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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Wednesday, 25 December 2013

This Christmas

This Christmas, yah Allah,
I ask of you, to bless us with new heroes.
for many of our righteous fall daily.
having fought the good fight for us,
but you called them to join you early;
nonetheless, we are still pushing forth,
striving not to drown out here in the deep,
where many confine and asphyxiate us.
So many humans as you know aren't fed,
and chances are some more will not make it,
Ayeh, I beg to defer; some are in wellness-
for they have tried, and keep on trying,
but it is only by your hand that we can be fed.

So dear lord in this time of togetherness,
amid frost bite cold that calls for unity.
May your new heroes, despite our troubles-
fill big shoes and live to see many years.
The kind of years lived by our forefathers
and hopefully many generations of good,
filled with earnest and genuine youth.
serving one another and respecting elders.

May the cold bring with it tremendous joy;
and a need to be together and stand as one.
may the lonely meet lasting company,
for dire times of misery brought agony.
May there be good health and wealth,
and may the positive change of another,
reciprocate three-folds unto others.
May we learn to love, and love to love
for it is what keeps us tied to you.

A heart that authors, offers.

A heart that authors, offers.

May I offer this piece,
as a form of peace for I am meek.
I can barely draw a sword on guard,
ayeh this pen, my only possession;
is mightier than the sword.

May I offer these characters,
that I strive to put into words to
give character and convey a message
that as you perceive while you read,
gives reason for you to heed,
and change character for better.

May I offer you these words,
that I stand by and ward,
for they get me going and writing
special words to the wise like;
"words of slander kept down under,
a worth more than the pain caused
from foul words spoken out loud."

May I offer these metaphors,
in form of words to full-fill
wishful endeavours which are;
to convince you, that you are;
as beautiful as the reflection-
of twinkling lights over still water;
perfect with no need to alter.

May I offer you
my form of authortory,
for its all I have.

The battlefield

The battlefield.

Words; were drawn-
like kenshi swords.
uncouthly uttered.
Nuts got crashed;
Ego's punctured..
premises for bargain;
cancelled, then, "FIRE!"
They struck me-
with a back hand,
and bashed me with firm fists.
Endless sobs.
Blood spilled all over the floor,
'At least I died for the truth;'
a cause, I suppose.

The truth is like a sword,
sharp with honesty,
hard to come like modesty.
when drawn to strike;
it wields no empathy;
Ayeh, why when spoken,
does it cut deep and leave one broken?

Yet as a sword, it is blunt.
and when unspoken, it will haunt.
the mind of its holder that longs to be blunt.
Albeit fears to utter and go over board.

Colour me red if you must;
Ayeh, I shall speak the truth as a form of trust.

If you like gory pieces check out The meadow

Heart break hotel.

Heart break hotel.

There is a thin between sanity and insanity.
Breaking the barrier back to sanity is always tough,
but belief in God picks you up for his your ultimate love;
the one that comes first.

It was an ordinary day out in the tropics ayeh the sun burnt brighter than usual, I could almost smell my hair burn from the heat waves. With nothing to do, as we sat out in the sun with the boys joking and laughing over high school days, we decided to step out and go for a swim. We went out to Munyonyo resort, the only place then with an Olympic size pool, which was about to send me diving into a jackpot.
We got there at about four and headed straight to the pool side. Usually I don't like to swim right away, I like to have the boys take their awkward jumps into the pool, then I follow in with a few stretches and a silent dive like some sort of Michael Phelps.
This time, when they were all done, I had just got out of the shower, I forgot to do the stretches, I came in running and dived into the pool. I didn't take note of who was in my way, so when I dived, I collided with someone that was doing submarine across the pool.
My head hit her legs, so I lost focus for a short while. When I managed to pull up and out of the pool,
The boys were cracking because they saw it coming and it was a clear moment of joy for their asses to laugh off, those nut heads. karma is a bitch huh?
I hadn't yet seen the person I had bumped into, but she came out of the pool and walked up to me and asked if she could help.She apologised for my blunder, she was an amicable stranger.
I cleared the air and told her it was all my fault, so she smacked my head and told me that was for failing to look where I was headed. Then she rubbed at it some more.
"ouch!" I cried.
"Don't be such a big baby.." she said.
So I held her hand and turned to look at her, I stuttered for a moment, she was beautiful. Dressed in a fine bikini, with a body to kill for. Then I told her,
"hey, your not the one that got hit on the head."
She laughed and asked me to turn so she could rub it before it could swell.
I didn't get back into the pool, I never do anyway. I always get the cold jitters once I'm out. So I left them freezing in there as I enjoyed warm company...
It felt like a beautiful last laugh.

The day ended when we had checked in,
the moon settled in slowly,
the texts went back and forth,
I had finally met a new person.
and it wasn't from school like always.
Her name was Caslanthia,
days later the woman of my dreams;
the woman that kept me sane.

I didn't believe much in love,
but her love was convincing.
It got us dining in several places,
encroaching each other's spaces.
getting wasted and imbibed in loves drug,
we were hooked, like slaves on cuffs.
Only we never sought freedom,
it lived with us.

We ate off the fruit,
of course it tasted like the most beautiful thing in the world.
We cuddled and flickered eyelashes over our faces.
called ourselves names; cookie is what she called me,
It was fitting because she always liked to take a bite off me.
I called her cherry, because she was beautiful and tasted like one.
and I always loved it when she wore red lipstick,
it made her look like my model, a heaven sent model,
cat walking with her fine wings, only for me.

This one day she called me up early in the morning and said to me,
"cookie, I'm sorry, but I have just been told that I will be leaving the country soon."

It was heart breaking news,
I stuttered for a moment,
it did not matter how many days she was left with,
the fact that she was leaving soon is what broke me.
She was about to check out and leave me the bill,
as if that wasn't enough, I could barely deal with thoughts
of 'what could have been? would she ever come back?'
The thoughts burdened my mind, as they levitated,
they made fall deep into a black hole.
All the light in my world started to fade out,
I started sailing from sanity to insanity,
and I took a sharp blade like road to get there.
I was deeply cut, I sobbed for many days,
Ignored her and worsened her days.
We had hit turmoil, with no oil-
to lubricate and smooth out our great fall.


I was never a firm believer in God,
Something about religion always felt odd.
The contradictions, the strange expeditions.
It was all too much to take in.
She was a Muslim with a difference,
she would blow up if your pissed her off,
but was truly never the type to engage in dispute,
always as peaceful as a peahen,
and only believed in the oneness of Allah.
Allah was her light and shining armour; her first love,
she served him daily, and I came second.

A month before she left, she asked me for a favour, she asked me to try and seek Him.
She asked me to pray, believe and hope that one day we would get back together.
It all seemed highly unlikely, she wanted me to put my faith in this man,
I could not feel or reach. It all sounded like a gamble, driving me further into insanity.

But I did, I did what she asked. I could not say no to her, so I tried, I tired as hard as I could.
The first few days were confusing, so much to learn, so much to take in with my lack of faith.
I was a new born in the world of religion, but she held my hand and helped me travel that road.
Nothing had ever felt as superior as the love I had for her, although with the understanding of Allah and his ways, I grew a fondness, I learnt to trust, I learnt that there will always be bad days, I learnt that with falls came greater heights and all it took was belief.
I was eased at that point, somewhat convinced that one day we would hold hands again, that one day our paths would cross again as we had desired, so I set her free and she flew away when her time came.

I cried myself to sleep several nights after that. My friends did not understand what I had become.
I was humbled by change, more spiritual, I guess you could say blessed.
In my tears I spoke much to Allah, I cursed him for taking her away, for making my days lonesome and short of lustre, but He was patient with me, He waited for my numb heart to settle down.


Months passed as we communicated everyday on phone, it had become expensive and unbearable. But we struggled through it. I was more in touch with Allah than I was with her, I had grown into a new relationship, one which cost me nothing but belief and faith. I talked to Allah more than I did her, and it was so easy going about life after I decided to take that path. I knew he would never let me down, even if I hit a slump, I knew he would pick me up from it. So He tested me...

