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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Sunday, 1 January 2017


Before new beginnings, 
having faced pesky tests, 
that made you waiver, 
you lose pieces of you, 
and life seems bleak.

Ayeh, it takes plenty of hits, 
to learn how to manoeuvre quick,
then sprout from the ground, 
and achieve an unexpected feat. 

And out of the dirt,
smothered in thrashes, 
man shall rise,
man shall conquer, 
man shan't face demise, 
unless, He chooses to give in...

Friday, 25 November 2016

Conscious minds

The power of a conscious mind,
can carry you to the pearly gates,
god #Conjolted
We have the power to make a change 
and back to earth just in time,
to save people before Jesus comes back.

Ignorance is the mother of serenity,
yet it can also get you locked in chains,
walking to your grave in a single file-
singing kumbaya because it sounds pop,
and everyone is singing along so what the hell?

Clarity is yolk out a cracked shell,
hatched open by the knowledgeable,
having wandered into the unknown.
It lets you stand alone at the top of a mountain,
and then forces you to soar limitless skies.

Modesty is knowing the difference-
between clarity and ignorance.
Knowing the two makes you conscious,
so carry forth with your knowledge,
and save the world, cut Jesus some slack!

Sunday, 20 November 2016

Under the umbrella

I'm under the umbrella tree
hoping the marabou stock won't flee
off the ground and hop onto my hope,
shake the soaked leaves atop,
and drench me in drips and drops-
that delve in my emotions shop
and leave me milquetoast.

Kaloli diri tuuma,
kaloli diri tuuma.
Diri tuuma meh da wuuba,
dah wubah meh da buluka...

'Cause the thunder is alarming,
as if warning of tragedies coming,
yet I have no ark to embark-
to steer me past lightning,
that "oh my days" is frightening!

Its has started raining,
my hair has droplets,
the leaves are glossy,
bark is bathed,
and I anew; hopeful...

Life has been hopeless
or precisely deciduous
and like leaves on trees,
people always leave
after storming a heart.

Ayeh as we grow and mature,
we realise that moments-
lived and left are courses;
points for one to learn
to turn over a new leaf...

Often under umbrellas,
we hide and confide our-
buffaloberry emotions;
sweet delicacies feasted on
by tragic memories,

that prey and scavenge,
on our decaying matters-
like marabou stock,
watching out on tree tops
for what's left of once fresh delicacy.

I'm under the umbrella tree,
hoping the marabou stock won't flee
off the ground and hop onto my hope,
shake the soaked leaves on top
and drench me in drips and drops
that delve in my emotions shop
and leave me milquetoast.

Kaloli diri tuuma,
kaloli diri tuuma.
diri tuuma meh  da wubah
dah wubah meh  da buluka...

It is now drizzling,
and like a sinking boat-
my shoes are soaked.
Roads now have gullies,
and drizzles drip and drop...

Love, life, family,
friends, and businesses-
are all like rain...
they come and go,
and Leave us soaked like leaves.

Soaked in emotions
and when shook by scavengers
our memories are re-lived,
sometimes in tears,
and drip drop they flop
like leaves shook
by marabou stock
after rains stop..

The world wide web

Lately it seems like a norm,
for us to be reaching out to the world,
through tweets, posts, statuses, and images.
We upload our emotions to be downloaded,
then hope for a second that they'll be heeded,
ayeh the world is hearing not listening,
it's looking but it's not exactly seeing,
and we bank our big hearts and minds,
on an illusive deal that gives us momentary thrills.

Most of us seem to be finding comfort
in the millions of quotes and information-
some of which are misleading.
Most no longer believe in self,
they replicate the multitudes of expressions,
that speak to them in the moment,
so what has been viewed and not sieved
prescribes a way for us to live,
that to some individuals is "perfect life."
So most enact these illusive realities,
yet the circumstances in amorphous reality
become complicated to execute and manage.

Paranoia has reached the top of its peak,
we're sober yet addicted looped into the 'www.'
This is because we are now used to voyeurs-
on our social networks besides those people-
that took it upon themselves to keep tags on us all.
So now everyone is feeling naked and afraid.
Afraid to trust, afraid to be honest, afraid to be loyal.

The subjects are now timid and brainwashed,
the soldiers lost loyalty for they know the truth
the regining supreme royalty as always is greedy,
the clerics lost faith and have joined miscreants,
it's now an eye for an eye, for an eye, for an eye,
until we all one day turn blind.

