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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?

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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.