It was Saturday afternoon, I had just gone back home from the mosque when her father called. Usually when he would call, he was always asking me how she was doing or inviting me over to his place. This time round, it was a 666 phone-call, a call from the angel of death.
"Caslanthia has been announced dead," he said.
He apologised then hang up.
My phone dropped from my hands, my knees grew weary and I collapsed.
Tears run down my eyes and hit the floor, my mind paced and made me lose control.
That day I did nothing more, I did not even pray. I stayed in bed all day.
Later that evening a phone call from her mother came in.
"Hello,"  She had soft voice.
"How are you, Aldrige?"
"Probably not worse than you are, ayeh am barely hanging on."
"Things will get better. Come by tomorrow, we will be sending her off."
She could barely speak the words.
"I'm sorry ma'am."
"Don't be, this is what life is. thank you for being there for her. I hope to see you tomorrow."
"I will definitely be there, take care, ma'am."
"You too, darling."
In just one year, my life had managed to take a trip from sanity to insanity, back to sanity and another trip back down the hell fire of insanity.
The line was surely thin. But this time insanity seemed to have claimed a win.
Her body flew in the next day after her mother had called me and they waited no longer. They got to the burial arrangements that evening.
I could not imagine what her family was going through. So as I set off from home that day, I asked Allah to give me the strength and deliverance I needed.
My tears had dried out so I was firm when I got there. The session was long and filled with so many sobs, it was a sad day. Her father asked me to deliver her eulogy and I had come prepared to say something besides that. So it was an honour.

"I don't know where to start from honestly, they's so much to say, I shall try to sum it up.
Meeting Caslanthia was an accident I thank Allah for everyday.
For before that day, I would have never known how Allah mysteriously works.
I bumped into her as I dived into a pool. I caused the accident because of my clumsiness but she walked up to me and helped me either way. From that moment on, I knew she had heart of gold and her soul purpose for life was to glitter the world with her warm embrace.
I believe even if you barely knew her on a personal level, she touched you somehow. ayeh if she wronged you, I ask on her behalf for you to forgive her. As none of us is perfect.
I could stand here and tell you about all the good she has brought unto me, but I won't for my story is one that speaks volumes of her.
Before I leave I would like to thank Cookie for introducing me to Allah, she gave me a path way, a new life to an endless relationship. One that might not be perfect because of my mishaps but one that brought me here and gave me the courage to send her off with peace.
I will forever love her and I know she will wind up in the right place. Aslaam alaiekum."
When I walked of the podium in front of a large crowd that had gathered to send her off, I felt a lift on my body, I felt sanity lift my light body. I was no more burdened by her death, I had managed to send her off in peace and my heart had grown into ease; although, I would have never made it out of that point if it was not for my belief in Allah. So I thank Caslanthia, she was surely my heaven sent angel.

As I checked out of heartbreak hotel from the podium, I tripped on the stairs, landing on a person that was besides them. When I rose from the ground to dust my self off , I looked up to the lady that I had knocked once again because of my clumsiness and said to myself,
"Allah surely does work in a mysterious way."

Yeh ssebo!

Yeh ssebo!

You want another term?
Yeh Sebo!
You want another rap?
Yes Sevo!
M7 is the best sports man on the planet.
he beats even our very own golola.

Its been many years,
many years of that yellow flag,
holding us by our mouths in gag,
yet our peace is slowly running away like a stag.

Red top soldiers now,
bring us to tears with tear gas.
strikes now mark the start of semesters,
prices have become absurd and sinister.
sorrow is rising like the morning sun,
as screams of the innocent fill the air-
like the scent of dead dogs.

But there we stand,
holding our peace signs up,
in arms with a man,
who started this with gun in hand.
back when screams of pain had been mastered,
caused by the tyranny of our old masters.

At least he skewed us into an alter,
and married us with an alternative of hope.
ayeh many years down the road,
I wonder if his acts will force him to hide,
or will he wrap his act with another rap?

This is what's happening in our Concrete Jungle...
It makes me wonder, Where's the happy in Independence? 



I never waved you goodbye,
I hope heaven greats you with a hello.
I never wanted to cry,
ayeh you left me all alone in sorrow.
Now my heart is 'really' hollow,
and my mind keeps playing our memories,
yet there's no chance for tomorrow.

I gave you the lift you needed,
all the attention you required, I heeded.
Ayeh, life was being sucked out of you as you pleaded.
You pleaded to pass on just so you could rest,
from the pins and needles that kept your heart beating.
ayeh all those earthly things couldn't keep you from leaving.
They only tortured you and made you want to walk the flat line.
And when the time came,
you walked on it then jumped off of it and into deaths' hands,
and your beep on the radar of earth stopped lighting.
It was frightening,
I was not even there to hold your hand in the darkness,
I was out in the sun, miles away trying to harvest.

Now, as thoughts of you endlessly build,
I do thank God he laid you to rest,
for the pain you went through-
was unimaginable and hard to fathom,
you surely do deserve stardom.
I hope that wherever you are,
sparkling like a star.
you are doing it effortlessly,
for you deserve to rest in peace.

Saturday, 7 December 2013

To be, or not be?

To be, or not to be?

The man of your dreams,
who loves to watch you slumber,
by your side will never grow sombre,
and treats you like a treasure,
a man who loves ye, yet

Only plays on your mind ;
dances to your endless desire,
allures you to a dependent empire,
and marries your body in birth attire;
the man of your dreams.

Your ordinary jay walker
who ambushes you on heaven's pathway.
where the roads lead to many ways,
Some joyous, some monotonous, some fray,
where we can praise and pray all day.

But I am no beautiful jay,
I'm a growling lion; prideful,
a stereo typed man; deceitful,
and a conceited fool!
I'm only a sweet-talker.

The man that holds your hand,
is amicable and doesn't treat you perverse,
treasures you like a sacred psalm verse,
and treats all your wants and needs like a nurse;
a man sent to be your slave.

Or the man that will never cave,
a man of kingly stature,
elegant, prim, and dapper in nature
one that's treasured and loves to pleasure,
a man sent by God's hand.

To be the captain of your ship,
ready to make and take decisions,
to lead you into loves deep sea with his vision,
rowing you back and forth to satisfaction;
a man that will get you there..

Yet just another jack sparrow spare.
One that is lazy and acts like a bum;
dependent to the rivers of beer and rum,
drawing out of him series of harm,
halting his chances to captain ship.

To be your florist,
one that plants seed as he deflowers,
nips the bud of the worries that make you cower
and lives up to his words till the last hour;
A man for you, a man to stand by you.

Or the man that can take care of your farm for you;
ploughs to your every need,
fumigates your worries with heed,
then with his hoe, plants a seed;
eventually, running away like a tourist.

To be the man that won't lie,
The one that speaks truth as a whole,
despite the fact that it might break a soul.
one that respects your principles above all,
even if it’s going to break him in.

Yet he that lies easily draws you in;
speaks part truths and sails through,
avoids breaking soul so you won't be blue,
as he cuts his cakes and cheats on you,
Tells plenty more lies get him by.

To be the man that hates you,
treats you like shit and beats you,
comes home late and mistreats you,
demands for food yet never makes you stew,
never holds your hand, and always goes like eeww.

Or the man that actually loves you,
cares for you and treats you like a princess,
gives you everlasting love that's priceless,
never selfish and never has a mistress.
but sadly you claim he can't do you.

To be the man that loves you from a-far,
a man that no matter what will never waver,
a man that calls you all night as you prefer,
a man that gives you time unlike your lover,
yet deep down, his another boy,

always seeking out love with ploy,
masking his face with your preference,
calling you names like it makes a difference,
playing the game no matter the distance;
a man that surely loves you from a-far.

To be the man that loves you,
one that has always stood abreast,
and like the usual ogled at your peeping chest,
a man right for you but you're still in quest
so you leave him with the title “friend.”

Toying with him like a current trend.
Yet in the places you find pleasure,
they only long to stick a finger,
and coupe de grace on you like a dying soldier,
Then you turn to your saviour who no longer loves you.

To be your lawfully wedded husband.
one that loves you even more in ill condition,
one that will stay true even in a jobless situation,
one that makes loving you his soul mission.
and respects the culture of the ring,

Yet you, his wife, play unfair in the ring.
cheat when opportunity gives you chance,
break him down with stress and kill his stance,
marry his money and leave him in an instance,
closing the door to a love so grand.

To be, or not to be?
That is my question,
yet still the answer goes unmentioned

To be, or not be?

Thursday, 5 December 2013

Wonders on the seven heavens.

Wonders on the seven heavens.

Wali watyah?
Does the first of them seat at pinnacle?
Do its great people stare at you much?
You must be like the first time;
an everlasting moment,
one you would miss it if you blinked.
Maybe they are selfless and wise,
they studied your art, studied the stars,
hence they deserve to live among the stars.
Or maybe they mastered the art of Buddhism,
peace; your nature. I wonder,
how do they move about?
Do they fly, teleport, levitate,
or gallop over clouds on chariots?

