...

Your clocks run out,  you should have know that when it got to twelve,
you remember how all you wanted was to grow older,
you forgot to live because  you were busy chasing numbers,
You were Stacking  up on accolades pumped up by minute made instead of drinking fresh lemonade...

Now it's  November, you lost the fight to cancer, it made your numbers plunder, your family  starts to wonder, where you're  at down as you slumber, does your good outweigh your slander, don't  be out there chasing numbers, live right don't live for others,  fulfill your life with purpose 'fore you  head back to the one...



I won't leave you,
In this hopeless world alone,
I won't leave you,
To be stranded on your own,
I will heal you,
When you're feeling all alone,
I won't let you,
Drown in sorrows of the world.

I'll be there for you,
I'll be there for you,
I'll be there for you,
I'll be there for you,
I'll be there for you.
I'll be there for you...

What do you do when the world has got you feeling empty?

One minute you're up floating like a balloon,
The next it's pop, you're a joke house; red bums on a baboon

Life is like the moon, full of seasons,
And mine has been twilight seemingly bright but unfortunately upside down

My family has tried to keep me grounded despite my ill relationship with gravity that keeps toying with me,

It has me up so high then back down so the struggles never over, I'm still trying to emulate my idols so I'm never idle

I'm pushing the throttle but the hustle gets me puzzled  waiting on a dream wondering if that's all it will ever be...

And while you're at it, the world keeps moving at a tremendous speed so fast your body disagrees you start to bleed

You'd like to be of use to those in need but everything's bleak you're that friend atalina work, the one dodging bills

So you console yourself that broke isn't forever and hell's for eternity so to reign over your sanity you stay true to you,

But who you are is a mess, you're a positive litmus test for a sinner at his best yet before the rest you're a "saint."

What do you do when the world has got you feeling empty?

You get employed but you start to feel like misery has been deployed at your door demanding of you like a landlord,

Ayeh, not many have your job but boy oh boy are you annoyed, your boss keeps treating you like a useless toy,

And you're thinking you can't take it anymore but the world is hungry and ready to swallow you if you let go,

So you eight to five, diligently make it to work on time and like the rest you try to be grateful for your miserable life...

What do you do when the world has got you feeling empty?

Sometimes its hard to be grateful. I'm prayerful but I can't help but feel like God's own handpicked musoga fool

So it often feels like I'm a set up; a tool he uses for his jokes oh so cruel and I have the world entertained by my pain.

I'm not a fun of cars, shoes, clothes and jewels, I'm a simple person but I'd like to walk into a showroom and not drool...

it's even harder in a world where we have to burry our insecurities and flex on the gram like we have no worries.

So we're out here trying to create new revenue streams ayeh, we still treak home from our gigs and live like our tax bills are late.

I can't even afford love, I can't pay for a  date. So my potential lover is telling me I'm late and how long must she wait?

Man enough?

Man enough?

Sometimes I ask myself if I'm enough,
I'm a gentleman, is that man enough?
I cook, clean, do dishes and mow lawns,
Open doors, buy flowers, yadda yadda,
thing is, I'm not going to pick a fight,

I'm a flipping coward; a mama's boy,
Yet I'm always home alone like culkin,
And mothers always been on the go,
And I can barely speak on phone,
But I say so because I'm her last born.

So am I man enough?

Maybe my height has me doubtful,
but it has never really phased me,
I'll tell you why I'm so damn certain,
I always tell myself if I get into a fight,
It should be with a guy twice my size.

Small torpedo, big balls, call me kahuna, that's a wise man in Hawaiian lingo,
So if it's not my height, maybe my nose,
A close friend of mine calls me kingo,
It'd piss me off and make me feel small,

But never have I ever felt so handsome,
Like look at me, yo. I could sell ugly!
Let's be honest, nobody wanna buy that,
You can be body ugly but your heart,
That shit should look like red roses.

So am I man enough?

Maybe it's cause I have daddy issues,
But it's the 21st century; everybody does, and I'm all grown I see all fifty shades,
So paps is doing his thing, and here I am
Bada bing bada bang, problem solved.

I guess its cause I have no day job,
No job means no money that's tricky!
Meet me I'll say shit about to pop off,
But nobody wants to pay for poetry,
And I didn't go to school to study music,

So I have no career and limited skill,
I think we have ourselves a winner,
But nah, I'm patient and it pays off,
So am queued up come rain come shine,
I'll be at the office dancing on my turn.

So am I man enough?

Maybe how I tie my towel is queer,
Sometimes I roll it up here and its weird, my old consort used to take a crack at it,
But now so do I, it's an ingrained habit,
I have seven sisters, I used rock skinnies

And It can't possibly be cause I'm timid,
I'm a writer, gators aren't thick skinned,
But as an artist I'm definitely sensitive,
Maybe that's it but that doesn't cut it,
Expecting love from all is a fatal feat!

