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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Monday, 20 October 2014

Our concrete jungle

52 years of "independence"
trying to forge a way past our drapes
as if sinners on botox repentance,
whilst we Feed on shadow games like grapes;

We are like Romans by the pool side, "Yeh Sebo!"
Busking behind a "good life shadow."
yet behind the curtains; we are drooling,
longing for change like it's going to come in cargo.

Ayeh this is our jungle,
where by stature we need no streetlights,
where even if we are 50 years behind we're still humble;
like crested cranes, yet find no need for our traffic lights.

This shadow we play in,
is one cast by our colonial God fathers,
the caretakers of the landlocked jungle we are in,
"the leaders", "the animal whisperers."

Our concrete structures,
on delicate foundation,
rot from within with fractures,
beautiful outward like "US"
yet within; it's a disgrace..

The king of the jungle has pawns,
hyenas that laugh away in the caucus,
a pride, some of which like hippos sit and yawn,
hungry for what we know yet ineffective like carcass

Don't get me wrong,
we have giraffes that see and report live,
they bring us the news so we script; a thong as a thong,
and among us, yes there're rhinos that take charge of our lives.

But us, the monkeys swinging on branches,
hanging low like melting snow off eaves
we are cold and famished like we have munchies
so we struggle like artists yearning for a show;

Ayeh, is it guaranteed?

The king kongs in their towered thrones,
thrived but who knows if they were thrifty?
Who knows who they had to sleep with like drones?
Or was it that they caught a case of lucky lefty?

Our roads are not murram, they are jungle like,
the only thing they lack is that malodorous stench;
although, in comparison to animals we're unlike,
in our own shit is where we sleep and drench.

Excuse my French but these are the habits of our lives-
they aren't underlying, hey are overflowing
on the surface out in the open like bees to a hive,
we are untamed, it's a shame but we are trying!


I see with my queer eyes,

A blood red river,
laid out in Syria-
spelling out;
" lebensunwertes Leben;"
ayeh, is any life,
unworthy of life?


Dajjal aiming for the throne,
darting towards the weak
to pierce them like thorns.
Has our time neared closure?


A social media flood,
causing a deluge of social elephants,
standing in "pride" yet mere ants,
why do we look to pride to feel alive?


Terrorists terrorising and agonising
fighting against what is haram,
but what is haram for I no longer understand
who a "terrorist" is?


Sodom and gomora,
doing it before the camera.
It's been seen and done before,
somewhat like a whore,
one does only wonder
what pushes the peddle of this gaycycle?


Disease spreading like an aroma,
yet with every whiff,
one is prone to flat line
passed an indefinite comma.
Is this cookery our own cause?


Life's simplicity. being ruined
by our complexity.
1-1, makes nothing; ruins,
1+1, makes something.
Together we make two-morrow,
why are we always against each other?


The battle of a decaying culture

The battle of a decaying culture(I want to be me)

We are children of Afri-ca,
we shouldn't be afraid of Caucasians,
for it's been many a day still our fingers stuck on triggers,
from those trick stars that reaped us off in bright day.
took our glitz and glamour and left us to lay in hay,
and for our gold and ivory, we were handed arms,
as many of your arms were used to make their dams
They called it barter trade truth is all they spread was batter,
and left us fighting and killing our own brothers,
Pity, pity now we're running like Guinea pigs on a wheel,
we're fifty years behind and competing with our own race,
contracted to slavery like we're living in the past,
on a crush course journey for an unwritten plan.
such decadence! We're losing cultural preference,
as our innocence and dignity decay and erode for irrelevance.