Ate a'waiirirrah...?
Do they see you?
Do they play with the Angels?
Are they as godly as ye?
Do they take in your everlasting beauty?
But beauty does not suite thee,
you are beyond diamonds and roses.
you're marvel and stunning awe;
love-  which is the mother of all.
So they must be loving people.
mothers, seekers, believers
No one loves like these do,
and to you they do stay true.

Ate a'waiirirrah...?
Are the trees as beautiful?
Does the wind whisper sweet songs
as it lashes over colourful leaves?
Does the sun shine just as fine?
Or is it a matter of choice that they voice?
The people must be religious,
hearts full of prayer, so pious.
but failed to deal with common sense,
Yet a heart that offers deals with a sixth sense.
and as they prayed, they never thanked but craved,
but they did get to their knees so you handed them keys.

Ate a'waiirirrah...?
What is it like in their heaven?
Their souls must be amicable,
they must be innocent and ignorant.
Do they dwell among the animals?
Innocent animals that only long to live.
so they must dwell humbly  together,
for living is their common trait.
This place must be ever green,
with no reason for one to feel green;
for they live seamlessly with nature.

Ate a'waiirirrah...?
Do they live like those in an empire?
Within great wall boundaries,
lead by robin hoods as their providers,
in a realm of their own confines
of cowardice, selfishness and fear;
fear to stand for what is right,
but maybe their good does outweigh their bad.
It must hold those that do bad for good,
Heaven's robin hoods,
stealing the kings jewellery,
and giving it to the needy.
the righteous; yet not so right.

Ate a'waiirirrah...?
Is this where your angel was banished to?
Mr Lucifer, the miscreant.
The child of ye who failed to learn
to stay away from the hot flames.
The host of hell games.
This must be where the bad dwell,
with their tummies absurdly swell,
filled with grid and tons of need.
The grounds they walk must be hot as hell,
the trees in dormancy and their earth ashes.
the oceans must be lit like matches,
the meadows of grass must be molten lava,
the clouds must be gloomy and grey,
the people must yell and scream with so much to say.
Its no wonder the heavens that surround this,
are prone to flames and dark ways.

Wano awsemba ndidi wo,
This is where you put me to live,
where you have tested many generations,
where you have proved your kindness and patience.
where your love has stood the test of time-
despite the evil and grime,
from us the replicas of your image,
who have decided to stain it and cause you pain.
You have blessed us with plentiful milk and honey,
and trees nourished with fruit,
but we have decide to refine them as money.
We live in beautiful and sunny heaven,
nourished by the dwindling rains;
a beautiful place, with beautiful people,
but some with dark hearts;
hearts filled with greed,
and yearning for power; high power,
the kind we can't even sustain but vainly,
seek it to run through their veins.
we make it who we are,
vandalising your image.
How much longer will we ruin,
this world yet it is our heaven?



I am a child of Afri-Ca,

We are “black.”
the mightiest of the mighty.
we bare a skin
which is far less fair but rare-
African Class #Conjolted Poetry
African Klass
like a black rose.
It's no wonder those who stare,
tend to become feisty,
for the skin we bare is precious,

We have been deemed
as descendants of the cursed,
yet he who deems-
only seeks to be endorsed,
hence forth claiming superiority,
and a legacy of white supremacy.

Do we not know equality?
Do we not have shame like Shem?
They claim to be blessed but only-
seek to tarnish our image like Ham.
and they call us the cursed breed,

Verily, we are a descendants of the lash,
children of the whispers of misery...
I may know nothing of being treated harsh,
but I-we are now victims of mental slavery.

Where the battle to be the superior race continues,
the gun play fired using HD propaganda as an avenue.
and still, the Caucasian is portrayed of preference,
as "Ham's descendants" are driven into cultural decadence.

A mind play of sorts,
where our ethnicity ends up-
stabbed by mental swords.
for your mind dwells in fear,
making you feel inferior.

Someone called it the human race,
surely it is because we are all striving to be the best.
The lord, in the presence of darkness brought light,
so if it be a race, we came first...

Ayeh, in all our hearts is a vast light,
a light of oneness and togetherness;
a spiritual light governed by peace
yet constantly we battle, why?

If you liked this check out battle of a decaying culture and I's free

Something about me...

My name is Balunywa Ibrahim, son to Juma Waswa Balunywa and a beautiful lady named kifuko Florence.
I am, the sixth of ten children under the big family tree and, the fourth and last under my mother's home where I live.
I grew up in a household with many kids, my paps must have had a blast back then- LOL. If he saw this I wonder what he would say. Anyway, from him, I have learnt a lot but one thing I'd like to point out is that everything in life has a price. He surely has paid his price on raising all his kids. He managed to pay trips for us to see the world, and he gave us all we wanted.
You never understand the life of a an occupied parent till you become one or grow up. So at some point of life, I had this invisible grudge towards him until I bridged the gap and saw life as it actually is. A mystery of sorts. only those who long to find answers unveil it's beauty.
My father aroused emotions I did not like, I wrote about him, good and bad. The last piece I did on him was the one where I had reached a point of understanding. He is a quite man that loves give his all in whatever he engages in. I surely my father's son.

I am soft spoken, something I came to accept and acknowledge recently. That doesn't mean I can't play some hard ball if you try to start a war round the D. :)
I love basketball, I'm passionate about sports because it teaches many life lessons. How to share, how treat people, how to teach others to do things, how to pass on knowledge, how to love and so much more.
I used to swim- partially for my school team, but I hate coming out of the pool shivering like a wet cat, which is ironic, because I LOVE the cold. Okay, not the cold, COLD. Just the cold (a slight chill). I think it gives reason to look dapper and you know, make love.
 If you piss me off, I might cry. Just like I said, I'm soft, I hate that about me; a grown man crying, even telling you is hard. Ayeh, I recently took a much bolder approach to life. I tied my curtains in a knot, so even in the dark, you can see what's within this home.

I love the piano. The first time I played it I was really young; although, I managed to teach my self the melody to "my heart will go on" (I used to call the song "titanic"). Which until now, I can play, even on my keyboard. When I bought my keyboard, I felt like I had started piecing together life's puzzle. Everyone thought I was crazy for buying it, but hey! I don't know what life would be without it. There's just something serene about music. My plan is to write music that will push the youth in my country towards a sensible and educative growth. This is because music is influential over there and I would not mind doing something I love to do to help others.

I love to cook. I have this belief, if your going to have a meal, have a good meal. I'm not the best cook, I'm just passionate so I always try to do my best in the kitchen.

I'm a Muslim by practice and medium, I'm spiritual at heart, and mindful in reasoning. I believe in God and like to believe I'm a peaceful person. I hate arguments, I dislike rowdiness, I do my best not to indulge.

I love to learn, we live to learn don't we? So am the kind of person that loves to listen to what people say. Everyone has something to say, so I lend an ear to those that need it. You could say am a good listener, the truth is I don't talk much. I know people that hate me because of that ayeh those who understand me hand me a pen and paper, we could chat all day after that.
I started to write a whole lot in 2012, I think. Back in school, I always walked around with a notebook, I don't remember what it was for though, bad memories I guess. So they must be shut out.
I'v always hated school, not more than my sister Amina (seventh born). She was the master at dodging school. Taught me all the tricks in that unwritten book.  So anyway, my academics hasn't always been that great, it was always just, there.  Even my English and literature. Too mediocre. I have spelling issues, grammar issues and have trouble with concentrating. But my mother me pushed me, and here I am, writing a brief bio.
Writing has taught me a whole lot. I have gained confidence because of it. Im much more expressive, I can now play better basketball, I know that's crazy, but I  always messed up on things I would do perfectly with my team mates in practice when it was time for matches with people watching. Writing taught me that a little confidence can take you far. So I thank God for writing, and my mother- my number one fan. I am not much of a bomb-ass writer; ayeh, I'm taking that path...

Love, live, life.

I's free

I's free,
I's finally free
I's free to be a nigga.
I's free to sag my pants,
I's free to wear my chain,
I's free to live in vain,
despite the invisible chain
holding back my reign;
I's free..

Black for disaster
black for evil,
black for poverty,
black for outcasts,
black I's face.
black I's race,
colour me a disgrace,
but I'm filled with his grace.