You know as a yungen I was way wiser,
I used to tell everyone, nze ndi musada
They'd laugh and mimic but I'd own it,
Now as I grow I can't even convince self
life seems to be about problem solving,

So maybe it's cause I don't own a home,
And I don't know the struggle of one,
The hustle of having no alternatives
It's either you feed your own or they die,
I can't possibly fathom the ordeal,

But God isn't stupid, He trades fair deals, If that came along I would find means,
put food on the table and guard my kin,
I wouldn't let up, you know what it means,
abandoning kin yet you had everything,

Nah, so am I man enough?
Maybe what has me in doubt is my weakness for love...

Lost as a sheep.

Lost as a sheep.

Lost as a sheep, I wandered as I wondered,
Where the place for a man like me lays in yonder.
Asunder from God as I try to discover my treasure,

worry crept up on me, shoving me off deck unto plank;
Beastly eyes, wicked claws, foul breathe heaving behind my neck,
Awaiting my next move to gradually bring me distress.

They say It's not a hustle if it's not bringing in enough money,
Even if it could stone Goliath, they say almost doesn't hit a fly,
And behind the shadows it larks, it's bound to remain timid

It's not a struggle if it seems to be fenced in privilege,
So I am neither struggling or hustling,
Am in between advantaged, and lazy,
Lucky but useless, they say my wind shield is smudged.

So my efforts are reckless; like a peeping lingerie affair.
On life's Richter scale for people like me; am a lazy idealist,
even if am constantly at it, wielding  multiple visions,

I am impaired, my eyes can't get my feet to move.
I'm Micheal on sativa, two "right" feet ayeh I've lost the groove,
They don't believe in what I do- I look like I have no clue.

Tukola bagaya

Tukola bagaya - Ungratefulness

My emotions are not for free,
Ayeh, I offered them to you at no cost
I gave you the liberty to rock my boat,
And like tide you steered me off course

Tukola Bagaya

You brought your ego on board,
Now your elephant is weighing us down.
I have tried to turn a blind eye and play clown,
It has made me your subject, I now worship your crown.

Tukola bagaya

Tangled in bewilderment I ask myself why
One would break a home that has been tamed,
By letting in promiscuity of chimpanzees,
Yet we vowed to be bound by the grace of swans.

And when faced by confrontation,
Their tongues slither and tell bold lies,
Maybe a lie is used to protect those we respect,
But if you ought to show respect why lie to yourself?

Tukola bagaya

When we got locked into this like chains,
I gave no false hope that we would last till eternity,
Ayeh I've played my part not to set false standard,
And I have stayed true despite it not being enough.

Tukola bagaya

Now here you are wielding power you desired,
Using it to your advantage instead of letting it sand us-
To smoothen out our flaws and leave out what you frowned upon.
Have you not become the double standard that put you off?

Tukola bagaya

if our hubris gets the best of us,
Our wings are clipped and we fall from grace,
And our whims and desires cloud our judgement
We then put our selfish interests before those we love,

As if that's not enough we lose sight of who we truly are,
We embody these false personas because they fit the moment,
Forgetting that who we've become is not the reason we're loved,
Then we go bananas wondering why our confidants have left us.

Father and son

Father and son

You want love?  You want love ?
Are you a woman? Are you a woman?
Are you my wife, young man?
I'm not supposed love you,
I made you, I didn't choose you
There's a difference and if you understand it you'll be a better man.

Look at me,
I've made a man of myself without a father,
I've worked day and night to give you and your sisters shelter,
I've single handedly maintained our family legacy,
And it was  the works of my hands that made He bless me?

And here you are chocking on your tongue whimpering  over love,
Are these the spills lord gave me?
An emotional millennial with tears for fists
What a shame! I see the legacy I have built turn to ruins in your hands and I weep myself to sleep!
I fool myself that  you will turn into  a man of worth
but the words you spew make me regret your birth.

In my days men would  break back to feed the pack,
They'd  be no time to get pats on the back,
you earned your worth by the blisters on your hand,
You made ends meet without compromise
Otherwise,  you would  be left to the hounds,
and that's all you'd be in life; a feast to scavengers.

Now here you are asking for love...
You disgust me, you're waste of good sperm

How do?

I'm tired! Tired of you thinking you know everything
You've been marinated in praise. So you feel heaven sent.
You've succeeded but men before you built empires you can only dream of.
Tell  me, what's it like with your head in the sky thinking you're some kind of Gabriel?

You think you have it figured out ayeh, you are no man
A man is no man if he is no father,  and a father is no father  having failed to make a reasonable man of his son, having failed to get his son to be better than him, to learn from his mistakes.

Ayeh all you do is leave me out in the pigs,
Lost in a world of greed, struggling to decipher our creed,
breast feeding off the widow because you chose to kill-
yourself when you turned your back and walked out that door,
It stings but its the truth, am a aloof, am a mad man spazzing.

You speak of trust, how about lust?
Can I trust you yet you could barely keep a woman?
What riches  do you have for me to scuffle over?
A house, barren land, maize fields of infested comb?
Honor? Your honour, I object that is nothing to bequest.