It's no wonder they got US dressing u.s and u.k
But oui! we should look for a Puk,
unlock their BS and clad in fresh AK,
call it African class gunned by their Ak's,
Inflicted into believing we're dumb as they say,
so we grow up with our memory stored in cache
then they sell all their Western - Chinese shit,
third hand consumers and still it's the best there is,
numb to creativity we're living like blocks,
tuned to thinking about using force through glocks
Yet for our actions we just end up behind locks.
akin to the innocent with hair tied in knots
so this is for my deadlock brothers-
cutting off identity, just so they can fit in,
and also to those people forging accents trying to fit in.
To some it's nothing, yet we're losing all we are
And it hurts so bad that without Gps or final destination,
we're still riding on this wagon

I just want to be me,
an African born in great Africa- (me)
I don't want to be just another replica- (me!)
I just want to be a real black star- (me!)
an African born in great Africa (me)
I just want to be me,

The toothpick

'I don't imbibe in alcohol,
Nicotine and "herbs" don't
work my taste buds,
so I'm often caught in battle
against the toothpick,
after the scent of beef
has made me sick!'

La Cherri.

Dining alone is complicated. You have to find ways to make it look professional. I'm a good looking man (some things you'll never see) yet, I often find myself at dinner tables, eating the finest meals all alone. Which as you know , don't often come from the finest places.
Today I'm at la Cherri. My mother had been here, she always tries to keep in touch. Tells me I have the heart of my father; cold. It's no wonder I like to be alone. No one likes to stay around the cold without a heater. Ayeh, life changes you, I've been through a lot, haven't we all? So now I'm a foodie, it's where I find my joy. Fighting gluttony like any other addict caught in a trap.

"Excuse me! What is this?" Said the guy besides me to the waiter.
"Sir please, tone it down and tell me what the problem is." she said.
"TASTE THIS!" He spat to her face and stained her little white dress, dropped his utensil in fury and excused himself.
She looked like a stained rabbit, the poor thing. She run off to the back crying in shame.
At that point I was boiling, I hate to see innocent people hurt for no reason, it gives me flashbacks.

I pulled out a toothpick from my beard. I always kept one for some reason. Broke it in half and crept up behind the fool. He was taking a piss, so he didn't see me coming. I held him by his mouth, he tried to scream. Stubbed his chubby tummy to the right and poked in two tiny toothpick holes. Turned him round and made him sit in the cherry like urinal and his ass swallowed it whole.
He could barley understand what was happening, and I probably looked like a terrorist to him..
"Look at you, you FAT Bastard!" I said, barking like a coach. "I bet all that food won't help you now, huh?"
"Who are you?"
"Your gym instructor.'' I tried not have a crack at my own nonsense, rubbed my chin for a moment thinking of how to kill him. Then I had knocks on the door.
I stubbed him twice below his throat in quick motion. He was probably in a puddle of his blood by the time they opened My escape route was a narrow window.


Another diner, same old loner...
A four eyed fellow played the piano aside the bar.. He was good, a little rusty maybe.. The bass guitar sprung good vibes with each note plucked. There is a mystery in music. When the dark minors floated through the air, this drunk slur grabbed the waitress' ass. The worst thing about this restaurant was the little attention paid to the waiters. I once had a friend of mine quit because their boss never gave a goat's shit about them. So they'd be harassed like little church children.

"HEY! Have some FUCkin decency in you.." I barked at the fool..
"who said that?"
He was too drunk, was probably seeing crossed eyed...
I whispered, " your doctor."
Then he turned to me.. " was it you sir poking your short nose in my lunch?" I wondered if he's British accent was caused by the stars he was drinking.
'who gets drunk drinking dom pérignon?'
'What a waste of champagne! He clearly had he's mind on seeing stars and not drinking them'
"Oui.. you little tramp"
He called the waitress as she passed by,
"Please don't call me that sir, it's restaurant policy to wear these"
She thought her attire caused the fire from his foul mouth..
" I don't give a hoot.... Where is my food?" he slurred
"Sir you just made your order, You've been here only a few minutes, may I attend to someone else, please?"
" what kind of service is this, ey? I'd rather have diner at bloody slaughter house..."