I's free to trek round in circles struggling for a revolution,
following black propaganda told in old black tales-
yet our black trails should entail and detail the need for change.
Where's the light to torch the way on this dark path?
When's the white 'knight' going to save us from our black drama?

So many lynched and villages pillaged,
so many naive and deceived by HD references,
so many times we've been robbed of privileges.
Our minds are fearful, our hearts our hopeless,
our spirits are weak we only strive for existence.
How much further can we tarnish our own bravado?
Hasn't the world vandalised it long enough?

I's free,
I's finally free
I's free to be a nigga.
I's free to sag my pants,
I's free to wear my chain,
I's free to live in vain,
despite the invisible chain
holding back my reign;
I's free..

I's free to rely on repentance,
for they say I am of a cursed race,
Yet I did not shame Noah,
I did not eat the fruit,
I did not bash stone unto Abel,
neither did I sin in Gomorrah,
nor oppress fellow man like pharaoh
Maybe my sins amass to those above,
maybe I'm a mirror image of sin,
so I must repent for what has been,
and what is being, and what will be.

Much is of mystery about this human race,
but thus far it has reached an awful place.
They say it started from nothing; "darkness;",
then a lustrous light went bang! It was let to 'be...'
Ayeh, is this how life was meant to be?
Where's happy in independence?

Did you know that Cleopatra is of Greek decent?
Click here to find out some more interesting insights

Life without change.

Life without change.

Life without change is like the ocean without the sea;
how would we know we are different yet one in the same?
Life without change is like sadness without hope,
how would we pull out if there was no rope?
Life without change is like day without night,
would there be reason for us to rest our eyes?
Life without change is like a ball without a goal,
would there be a hoop for one to throw change into?
Life without change is like a transaction with a balance,
would you walk out of the shop without your change?
Life without change is like a woman that can't give birth,
where would the next generation be conceived?

Life without change is
a beach with no sand,
a head-start with no start,
a beginning without an after,
a pathway with no exit,
a garden without yield-
for even in the driest of lands,
sprouts of cactus are bound.
Life without change is books without trees;
jeez! we'd have never reached the 21st century,
life would be dull, boring, and stagnant.
Change spices up things, it leads to growth,
life without change would surely be strange.

I was beat!

The alarm sets me off,
I crawl out of bed-
hit the lavatory to shake it up.
Handled, dangled, and strangled-
I'm milked out.
I wash my hands, brush my teeth,
hit the shower, then try to comb my hair.
I manage through the pain and despair-
three hours later, I am set to go.
Minutes later, my hair's all messed up,
and I'm thinking, 'why did I even try?'
but I move on for I've got to start-
climbing the ladder of success. 

I start moving by taking out my pen,
I'm a writer, so I start to scribble.
The words juggle in my mind-
as I kick at them and dribble;
it's a beautiful feeling. I'm doing great.
Once I'm done, It feels like a good job,
I feel like I'm on a roll,
everyone around thinks wow,
well at least some of them,
others tell rainbow coated lies.
I have indeed done a good job,
unlike most, I've tried-
It's credible, worth applause.
I have succeeded at doing,
and the world has heeded.
Most never pick up their tools.
The problem is, falling for the hype.
once you earn praise, you feel conceited,
yet your work needs appraisal,
you need to tweak underlying flaws,
it's no wonder the doors,
leading to success won't budge.
I once felt like I had made it,
but I hadn't pushed hard enough
I had succeeded; ayeh, not quite.
So I started to feel beat!
This happened almost everyday...

You know,
maybe success should't be a matter of distress,
maybe we shouldn't be running it like a race,
maybe it passes us by as we are being insatiable
maybe it lasts momentarily like pressed clothes,
and gets creased when its beauty has been seen...

The fact of the matter is...
We all struggle daily,
to straighten out our path to success,
Some people get it right,
most try but don't do it right,
others rock creased clothes,
at the end of the day it depends,
on how you feel about it or look at it.

One last thing,
it's important to know,
you're not alone in the struggle,
and that you shouldn't let go.
Ayeh you should learn to look close,
success is everywhere,
it's often easy to miss it.
It's like that thing that's right there;
Ayeh, you're busy looking elsewhere.


We r in the 21st century,
whr phonz r our new brains,
n everythn's fst n ezy 2 acces,
n if it's nt proc'st we prot'st,

So we eat fast fuds,
n driv fast cars.
We buy procs'd guds,
whine 'bout batry bars.

We cn fly as fa as mars,
bt blu tck all our flaws.
we desire quick cash
so mny opt 2 brek laws.

We fnd it all on hummingbird,
n fnd lve wth a click n search.
We wrk daily 4 a beta 2morow,
n leave the "last day" 4 church

Whyl week days r such a drag,
we striv to figur thngs out-
hukd 2 our pc's lyk drugs,
wonderin wtf lyf's 'bout...

Weeknds swish by us lyk stags.
thy cme in quik n say thy'll BRB,
then we're bck 2 wak lyk M.I.B.
ROTFL, 'coz we cn't b'lev it's Monday;

ur day 2 pay 4 dues you don't owe,
it's no wonder currency big huts,
conspia, contrl, bill n expl8 us-
4 ey revel in our anxiousness,

Yt hu of us can ad an hour-
2 our ungr8ful span of life?
we're all cowards in haste,
afraid of 2moro n bein laid 2 rest.

Tomorrow isn't garuanteed and today is a test,
so make your day count, don't just count it,
for our days are numbered it's no wonder-
they are as brief and concise as acronyms

Is beauty love's prerequisite?

Is beauty love's prerequisite?

Beauty is usually, 

a prerequisite to love,
Where as assumed, 
one must suite your taste
in the threads of beauty-
that's why they say;
beauty lays-
in the eyes of the beholder.

Beauty's an ignition-
it jump starts a process.
When emotions are fuelled,
by beauty's striking nature-
infatuation is kicked in,
then the mind picks up traits,
that it has grown fond of,
and starts revving the heart.  


Do it yourself, maahn...

Before I pondered I always used to be bothered
when my mother would call me over and over,
to take away a cup I had left on the table,
or a plate I had left hanging round in the sink.

Certain things give you a sluggish attitude,
You start to dream of one day doing them,
instead of getting off your feet to do them
So it was a wake up call to heed to the situation.

If she had bailed and let me have my way,
I'd have ended up being selfish and lazy,
I'd not know the best way for things to be done,
and as they say, If you want it done right,

Do it yourself, mahn.

Wednesday, 30 October 2013

Time heals all wounds

Time heals all wounds

When I see shaded leaves,
lounging among strands of grass,
as autumn unhooks under its sleeves,
when harsh winter has come to pass,

and grass dappled by lurid sun,
when summer hastes into the tropics, 
where child's’play in the spells is no more fun-
since the rains are no more; a trending topic.

Then of time I do question wounds...
For as winter grows bitter spreading its tendency
branches full of plumage fall to the ground,
and the trees face harsh dormancy, 

and that which bares the harsh test of time,
is healed and placed back in to prime. 

Sweet life

Sweet life

Oh sweet life, 
I sought enlightenment so I looked close, 
and I captured all your beauty and glory...  
A slow shutter speed life is what many chose-
so many avow you as somewhat gory.

With visions blurred there's little one can see.
It's easy to miss oaks and owls that embellish nature,
the beautiful creatures that live beneath deep sea,
and rays of light that peek through cloudy aperture.

It's a collage; a story of hope, wonder, and awe,
and if you take a closer look, it reveals majesty. 
It's the kind of craftsmanship you don't pay for,
and such passion can only be credited to the Almighty

Verily we have eyes but do not see.   
It's no wonder we can't fathom who said it should Be!


Picture a tizzy moment,
filled with ever green laughs,
sky blue peace,
cascading tears of joy;
a beautiful scenery,
cut out of a glossy magazine;
a replica of heaven.

Picture a rush of blood,
through hollow veins,
Goose pimples creeping-
throughout your body,
with your heart pacing-
at horse speed,
reaching its climax,
and the moist feeling-
of luscious lips,
enslaving yours....

Picture a deemed situation,
feathered up with-
straight lurid lights,
let your mind zone out
in the venomous cold,
that obliterates joy
 and paints you red in fear...

Picture a situation
of inept capability,
words preying the air,
from blurting lips.
harmful actions,
teasing words,
unfair mind games.

Life unfolds pictures of every kind,
we choose which ones to be still in.

An aroma of memories

An aroma of memories.

The gusty scent that invoked me,
reminded me of your cooking in the kitchen.
Your bright smile that evoked me,
took me places and left me smitten.