Wednesday, 21 November 2018

Bakuseka maja

Bakuseka  maja 

Kiboneh, woooh, ekyo kisobola ensi ekyo? 
Kinairah nabiki? Kubugayavu obukidwireh? 
Kibumba agaba emikisa ayeh wooh ekyo yakibuka! 

Mama nsaba  onsoniweh, olugendo lwensazewo, 
Onendeza birungi ayeh oidwireh kwelalikra, 
Omusango gwabakireh batwendeza birungi, 
Ayeh nga Mama nairah wa nga niweh gwensigaiza, 
Banseka maja tikabona ni jenja 

Baba nkukutira nyenda owulileh ensonga, 
Ensi eno eyakibumba eja yakyuka kyuka, 
Emyaka jaimweh jijo jilumwikeh embiro, 
Jyobireh nga olipambana  zena mbaireh ndoto, 
Tyenze kulekera ayeh wakiri mpa akadakikah, 
Nku lileh lileh mu nkunumizeh ebyakivubuka 
Ndidi emyaka tijenkanakana ayeh kangema engomo, 
Nsiba wo nga kinaana woba tokineh kukeesa, 
Olugero olwo nalwnokwikiri gwoli wererah, 
nkoye nga niinda baba, natndiseh olugendo, 
Kabansekeh maja ayeh ndi mwana wa kibumba.

Aboluganda no mukwano ndidi mbatamiza, 
Mbasabiriza mubwavu; ayeh nga siima, 
Kangaiteh gaiteh wo mpola kibumba natuwa, 
Abawaireh omugaso ewange timundekelerah, 
Nefuireh wa lutalo ayeh timwerabira eisuubi,
kemubairehwo nga mum' mbeda mbendeza birungi, 
Kanongereh mu amaani, tulirah kundala, 
Jebutaluka eyo emberi tomana emberah wekyuka, 
Buti luno olwange timunseka maja

Ajar, then the door went wide open, 
Rays of my future burned my eyes 
I'm partially blind is it by design?
I hesitated but knew I had no time.

I walked right through, 
It felt like heaven as I, 
Hesitated forward to see if I, 
Could selfish find what's mine.

Patriarch entertained my nose, 
I was all alone but it felt like home,
Further ahead I noticed a cliff
The mystery baffled me; ayeh, 

I- moved on, 

A gust of wind closed the door, 
No more room to go back home, 
Puzzled as a toddler lost in a mall, 
Is it my calling or the devil calling? 

Famished yearning success;
Barely any food in sight, 
Weeping feeling weak;
no one to hear my plight,

My mind started to ponder,
Racing aimlessly 'cause of fear
No cross road, no dead end;
Only one option to conquer, 

I reached the edge and slipped, 
crumbles rolled and I leaped;

I'm still free falling I'm bleak,
I don't know if I will make it! 

Kabansekeh maja ayeh ndi mwana wa kibumba.
Kabansekeh maja ayeh ndi mwana wa kibumba.
Kabansekeh maja ayeh ndi mwana wa kibumba.
Kabansekeh maja ayeh ndi mwana wa kibumba.(fade out)

Thursday, 26 July 2018

Through the Fish bowl

Bharat series 

The kids from across scream "kaifah haluka,"
to the Muslim foreigner in a bid to know an outsider,
The ladies doing khusur phusur
 sit like gurus on their stairways
in the know of all community woes,
The dust due to metropolification 
pollutes the air as nicotine smoke
lays down its wreath.
The spicy tinge of masala in almost everything
stings the tongue yet cures a pang 
The busses during rush hour are
packed like slices of bread in poly,
it's no wonder it's a perfect place for "baba gulshan ji" posters.
The metro at its peak makes the city look like
Tetris blocks; ayeh, you'd miss the Pakistani salt blocks
and mukhauta's hang on buildings to keep away bad omens.
The lust for money sometimes-
turns the society into a den of petty thieves,
so some lose their dignity in exchange for a swindled rupee,
The malls are state of the art,
despite meeting insatiable wants and desires,
their beauty is the tightly knit family units
enjoying a feast in the food court.
The monsoon winds bring a wave of fresh air after a dry spell
but the floods are a menace,
it's hard to know if you're trekking in rain or sewage.
The people's hooting and hollering
for every other little thing during corporate rush hour
depicts an ardent lack of patience.
The culture is still deeply rooted but occasionally,
you find ladies in hot pants and men struck with hands for eyes.
The feeder roads have a cartwheel assortment
of all you can eat seasonal fruits and mosambi to cool the tummy.
The bar owner breaks a coconut at his entrance,
and burns some incense in the morn
to welcome drunks and loners to their very own suicide show. 
The way they castesize  one another is peculiar;
ayeh some of them don't care, t
hey are sweet as mangoes from Gujarat to one another,
The transvestite community comes of as self righteous,
they won't blend in to earn their way and thrive-
so denied by society they beg to survive.

To be continued...