'where you'd be the one to come quick?'
He's manners were sheepish, he frustrated me.
The he started rocking back and forth on the chair.
We were three people in the restaurant, it must have been a bad day for them or just one of those Monday afternoons.
The female dining away from us was too busy on her I pad to notice what was happening in the real world. Until this fool fell back and rolled onto the floor like he was doing a back flip.
He tried to pick himself up but he just slipped, kicked the table and fell back to the ground. One of the waitresses upon hearing the racket came out. She tried to help pick him up and he withdrew all he's stars onto her.. Trust me, it wasn't one of those star skied moments you'd gaze at forever.
I looked away trying to reserve my anger.
"You CUNT! look what you made me do" he said to her.
I flipped! I got up, held her and asked her if she was okay. For someone smothered in throw up, she kept her calm. I figured it happened before..
I held her hand and took her to the washroom; innocent gestures with intention.
She told me she'd be okay when we got to the door.. When I turned round, the drunk fool was behind us staggering trying to make his way to the rest room
"You fink you're some kind of Jesus, ey?"
His hands were on my switch at that point, I tried to walk past him and he shoved me but he bounced off.
He pulled back he's hair and some of the throw up splattered over my face..
At this point the tooth pick was brewing between my fingers...
Sheryl came out of the ladies. (I know, strange name huh?) I had zoned out biting my jaws wondering if I should knock the fool through the door...
She held my shoulder and said thank you, I cooled off for a second.
"Oooh, look whose back, Sheryl, the stripper..hahahaha." At that point, if I were her, I'd have thrown the toilet sit over him. Although I did punch him in the face, the sad part is, as Sheryl tried to scoot past him and then he threw up over her again. She quit that very moment, dropped her apron on the floor and stormed out. Poor Sheryl...
I held him by his loose strands of shirt as I prayed he would not baptise me. Pushed him into the bathroom, he was skinny and light as a feather, I felt like a bully. I stabbed his neck with the toothpick, blood squirted all over the floor as he screamed in pain. I stabbed him again to the left side of his neck, his skin was tough, I almost didn't get in. I then kicked him to the floor. His wails faded slowly, the blood from his veins must have been draining quick..
I washed my hands and rinsed my face by the sink, straightened out my collar and rushed out hoping I'd find Sheryl...

to be continued...

If there is...

If there is a God,

God must be infuriated.
ayeh, can't help but love us some more.
Probably feels pity,
for we're lost and sees us reverie

God must be disgusted by our narcissist ways.
which explains the throw up cascading as rain,
punishing us, yet amassing us with blessing.
Yet still, many of us are vain...

The gods must tremble when being worshipped,
for in their lowly unfulfilling ways,
they know they are but plural of the ultimate noun; God!
A three letter word that innately roams each tongue

God must have a love so deep!
that the infinite depth of universe must swirl in envy,
that the skies, clouds, stars, and milky way  aslo envy us
who busk in it with eyes closed like babies on a bosom

God cannot be a man or woman!
God is the creator of mars and Venus;
ayeh, God cannot be a man or woman.
there's difference between creator and created,

For if God was a man,
This life would be almost short of beauty,.
and if God was woman,
Jesus would have bloomed from rose folds

If there is God,

The skies, the stars, the clouds, the moon,
our envious enemies are living testimonies...
We should, bend down on our knees,
asking forgiveness, for we know not what we do.

Let it rain..

I know you want to smoke,
maybe fill your lungs
with a little bit of hope
ayeh, all it's going to do
is make you cough and choke,

Let it rain, my friend, let it rain...

The troubles of the world
might be caused by emeralds and pearls,
but all that glitters isn't gold,
and all that causes your body to bleed,
isn't always pain; it could glorious change.

Let it rain, my friend, let it rain..

The clouds have formed,
God has, as always; scripted.
and even though love today is unwritten.
pain which makes your heart ache,
 will pass, and like sun, joy will make its way.

Let it rain, my friend, let it rain...

It's the only way your heart will grow,
it's the only way you'll let go of  pain,
it's the only way your hazy eyes will see again.