Over the way your hands used to float over my body,
It made me feel like I was somebody.
But now, here I am; a soulless body,
left in my ungrateful ways; a nobody.

The light that once guided my way,
I switched off and now, here I am walking in the dark,
triggered with memories by aroma, feeling dismay.
Invoked and evoked yet I once larked in park.

How do you get over your own cause,
when the memories that play back do not pause?

16 bars of Togetherness

I'm hanging by the rail all cool I'm a droplet,
my girl on my left got twins call them couplets,
see when we burn, we burn like matchsticks,
I wine in her diner and I never use chopsticks,
I have a disorder, I need to be de-wormed,
but her i'm Hugh hefner, I can't be dethroned
I could leave her all alone but she's the magic for my tragedy,
So were stuck together, like logic to humanity.
I'm her damn vanity, I heal her like a remedy,
I'm tending to insanity, I need her like my sanity.
and charity, is her to me, she's my little deity,
she prays for me and sucks for free,
she good for me like lemon to tea.
Every time I'm feisty, she reduces my intensity,
she got propensity to handle my huge density;
an HD lover, gives me loving with some clarity.

Perfect distraction.

Perfect distraction.

You're a heaven sent I.M,
sent through my Gmail,
when I catch the IMS

like a mantra in my head,
playing over and over on repeat,
clearing my thoughts, I can't press delete.

You're like a snorkel mask,
without you I'd be drowning,
instead of death I delve in your depth,

I gaze at you every stolen moment,
you embedded my eyes with magnets,
It's no wonder I can't ogle at all else,

As you flatter by like butterfly,
beautifying my wild flower mind,
taking away pollen of stress,

You're a shooting star,
you whisk me away in the moment,
and make me cheat on the full moon.

I can't walk straight by you,
I am always drunk in love,
so I stagger in your presence.

You're like a sweet aroma,
unwrapping my hunger pangs.
diverting my chain of thought,

like a painting on the wall,
marvellously sketched,
I could stare at you till you fall.

For you're like a good read,
the world comes to a stop,
as I revel in all that you reveal.

I barely dream in my sleep,
If so, you're right by me,
counting bleating sheep.

You're that innocent child,
crying out loud, and waking me-
from sleep to check why you weep.

You're that person about to-

Heart to heart

Heart to heart.

Truth is my heart is not as beautiful as a peony.
My troubles loom from the dark like an enemy,
deep down from the depth of my dungeon heart
which I often try to seal closed with a manhole.
The thing is my faults haunt me so do my sorrows
but I spring from my falls and rise like a sparrow,
gold-ish in hue soaring high but ready to fall-
once again and crack to fragments like glass.
I'm fragile so handle me with care so I can share-
what I have on my table as I strive to be amicable,
for if you looked inside my heart you could go blind.
you would also find that this gold is but mere clay;
for it belongs to a mere human, so treat me humane.

I write....

I write so you can read me,
I rhyme so you can hear-
the inner child within me;
singing out loud and clear
with a soul full of fire,
scribbling images on pages
so you can know my desires.

I write so you can read me,
I rhyme so you can hear-
the inner child within me,
going on and on with my gaga,
but the truth is I do have a bubu.
It aches right hear in my heart
and I'm yearning for attention.

I write so you can read me,
I rhyme so you can hear-
the inner child within me;
asking why you don't understand,
pleading for you to take me to safe land.
but all your read is gaga, gugu;
native language for young guru's.

I write so you can read me,
I rhyme so you can hear-
the inner child within me;
pupping all on this paper,
to paint a vivid picture
that will break you into laughter,
yet it's a distress call for disaster.

I write so you can read me,
I rhyme so you can hear-
the inner child within me.
speechless and helpless,
yet restless and hopeless.
desperate for your help,
to restore our innocence

I write so you can read me,
I rhyme so you can hear-
the inner child within me;
nana, dudu, gugu, n gaga
as I'm talking to papa
so if you comprehend,
I shall have no bubu.

Halle berry or hallelujah

Halle berry or hallelujah

Halley berry, Halle berry
Oh you're luscious as berry, 
I'd like to get a taste so I can quit being hungry.
And for what it's worth, 
I'd like to figure you out like math.
So we could equate through disputes, 
Have some conversation switch it up like mixed fruits.
And while we're at it, and I found the x.
How I wonder Mrs berry what would happen next;
Maybe some praising, as you're screaming, "HALLELUJAH!"
While we're going at it, and I'm giving it  to yah. 
But for this, unholy matrimony,
I might never thank God, 
For quenching my thirst in this feast,
Where I play as the beast of deceit,
who then marries you off into sin, 
Then leaves off for the next while your in the bin. 
That's a scene where I win even without a ring. 

Halle berry, Halle berry,
Oh you're so Luscious as berry.
I'd like to have taste so I can quit being hungry, 
I might play out all these scenes but I'd rather; 
Drown in the fresh blood of Allah.
Then figure you out like math, 
Before we set off onto this lawful path,
Where I derive the 'X' that turns out to be 'O';
A cute little diamond ring that puts you in awe.
Then we would have no disputes as we'd have no flaws,
And while we're at it, we could X-O.
How wonder Mrs Berry what would happen next?
Maybe some holy praising as your screaming; "HALLELUJAH,"
And I won't forget the holy water,
for I may want a baby in the new year.
And for this holy matrimony,
I shall thank God, 
For quenching my thirst in this feast,
Where I play as a man in pursuit,
Who marries you off into a lawful suite, 
In a case where I sink in the poison of your love,
and that of the almighty with no need for bail.

My second home.

My second home.
I remember it always felt like a home and not a house,
It was the last feeling I had close to  that till we moved into my mother's home; the melting pot of homes. Besides that,
We moved into my second home right after we shifted from the flat living apartments in Makerere. It must have been an offer to my father since he used to lecture in Makerere University, which was basically right opposite our flats.
I grew up from the flats so my memories there are quite many.
However my second home, a beautiful place. We were neighbours with the then deputy governor of our central Bank of Uganda, basically living in the upper lavish side of our city centre.
My dad was working two jobs then so he was never home, he would come back late evening and I would be the one racing to take off his shoes and coat after a long day's work.
It was always something I felt like I owed him after he gave us all we wanted. It's least I could do.
Our family has always been big. Big, but just right. I had a relationship with everyone in the house. I learnt how to shoot my first hoops from there with my two sisters Tasha and Nana, That's where my swoosh came from, and the dribble from Lukman. He loved And 1, so he had picked up this quick dribble which I replicated and made my own. Although, right now, I'm pretty rusty so I can't testify to all that.

My sister and I always had this strange habit of fighting, I think it was all the wrestling our father got us to watch with him. It wasn't much of father-child thing, but everyone, thanks to paps, is accustomed to watching some wrestling without any hesitation.
The stone cold stunner was my favourite move till the walls of Jericho caught my attention, and my sister was always the test dummy for my runs. It's important to know that she always kicked my ass when we got down to reall business. I wonder why we always did that but it was fun.
Shouting out loud, "do you smeeeeeelllllllll, what the rock is cooking?" then bamn! I'd smack her down onto the sofa. After that it was hammer time for my ass, we would push the table aside and just got at it like mad.
Sweet memories.
The mornings were always beautiful, we would have so much breakfast on the table, with so much variety from cereal to sausages, splash and soda, all those really unhealthy foods, but diving into it was no problem.

School days, oh school days faking an illness was not easy but it happened all the time. Now I know why I hate going to school, it all started from the past, school is just such a drag. My little sister Amina and I always had the silliest of excuses not to go. The rest were always in boarding school so we had the house all to ourselves. So we had like a sequence. Today your sick, tomorrow I'm sick.. It was hilarious when the parents stepped out, the sick puppies turned healthy as a clowns, watching cartoon network, playing video games and for my sister, ripping her many dolls apart was a tradition. I wonder why they bought them?

The holidays, gosh the holidays, after waiting years and years for everyone to get back. It was time for them to come back home. We would go pick them up from school looking all unhealthy and extremely happy that it was time to go home, I hated boarding school. Although I eventually end up there for my secondary; Bad, bad memories.
When everyone was home, we would have birthday celebrations going on, cutting cake, inviting friends over, playing table tennis, dancing games, hide and seek. We were spoilt kids, I guess spoilt at the right time of life. Remembering all this just makes me feel blessed. Surely you never know what you had till it's all gone. I'm just glad I'v realised before it's all gone.
The video games, oh the video game sessions. We had a thousands of games, I basically grew up and learnt so many things from them. The funniest memory then was placing a bet for Solcalibur with my brother Lukman, whoever won the match was supposed to pay the other. The fraud star never, ever paid me. I can't remember how much, but I know he has my cash, lol.