War witches

Wednesday, 16 November 2016

A light bulb.

A light bulb.

There is a difference between,
love nurtured by money,
and love nurtured by survival.
It's simple and well known...
Lovers of the latter
cannot survive without money,
Lovers of the former
can survive without money. 

Tuesday, 1 November 2016

Self Crucifixion

Self Crucifixion    

We often crucify ourselves and sacrifice our wisdom and self-esteem,
then get terrified to express our true selves and survive.
Why kill yourself yet you can believe in yourself and thrive?

Saturday, 29 October 2016

A glitch in the system

I toss and turn when I'm half dead-fast asleep,
It must be that my soul needs to escape my body
where I'm limited and fear reality will soon intercept-
my subconscious and ruin serendipity in dream state.
For when I wake, my mind won't let me rest in peace,
It dispatches messages to my subconscious making me unconscious,
as I try to fathom contradictions that destitute me of hope,
I've been tuned to distinguish right from wrong-
often some rights seem wrong and some wrongs seem right.
The glitch in the system bothers me I'm appalled.
I once was innocent back when I was ignorant,
until my ignorance boomeranged against me,
then knowing things became my reason to live.
I now know too much, a lot of which I wish,
I could unlearn, re-spool and store away.
yet too much isn't enough, I need more than more,
I yearn for infinity I'm insatiable, I'm a back hole,
I'm limitless yet seem to retain less and less,
more reason for me to stress, I'm a time bomb ,
and once I explode I'll limbo into oblivion.

Thursday, 27 October 2016

Who am I?

I heard some guys by the street some day-
gossiping with nothing good to say,
"Bwe bwo obwana obuta sasula rent,
(those are the kids that don't pay rent)
Obuzukuka nebusanga emere ku meeza"
that wake up to food on their table)
I knew they were talking about me,
I brushed it off and hoofed back home,
Of course to where I pay no rent and clown
Ayeh do they know me or have a notion of me?
Drawn from clothes and scents wafting off me;
perfumes and clothes bought by my family.
I'm thankful Lord, you gives me the best and-
you have continued to give me in-debt
but only you know the story chest deep.

They don't know that I too weep,
they don't know I too am hunger whipped-
on these streets where it's hard to achieve a feat.
I don't blame them, not one bit!
For they can't see beyond this skin,
to discover the misery of an "educated fool"
even if they could, they have no time for me,
they don't know I walk streets and get sore feet,
sometimes it's cause luxury got the best of me
other times it's cause I don't have a coin that fits
in these pockets that due to my background are "deep.".

Sometimes I curse and call them hopeless sheep,
for pointing fingers to those equally weak.
Often I refrain 'cause it's better than to maim.

So when I have no food or transport to get home
I'm a man my ego wore me and it fits,I didn't ask for it;
besides, paps would say, "get off your feet"
and if my mother heard the stories she'd feel pity
send me more than I need and my ego would shrink.
I don't have it figured out like they think,
all I want is a big brother if dad's too busy,
to guide, teach, and lay a foundation for me
and won't be taken away like my sisters
by men that  please me 'cause it's order of the day,
"nati omuko wasiima, Enzigi zomugulu zegula omwami naalya."
(If the brother in law is pleased, Heaven's gates are open for the husband to feast)
Ayeh I too like many need some long overdue advice,
rather than preach and speak to a house of chairs,
that does not fathom the emotions I fight,

All I want is genuine minute to be asked,
"how are you? No seriously, how are you?"
I swear I'll tell you how I sometimes feel queer,
but I've been celibate too long the devil has started
whispering shit in my itsy bitsy ears,
he wants me to have my buns sans yogurt
yet I like to dunk my flavoured donuts,
that I used to prefer small for some reason
but now I'm grown, A true soul is all I need.
I was taught that it's not about the size
of the sausage nor the mouth it feeds,
It is just that some people are insatiable,
and like to have more than they can eat!
All I want, like everybody else is to be understood
for one to take time to look under the hood;
I know that most of us aren't mechanics
but it doesn't take much to see that an engine
is leaking and the system is down and out run.

All I want is for one to look at the nothingness
the nothingness that is me, beyond the home i'm tenant in,
my beautiful family, the clothes, the visiting money
the material things don't make me who I am,
the only thing in there that I call my own is my family,
beyond this, I am in a lay man's language; lucky