Let it rain, my dear friend, let it rain...

Why live when you have to die?

Why live when you have to die?

A lot is unknown of her life,
some might never be known,
yet all in all she lived to the bone.

She mothered many,
with an iron fist of man;
grinding into the nitty gritty,
for life as it took her,
took her partner off duty.
Despite that, she still toiled,
raising sons and daughters,
feeding friends and family,
playing mother nature,
because that was just her nature...

She was a teacher,
her seeds can testify
for they did reap what they saw.
She taught us family came first,
and  human need never last.
All that walked through her doors,
dined to her fair and fine service,
Or at least left with a bottle of groundnuts,
To bid you farewell for taking time off to visit..

She was an adviser.
Advice doesn't come on silver platter,
most times it comes to us-
like rain on a sunny afternoon;
unwanted; unnecessary..
yet every drop of rain-
sent down from her cloud,
helped all or most of us grow,
into well nurtured human beings.

She was a friend,
she missed you dearly-
while you were away
trying to catch that morning worm.
Always asking;"nga toida kumbona ku?"
(why don't you come and see me?)
She always cared if you caught that worm,
congratulating you, patting you on the back,
and encouraging you with words of worth;

She was a grandmother.
with a fleet of baidukulu( grandchildren)
On days like eid,
she cut her nkoko nkulu. (Cock) feeding us all.
She might have scolded us,
ayeh, a good scold yields good manners!
So she fought for what was right,
I hope it's what she left.

Old age came with rage,
yet never withered her witty smile,
she gave it despite pain...
which often brought tears,
tears rupturing into fears.
albeit, she kept strong,
withstanding standing disease-
as if it were a storm...

Her strength was inspiring!
She gave answer to my question.
she lived as a teacher, preacher,
lover, mother, father, adviser,
caretaker, and most of all,
an inspiration;
a leaf for us to pick from our tree.

Death might have grabbed her by it's palms,
as she struggled to hold on in a hospital bed,
as many visitors came to bid her farewell;


It did raise to the sky an Angel!

The last bed

In her lahad she was made to lay,
towards sunnat, towards the kibla,
towards the direction of eternal hope.

"Nga kitalo..."

They prayed in unison,
even those that came with a vision;
to dine on last supper.

"Nga kitalo..."

She watched as they wailed with feeble lungs,
she must have been over joyed; peace, at last
despite the selfish gathering sending her back into earth.

"Nga kitalo..."

From her two and a half by eight feet grave,
she dropped her white cerecloth,
and rose to the sky with her face in bliss..

"Nga kitalo..."

The family re-united for the wrong yet right reason,
it's amazing how far apart they'd grown,
at least they got the chance to come back home

"Nga kitalo..."

They said on and on,
making my glass eyes crack-
close to breaking point...

"Nga kitalo..."

Broken, my pieces lay on a shoulder,
I'm supposed to be stronger but she's older,
I'm supposed to be supportive but she too was my jaja.

"Nga kitalo..."

Her son now fakes a smile-
behind blood shot eyes,
yet she'll never pick up the pieces...

"Nga kitalo..."

we can only hope and pray,
that she's high flapping her wings-
far enough where angels sing.

"Nga kitalo..."

Besides sorrow her death brought;
a new born and a fresh bond was wrought;
daughter from father, daughter and father,
finally, the sun rose

"Ekitalo tikigwesa kitabo..."

Growing up.

Growing up is tough in African tradition,
at least given chance to speak for myself.
Attention given is usually minimal,
yet it's also safe to say,
a lot of attention is equivalently as bad.
But grooming a child isn't something prescribed,
people do things in different manners,
some acceptable to stigma,
some related to dogma
but it's all just one big enigma.
So, I can't say I wasn't raised well,
at the end of the day,
I ask myself what I didn't get?

I'd say love.