Then the ease dropping on phone calls. My sister Maya was the biggest culprit, but all my sisters and their so called  boyfriend's made us pick up this habit cause their phone calls were always so long, and the person using the phone would always go downstairs to the office for privacy. So the other phone connected to the same line was always calling out for someone to find out what was taking this person so long. But they always caught us as we snickered in the background and they would shout our names, "AMINA, IBRA! Get off the line."
Then the phone bill always had paps sending us to the dog cage as he complained about it; although, we would instantly snitch just to get out of trouble.
Then the point I also joined the phone crew. It was about the time of my primary six to seven. One of my older sisters was going to school with some rich kids so we used to go visit and play games and all that. There was this one girl, I can't say her name but she stayed there and we always stayed on phone for hours talking endlessly, about what, I do not even remember. But she got me hooked to the phone like one of those Ugandan business men, It was crazy.

My first fracture. This happened in this home, I remember this day pretty well.
Our home was seated on the slope of Kololo hill so the whole landscape had a kind of slant going on. The compound was big and had stairs leading to the swings and the lower side of the front yard. It was a really beautiful compound.
This one day, we were going to the swings or just sliding on the rails of the stairs that led us there. My sister, Amina, was on the left side and I slid down on the right. While we were at it trying to see who would reach the bottom first, I got my right hand stuck in between the holes of the railing, I struggled to take it out but it all happened so quick, then I fell over to the right side on my shoulder then, snap! My hand just broke. Everything after that is really blurry but Amina claimed I cried the whole evening till they took me to the hospital. Sleeping after that was tough, the cast was really itchy and hot. The cool part was all the signatures I got on it, at least.
The memories are so many, yet so blurry.

The swing. It was like a meeting place. We would all gather there to talk and do some dangerous jumps off the swing, the thrill was beautiful, explains my love for heights and sky diving.
Home was always beautiful, no matter what the time, no matter what happened, and the last highlight of the house was my grand uncle going mad, it was sad but also funny at a particular point. First off, may his soul rest in eternal peace. He was a great guy, always made us laugh, always had that old age frustration going on. Which to me is really amusing.
So this one day, we had just woken up I believe, the house help was doing her thing in the kitchen preparing breakfast then his wires must have tripped. He started saying uncoordinated things, barking at her, throwing staff all over then the epic moment came into play when he picked up a knife and attempted to swing it towards everyone that tied to reach out to him. It was such a crazy episode, all I remember at the end of it all was him being tied down by the security guard and bringing the.scene to an end

The fun all died away when the owners of the house had come back and wanted their old place back, so we packed our bags and started shifting all over Kampala. We house hopped for a while after that and somehow, we still are.
But my second house, was a home. No doubt about that.

love, love, love

You nauseate me and make me sick.
I have tried to run, I can't hide.
I have tried to learn, but I've failed.

You have broken a part of me,
that I once thought was boneless.
I have healed the fractures,
and somehow I want more.

You often drown me,
but I want to swim within,
the depth of you waters.
Go scuba diving and enjoy the thrill.

I can not do without you,
you're the plan and the way,
and my way is the path less trodden-
to a place where we both belong.
You have sent me off to many people,
in an effort just to get at you,
but you seem to be leading me on;
It makes me want you even more...

It's crazy, people, duck, hide a run from you.
I wish they knew you're not out there to seek them..
I guess you never know what you need till you've felt it,
held it in your hands and known what it's all about...

Love, love, love,
You stupid bastard!

What's this game your playing?
I'll smoke you out if I have to,
when I get you, I'll pay your ransom-
So I can keep you all to myself.

Inclined to loving you

My love for you is crude and can't be refined,
It's one of the purest forms you'll ever find,
but you always think I'm out here lying to you,
as I'm- lying there with you as if  you hired me.
You get all defensive and say it's not like that,
but it's a fact my past scares you, I understand.
the first cut's always deep there on it gets deeper,
you learn to love even more if you are a seeker,
and I've been walking so long my heart is sore,
don't let me walk anymore, I'm flawed and tired,
I need a home to keep this heart 'cause it hurts,
it has loved so much it needs to heal to work,
so it can teach you all the stories it's learned of this art.

Where's the happy in Independence?

(Independent independence.)

I had dreams of of setting you free,
free from the grasp of my fist-
so you could fly past the water,
like a pelican out to grab fish;
opportunity, but I am selfish,
you could say I do not monger-
So I decided to stay a longer.
To lash you with my whips-
hoping to make you stronger.
But I was freeing myself in turn,
hoping along the way I'd foster you
into what you cried for; independence...

They say I tamed you the wrong way,
but what was your way without direction?
A map which you lacked, or so I thought.
but I am selfish; I thought for you,
I whipped you tirelessly like Jesus,
only to push you to the right direction.
Something they say broke you;
although, freed me and aroused-
your yearning for independence.
you sacrificed your pride and now,
like raging bulls you want it back.

You had dreams of being let go,
so you sought independence,
freedom from my infidel reign,
yet I tried to instil in you religion,
to free you from pain and disdain
So you'd restore shalom in your homes,
pride in your lives but you're cowards.
You fear the whip like a herd,
you scream but never to be heard,
for I have locked you up in fear,
I depend on you for my independence...

You say I tamed you the wrong way,
Did I not whip into the right direction?
Aren't you bowing to my every whim?
You fear the whip like a herd,
You scream, but never to be heard.
for I have locked you up in fear,
You have succumb to the lashes,
and crawl in puddles of blood
I am selfish, I gain from refraining you
You're a bunch black cowards,
all you gain from pain is shame.
yet how you still strive through it
to achieve your independence,
is something I must commend.

For you're making your way out of the pit,
hauling me out of your seat.
You are lighting your candles of hope
and standing firm to be independent,
Or so you think- a candle wanes and waxes out.
The truth is I set you off track,
as I had sent you far enough off course.
Now you are wings, I am head-
on this journey of independence,
your wings carry me to freedom.
while you bare the weight of burden,
I have for a long time bestowed onto you-
you are free, broken and independent.
Where is the happy in Independence??

Thursday, 10 October 2013

Tuxedo series; A love charade in poetic grandeur

La tuxedo banquet

“La tuxedo banquet” The invite read
An annual event for the ‘A’ class grade.
We found love in a hopeless place #Conjolted
We found love in a hopeless place

I wiped the mirror of its fog
and behold; a picture perfect dog.
My tux barked classic,
such fine knitting I looked plastic.

I pulled out the sleeves of my shirt,
dusted off my sill shawl lapel,
patted down my trimmed haircut,
and slipped onto my feet, Hermes belle.

I drove down in Porsche,
pulled up close enough for the valet,
then walked up the stairs with exquisite cachet.
Where I met a lady who struck me like touché!

Who was sadly a peonage that played as an usher,
so I handed here my trench coat and decided not to bother.
Sliding it off unveiling my smother,
then I was led to my sit by another.

Besides me was a gorgeous woman in red,
who by the hands of riches must have been breed.

To be continued... Or rather typed out.

The meadow.

Trees lounge within fair gaps-
stout in height and uniquely canopied.
The clouds; a rainbow glow,
peek through the pores of the canopies.

Beneath the trees in the stolen light,
A man docks behind a trunk-
raising gusts of clouds from his smoke pipe,
most of it sinking into his husk.

An eclipse forms up,
turning day to night,
shadows into pitch black silhouette,
and a sniper afar turns on night vision.

Who miles away behind-
a trunk left sleeping by his enemy.
He takes deep breaths to focus,
in strive to take down the tree slayer.

POW! He fires his first cheap shot.
missing by inch, awakening his opponent-
who drops his pipe in shock and flees.
POW! A debatable second shot.

The tirade of massacre commences,
incorporated with hide and seek-
a game for the meek,
or so we might think.

The sniper fires away; POW!
strikes the axe pellet,
tipping the slayer off his flow.
then behind another trunk he ducks low.

He locates his opponent,
ponders his next movement,
then darts towards the flowing stream down south
as the sniper struggle to reload his gun.

Revamped and reloaded,
the sniper sits his gun onto the trunk and pauses,
Patiently, like he were about to take out a deer.
But in his sight, a clear view of nearing fear,

his enemy is no where to be seen.

Off the stream and onto land,
the slayer wastes no time and sneaks forth.
He bates his enemy with calm talk,
drawing him closer for a gory shot .

“Who sent you?”
POW! The sniper fires a flimsy shot in distress,
then struggles to stand and wave his gun in search.
“I come as an ‘earth keeper’.”

“What for, trees or human corpses?”
The sniper fires once again; POW! POW!
then walks into the arms of death,
as he nears the fatal tree trunk.

Where in a split second,
the slayer’s axe swings though his neck
and into the tree were it dug deep-
atop which, the snipers head lay.

Saturday, 31 August 2013

I Skype you

I schemed through Wechat to get your number the other day,
when I dialled it Siri told me you were miles away.

At the end of the day I got to you on Skype;
but couldn't feel you, I could only hear your hype.

Ever since we logged into love and went online,
I've been feeling addicted, I can barely cut the phone line.

I'd love to see you laugh and curve out a smile on your face,
but all I get for sharing meme's is LOL's and a smiley face.

I always want to check up on you to find out whatsapp,
but when you don't feel like chatting all you give me is a thumbs up.

I like to ask you random stuff like you're an encyclopedia,
It often distresses you you say I should ask Quora or Wikipedia.

I miss the days when together we'd chill and hear birds tweet.
it's obvious now all I do when I'm lonely is hash tag and Tweet.

In my moments of joy as I scream "YAHOO!"
I upload them onto Instagram yet I'd rather in real time share them with you.

Lately to cope am always zonked holding tumblur,
if you checked my page you'd find a GIF of me rolling rizla.

It pisses me off like pops ads that a phone is the only connection we've got,
yet I'd like to feel your skin's warmth turns out porn hubs my only jackpot.

I'd surely love to hear you share a heart warming story,
but all I have is these Facebook posts of fake glory.

Loving you is like trying to escape a web, it's such a trial, ask google.
humming bird will tell you our love is viral and we shouldn't be frugal.

So daily despite the cookies on my trail, I'm running from the stereo type,
of that guy who loses sight despite my history being hard to wipe.

For all we're left with is these apps-
To keep us LinkedIn and avoid mishaps.

But no matter the distance; I'll drop box to you for I Skype you.

Check out The friendship request

Thursday, 29 August 2013

Mite-y feelings

I had abandoned myself in a box,
where while I larked amid darkness,
I grew an inferiority.complex..

Afraid to tear the box, such childish madness.
Yet out the box is where I could have roamed,
in a land of so much meaningful opportunity.

But I caved and quivered and felt content,
when I broke out, I looked back and felt inane.
Had I no nonchalance, I'd be insane.

The darkness I found comfort in was a hoax,
It made me believe I was loved yet lost
scampering about chasing elusive love.

She was mine, all mine and I was vain as an Alpha,
Little did I know, my brevity was for a mistress,
who all along had a beautiful chateau in Rome.

where she roamed in debauchery and lounged in Italics,
if only she knew that she had me locked me in her box,.
Maybe she'd have given me a mite of feeling to call my own.


It is what it is and I am what I am;
I'm a star without you I can't be me.

Am blessed to have you like the stars to the sky.
for you keep me in vast space levitating high.

Imagine the skies, reaped and bare,
how void they'd be sans stary glare?

I need you just like you need me.
So that's what it is if we are to be...

We are threads that form clothing
hence fine pieces of crocheting.

Where my stitch without your stitch
is a stint, to this, our conjoined hitch.

A foul equation, a failed combination.
An x without a y, a bad chromosome portion.

It is what it is and we are what we are.
Am a star and you, my dear, are the sky;

Together, we are one! 


Freedom larks around us yet we seek it...

It's an essential man needs to live,
despite this, many of us do not possess it.

Empires have been built-
by ridding man of it since BC.

Man was enslaved and rid of thought,
whipped to work and empires wrought.

Our forefathers, your father, my father.
have long since sought their emancipation.

Our forefathers fought tooth and nail in agony-
to unchain themselves of long standing tyranny.

They got scathed in an effort to pave freedom,
battling in clouds of gun powder and puddles of blood,

All of which has compelled me with genuine reason-
to seek our dome of serenity and freewill.

But the battle of our generation is not of weapons,
It's a fight against the severe spread of delusion.

Pseudo leaders have set loose doom upon the masses,
we are forced to believe we have freedom yet it eludes us.

We dwell within empires built on lies and avarice,
so we sacrifice helpless lambs to earn free-dumb.

Our empires shall collapse over us in times to come,
and we'll lay in the rubble of our hopeless mistakes.

"we are only free, when we have righteously freed doom."


What is man without woman?
      Nay! What is woman without man?

Of man's rib woman was pieced-
      intended for the essence of duality.

Completing the piece of art,
     drawn and painted to form humanity.

Where without woman,
     there would be no hue in human...

     Man has been know...
To throw thee in a piss puddle of inequality.

      Along came the shrill of feminism,
 and now the tables are turning.

      I am pleased to say;
you're nearing yourself to the 'E' in one.

     For all persons that walk this earth-
are meant to live within the confines of equity.

     Albeit, humans take advantage;
hence the battle for equality which is looming.

Yet we should live like dwellers in hives,
where we play equal roles to one-another,
and we all serve one.

A paradox of love

I am humbled by your beauty,
some of your traits are despicable.

You seem to ploy moments of joy,
then alter things and leave me void.

I am smitten by how much care,
yet bare minimum is my share.

I am baffled by your choices,
which you never come around to make.

Your thoughtfulness endears my heart.
despite being the last to cross your mind.

Your love gives me abundant serenity.
I'm burdened  by how often you anger me.

Your complaining is appalling.
I love to hear your mellow voice.

I am lonesome without you,
My days seem much better off bereft.

Our love is inscribed; "Forever."
Yet its epitaph reads; "Inevitable"

Monday, 12 August 2013

Apenyo Derrick

“Eh! Aloo, londa sabuni wo,” Pick up your soap,
the man said to me in our communal bathroom.
The words keep running round in my head,
despite surviving many years of jail time and torment.

My name is Apenyo Derrick.
I hail from a small town called Gulu
A place where rebels used to frequent and frolic;
It was home till I left, a thing I wished I didn't do.

My story starts off with cliche poverty!
I am beat down, broken, and long for money.
Its need gets me off my feet to seek
what makes me conceited yet fills me with deceit.
I start my journey acquainted to a certain group-
recommend by a friend that took a similar route.
Their mission as they called it was “Godly,”
I joined them with ludicrous naivety.

We were moved into the barracks of Luwero.
Our master was demanding like a pharreo.
We prepared daily for what he called, “special missions.”
In oblivion, we worked tooth and nail without a vision.

The mornings were always horrendous,we woke by 4.00 a.m on the dot,
unaccustomed, It was a colossal task to ask;
however, only a few of us were taken to the “spot.”

The “Spot” was in a meadow beyond the bankers.
We did as told, no matter how strange or bonkers.
One morning, just before the break of dawn,
after our routine, we did something out of the norm.
He got us marching as we chanted;
“La ilaha illAllah, Muhammadur Rasulullah.
"La ilaha illAllah, Muhammadur  Rasulullah”
On and on until we halted.Then he barked, “TAKBEER!”

Being atheist, these words were new,
I didn't know how to respond or what to do,
So I froze with a tinge of fear and waited,
one of the soldiers in the back responded;


‘’TAKBEER!” he said,


We went on and on for a few moments,
back and forth like a teacher and students.
Then he briefed us;

 “Today marks your first for duty.
By days end, you will be in Juba,
You'll meet a team called Guerrilla,
Instructions will be given by their commander,

So we set off and hours later we were at vantage point,
where we met the general, who was somewhat quaint.

He instructed us to board a panther bus-
which was Kampala bound on Juba highway,
plant bombs and set them to detonate,
then jump off at a particular spot.

When it was time for execution,
sweat flowed from my pores like a river,
my head grew light, I started to quiver,
minutes later I fainted and we aborted mission.

Luckily, a friend saved and carried me out.
He told me we left the passengers in awe,
wondering what all our fuss and panic was about.
Bright side was we didn't get caught for my flaw.

When I awakened,
I was locked up and naked-
in one of the cells of our barracks,
undergoing punishment on orders of the monarch.

I was whipped through day spared at night,
soldiers passed by throwing unfair banter,
I stayed there for about a fortnight,
banking on God's mercy and meagre water.