Ayeh, in our tradition love is accompanied by money.
So if you can buy some honey,
spread your bread on both sides;
you're probably loved more than most.
and your host, unlike most,
has done his job as man of the house.
The journey is similar to plant,
you're irrigated all your life,
your blanket kisses you goodnight-
You're submerged in provision,
as they await you to mature,
to sprout into a firm trunk
on which you can stand on your own,
then roles roll over...
It's a scripture play out,
once you're in, its time for the wait,
when you're out, it's time for debate.
What food? Which clothes?
What school? What Uni?
All in all they strive to give you what you need.
and that's the greatest love of all;
provision till fate turns tables.
Growing up; therefore, is tough,
children lack mentors, guides, fathers.
They only have a provider and mother,
it's a tough world!
One were clearly mistakes are often repeated,
but whose to blame for tales of the old untold?
Whose to blame for the questions unquestioned?
It goes both ways, basically goes without say;
love is a two way street,
and very often in these relationships,
children find themselves strolling all alone,
and parents, feeling all alone.
So growth by collision is rarely intentional,
It's often as highway collisions are;

Ayeh ki? Ayeh beh!

I'm at a point of life where you back,
ayeh, you'd never want to go back,
yet what's ahead is so confusing,
you could consider drug abusing..

Ayeh ki? Ayeh beh!

I survived that during peer pressure,
okay I didn't, but it's safer to lie
considering as I write I'm not high.
okay lets just say I once fell victim

Ayeh ki? Ayeh Beh!

I'm no Cali fornication star, don't get me wrong,
I have been cast on life's stage with a big bong;
ayeh, that was just me being a sister in a thong,
I thereon sought chastity and bid my ways so long.

Ayeh ki? Ayeh Beh!

I often look back when my bag used to break my back.
See I've always been shy so school was such a drag,
I'm no medal winner, but hey! I have a few certificates.
was never top of my class; though, I once topped the back,

Ayeh ki? Ayeh BEH!

That didn't make me who I am now,
and even if life is still sort of looking bleak,
they'd never pay me enough to re-live my past.
If they could, I'd buy my way through the system.

Ayeh ki? Ayeh Beh!

In life you do what you have to and do it good,
at least strive rather than regret not having done your best.
Then march on even if you're not in the mood,
and for your own good pray to God you turn out shrewd.

Ayeh ki? Ayeh BEH!

That's not enough to get you there,
the sad part is; you'll never know what's enough,
till maybe when you sit back,
look at your mistakes, and have a good laugh.
Peace after a long day's work #Conjolted
Peace after  long days work.. (the grass is reefer :)

The muse...

I muse over my muse,
quite often she lives me amused.

She's a naked woman,
wrapped in orchid blue Kitegne,
and a crochet head wrap for crown.
She tells me tales of together,
where her and I live within a castle;
a Casablanca in Mombasa,

Where we'll swoon with each other
till the moon in it's fine hue
wavers due to dawn,
creeping out in the morn-
an ecstasy where her and I
entwine in promiscuity .

I muse over my muse,
quite often she gives me blues...

She's a boomerang,
when I pick her up to play,
I throw her and she returns.
When I leave her unattended,
she sulks like a homeless puppy,
gives me poodle eyes and I cry

I try to be sly so I ask her why,
she sulks yet I'm lonesome without her,
bored like a lone tree in a vast field,
in need of her to come around and cut me down,
chop me into blocks and turn me into pencil,
as she plays atop my thoughts till I write.

I muse over my muse,
quite often she blows my fuse...

She's a goddess
when she cat walks over my medulla,
she over powers my mind.
I start to struggle like a foot in a high heel,
high on thoughts I often seek escape,
If her heel broke it would be good fate.

Maybe then she'd tread softly;
ayeh, the light bulb in my mind,
will start to differ, start to flicker,
for she'd have gone silent like a mute,
and it'd blow and I'd be rendered of no use,
without the current that she induces.

I muse over my muse,
very often she leaves me confused.

Chissled heart

My heart was chiselled so it broke into pieces,
it's now like planks of wood used for bonfire.

I'm helpless, my battle cry is the insufficiency
of one to light my flame and keep it ablaze.

My heart burns like red coal mimicking molten lava;
ayeh, no one likes to light a bonfire unless it's necessary.

I remember 'fore my misery how firm it stood,
it was a Pando tree, firm trunk, beautiful leaves,

Till lumberjackie came to shiver me timbers,
and down I tumbled then stumbled onto earth.

My force against the wind released my chi,
I tried to fight the thief but she over powered me..

I only hope that one day I sprout anew...

For I'm now used as a donor, I donate firewood,
and every time they chop, a piece of my heart drops!

Broken to pieces I hurt as I share pieces of heart,
yet they are insufficient for they burn down to ashes.

I'm valuable yet insignificant and that's not sufficient.
so they seek me out only when it's convenient,

light up my pieces, stretch out their hands for my warmth,
play in the fire like kittens with yarn till yearning is satisfied,

and when fire stops burning, I'm left alone chocking
in morbid smoke and ashes of my once lit bonfire heart

A fire love...

If today was judgement day
I would hold your hand and stay,
stay with you even in flames,
and forever we would burn,
in our fire love, in our fire love...

But Judgement day has not come,
and if we are apart
we shoot for heaven like comets.
for then we are saints awaiting heaven's call,
alas inquisitive saints peeking through vents,
to see if surely love does cause one to fall,
and then bite off the forbidden fruit,
whereupon they wait for flames to scorch!

The scrolls said we were bound to meet,
indeed, with a cupid shot our flame lit;
our hearts caught the flame and we flee,
on our way we got stabbed by loathpids spear,
now we Fly apart we're free like birds
free to fly away from love if we chose,
yet love is what gives us our Phoenix wings

This love it burns for its forbidden,
it is unlit for we forbid it due to pain,
I'm a feng, you're a haung;
Birds of pride flying wide apart.
ayeh, I want you to light my bonfire heart.
I just don't know if I want to get hurt,
and I was asked to stay away from fire
but I'm a toddler; a gullible liar,
I'd sink just one more white lie to get you into fire....

The circle of love..

The circle of love.
I'm on my toes,
sprinting around in circles,
stuck in quick sand.
I'm chasing this wanted crook;
ayeh, I'm being tailed for the bounty on my heart,
someone's after my shadow to send me to love jail.

It's not a pride chase;
I wish it were,
it'd be easier for me to catch my prey.

I'd also know there's a reason,
why for some unknown reason,
my heart never crosses with hers;

It goes both ways...

Yet with hollow arteries,
I strive to lock hearts with a ghoul.
I dine my heart on a whiff of aroma,
never to taste or indulge in an actual feast,
at least now I know how famished my bounty hunter is;

The circle of love...

La rouge monstre

La rouge monstre
From depth of darkness,
you crept in to bring light;
a bright red light that flushed-
with a big bang howling;

You gobbled darkness,
harnessing fear through creation,
where out of respect,
the created fell in love with you...


Masks a face,
creating a facade-
 masquarading as beauty

Valor of Esmeralda

Valor of Esmeralda

Ooh Esmeralda,
What blade could cut your emerald heart?
It's of the finest water,
green with a slight beam.
I once tried to shutter-
your thick green garden,
little did I know,
you fought with silver.
and armoured your chest;
guarding your bosoms,
embodying your valour.
I struck! Only to ricochet,
my hit rebounding,
aiming right back at me-
shot! I lay bleeding,
all while I thought
my kisses were astounding,
that they could keep you,
a long way from searching-
alas! None kept you chaste.
and onto your saddle,
you hopped as I hoped
that on that one wishful day,
you'd bring me back my lot.
for you cracked open my chest,
folding it into a fine hem,
stabbing your palm in
reaching for my blood red ruby.
now here I lay in utter dread,
wondering if,
this empty chest will ever fight again?