I grew weary each day, I turned into debris.
I was finally released and back to routine.
The commander swore he would break me,
as if while in the cell I was imbibing on protein.

I had grown zonked of it all,
It was not what I had signed up for.
But there was no way out of the froth.
So I hang onto my thread and carried forth.

When I was m.i.a they had a mission to Tanzania,
they told me how they went head on with death,
dodged it by whisker and were dealing with insomnia,
I told them to rejoice, for at least, they still had breath.

Then came the actual D-Day,
one of those I remember like it was yesterday.
It came a few days after my awful torment,
at least I had overcome what we underwent.

We woke up at the usual time,
then gathered at the spot for briefing.
“TAKBEER,” he started us off.




“Today you will be sent off to Kenya”
The Pharaoh spoke.
“You will get to the city centre and by 3 pm
you will be transported to forest mall.
When you get there I expect you-
to coup its control centre...
If need be, kill!
Once you have gained control,
make demands then contact me.
If all fails, You'll be strapped with bombs
and for failure, blow the building down.

The repercussions for failure perplexed us,
hours later we were in downtown Kenya,
for what seemed like the expiry of our tenure.
We prepared and bombs were strapped onto us,
then we set off to forest mall to chase death.

Once the door of our black van was opened,
We run to the gate as the van skid off.
We took out the officers that had us cornered,
then the mission officially kicked off.

When we reached the receptionist,
we toyed with her like a ventriloquist.
We asked her to comply or die,
when she saw our guns she didn't ask why.

we made sure the whole building was secured,
a renegade on each corner of the mall.
We made demands and ransom was assured.
Minutes later we received the Pharaoh's call.
“When they hand you the bags," he said
"there's a chopper on the pad to fly them to Mombasa."
I realised something fishy was going on.

The bags came and I called Imran, his errand boy.
Minutes later, the police was deployed,
the bad whiff was a sign, it was a ploy,
For as his bags flew off, in came a military convoy.

When the first solider jumped out,
we didn't allow them to camp out.
But their number grew even faster.
One of our men started to quiver,
dropped his gun and decided to split.
He got hit, we knew it a reckless feat.
So he detonated his bomb-
the left wing went into tatters...

our number dwindled by the minute,
most of our armour got finished,
then the right wing collapsed,
another renegade had lapsed.

I weighed out and called for ceasefire;
But, most had decided their way to retire.
The bombs went off and flames rose,
rubble buried them, the fired was hosed.

I run out with hands up but took a hit to my chest,
thing's got blurry I don't remember the rest.
I got life sentence, treatment was a supplement.
I ended up in a prison called kyankwanzi,
Where I ended up playing as Britney,
for famished mates that had opted for sodomy. 

Saturday, 20 July 2013

The devil's workshop

Meet Dave, a car dealer;
a serpent from idle wood.

After a long day’s work,
It’s time for him to close shop.
but evil deeds call him to slop,
as he waits for night to set in.

Once he gets idle,
a pretty young thing passes by,
igniting the works of the devil-
he stops her and lays out credentials.

His wife, a nymphomaniac by night,
awaits him eagerly to come back home,
despite waning in self control.

Dave's distracted by his new catch
a loose cannon; a devils advocates,
who now plays apprentice, 
to him as he probes and bates.

Up goes his roller door,
he drools like a starving dog-
as she saunters past him...

He shuts the roller door,
switches on the lights,
the cars inside galore.
his works inspire awe...

While his wife at home- 
burning with desire, 
fights sleazy thoughts,

he idolises a sultry woman;
a temptress to those in fame,
and banker to those that adore her.

They get in the zone and cosy, 
she shoves him onto the sofa.
slips right onto him like a loafer,
he slides her slit aside and has his way.

Their lips engage in strange conversation,
the temperature in the room rises-
as his hands waltz beneath her dress.
they go at it till they both undress.

As they dine on forbidden fruit,
his wife longs to taste its juice.
A knock on the door triggers her excitement,
to her dismay, it's the delivery boy.

A handsome young male,
who had always made her weak
like an aroma to a starving tummy.
This time she intended to eat.

He walked passed her in his tight shirt,
patches of sweat down his back.
he was beyond  irresistible,
she decided to play smart.

She started off with small talk,
complimenting him on his walk,
then sat atop the kitchen counter.
She wore patras that revealed her.

She called him to come closer,
wrapped her legs around him,
he hesitated, she teased him,
he got caught in her trap.

Her husband had called it a wrap,
he closed shop and handed her gwap,
dropped her off and then set off
to make his way to Idlewood.

His wife was engaged.
First into conversation,
then into luring her bate-
to get her horns decapitated.

The delivery boy failed to resist,
so he played it by advantage,
after-all he kept sexual scores,
so he cut and ate his cake.

Dave, now in Idlewood manoeuvres home,
the gate slides open, he drives in and parks.
He notices the delivery boy’s van in the lawn,
wonders why the boy's not out in the field.

The two miscreants captive in sin,
as they soar close to satisfaction,
ears blocked from distraction-
fail to hear him walk in,

Dave swings open the kitchen door,
he's struck by sexual galore.

"An idle mind;
is an arena for games.
It brings an opponent,
that sells you whims." Ebrahim

Check out Moon and it's friends

First Class Transgressions

“Flight number EK729, is now boarding"
The speaker box sent dispatch.
While in terminal 3,
Aldrige’s was caught in a dilemma,
He had to chose between beauty and duty.

Her ticket read: business class.
clearly she was out of his league,
But using her distress he made a pass,
and broke open her invisible siege.

He got caught up in her beauty,
her red lips that sang kiss me,
her black dress screaming hold me,
and her cheetah print shoes saying catch me.

They got into conversation,
he flattered her every portion.
She got sprung, he got hung.
They sealed it all with a meal and a kiss,

"Last call for flight BA246 to London,”
She jolted up shocked by the announcement,
panic set in and Aldrige too remembered,
his wife awaited him at departure gate...

A hug and another kiss sealed goodbye.
'Moments like these never come by,'
He thought to himself as he rushed to the gate.
Once he reached, the gates were closed,
and no amount of kisses could open them.

He had missed his flight, and couldn't find his wife
“Sir, please go to the transfer counter,” said the man in a red blazer.

He made my way to the transfer desk,
hoping to sort out his query. Upon reaching,
he found his mystery girl making an inquiry,
a big wig so a few words got her to the V.I.P gate.

She dashed right away, he had a fine to pay.
She didn't bid him so long, a flying kiss would have sufficed,
ayeh not even a glance was cast- he cursed playing part,

Change Ila!

“Hoi! Change ila!”
The bartender barks at Javeed from the counter.
Who's struggling to leave the bar-
having left his days pay with the owner..

Back at home:
His children cry in their sty,
keeping his wife drenched in agony.
For they have no food,
and long to sleep but await Javeed.

The lights are out for the night,
heat has reached its peak
mosquitoes have dinner, their plight is hunger;
an ordinary night in their broken home.

Javeed stumbles along the road,
clenching his 8 PM bottle
trying to out run his shadow
until he finds his way home.

“Where have you been you lousy fool?”
She questions him as he drools.
He falls back and sleeps in vomit,
his wife tries to get him onto his feet,
the children shudder and panic.

She fails to get him to stand,
she's disgusted by what fate's dealt her.
She throws him a couple of slaps,
leaves him outside and throws him a kurta.

The morning after:
He wakes up by the patio,
Covered by her wee kurta,
under an overcasting tree shadow.

He is angered by her pre-caution,
So he rages in with intent to revenge,
having forgotten all he did the night before,
he finds her busy doing chores.

He pulls her to her heels,
showers her in chills
then smacks her face,
and shoves her to the wall in fast pace.
He spits to the ground in distaste,
lets go and trots to his workplace.

When he comes home that night,
in a similar state under waning moonlight.
His wife docks behind the door like a mouse,
waiting on him for a moment to strike.
When the gap is bridged to her liking,
she barks and asks him to take a hike,
but he too is ready to put up a fight;
Nonetheless, unable to participate.

 He rushes towards her to shove her,
she pulls out a pan and strikes him.
knocks him out and lets him sleep with mice...

His sagas go on and on,
He shames and provokes her day in-day out
ruining his family and arousing change.

Then one morning,
when he slams the door to barge in,
It swings wide open and to his dismay,
He finds the house empty and in disarray,
and a small note atop their only table
that definitely strikes a chord. It read;
“Change ila!”