Daddy's gone...

Daddy's gone,
Daddy's gone...

she now lays fast asleep on her own sweater;
a dmc car,  written off life's road.
no one to fix her, no one to look under the hood,
they'd rather see her mould up in dust and rain,
than feed her or give her chance to reign
Yet she's a princess; one that awaits to rule heaven...

Daddy's gone,
Daddy's gone...

He couldn't take her along on his journey,
said he didn't want her to feel the cold,
he'd rather she stay warm and safe with mother...
her sweater's but a rug; faded, old, and tired.
pale like her skin it can barely keep her warm.
and her mother, she vanished like the wind..

Daddy's gone..

He promised he'd buy her a new sweater,
ayeh could barely keep the promise of being her father,
and mother, she's as cold as her dead father..
she, like the rest, left her stranded in life's forest,
to face the wild yet she's just a mere child;
a joey that needs warmth from her mother's pocket...

Daddy's gone...

He's going to be a while,
he's stuck beneath the concrete
above which she now sleeps.
She has shade many, many tears,
mourned the loss of a man she revere
Who passed on like the night before-
she could sparkle like dew...

Daddy's gone,
Daddy's gone,
Daddy's gone...

He tried to fight the disease,
but it took him with much ease.
Now her troubles, they won't seize.
she only hopes for a miracle,
a chance for her to smile that old smile,
a chance for her to hold that old frail hand once again...

Daddy's gone,,,

Death took his life and he carried her soul with her.
She now tries to redeem it but she's stuck,
seeking solace in a world of people that are soulless..

Daddy's litte girl

Daddy's litte girl (Pre-tale to daddy's gone.)
Every after church at watoto she used to visit a bakery right besides. She forgot it's name; although
she savoured the moments their with her dad more than the moments lived within.

"He used to hold my hand tight and kiss me on the forehead every morning before he'd go off to work." She spoke such fine English.

'what a waste of such portent life,' I thought to myself.

"We'd stay at the bakery, just him and I. Mother hated church. So we'd stay there and he'd tell me stories, all his worries, we we're best friends.
On his days off, we'd visit the park, go for a swim or he'd carry me on his shoulders and into his car where we'd drive off to his office and I'd help him with extra work.
He hated leaving me alone, he hated hanging up the phone when he'd call home."

Not once did she tell stories of her mother, only how much she hated church. Maybe they never got along, maybe her mother had unresolved issues. whatever it was, Esther her daughter got all the love. if I were her I'd be jealous.

"So what happened to daddy?" I asked her.

"Daddy got ill. He tried to hold onto his dear life, but his dear wife made him miserable. She always complained, yet the doctor said high stress levels were not good for him. I never liked her, she's my mother, yes, but she was more like a stranger. She always seemed to have a hidden agenda. Her relatives never came home, they only spoke on the phone. worried more about whether he was dead, than how much longer he actually had to live. I hated them all, I hope God forgives me for my anger."

She shade tears with a little wail, she hated talking about her dad, it always wounded her even more.
Months after he had been diagnosed of thyroid cancer, his state worsened by the minute, it took him four months to collapse down the carved stair case right out of her room. He had just kissed her goodbye, after speed dialling  the ambulance to pick him from home. The sad part is, it took him to the hospital mortuary.
Not many days passed before more tragedy befell Esther. She woke up one morning and her mother had run off with everything, everything but her, her sweater, bed, the teddy bear her father had got her on her twelfth birthday (their last birthday), her pj's, and a couple shillings which she used to go to church that day...
Once she got to church, she prayed. Prayed so hard that all she could do was cry. No one understood her, they only wondered where her father was. It had been awhile since they blessed the fellowship with their presence. She never spoke to anyone after her prayer, she just walked out and went to the bakery where she sat by the pillar that was adjacent to it,
Lay her sweater to the floor, sat to the ground and cried, and cried, till she couldn't anymore.

Monday, 11 August 2014

Unmatched love

Like rain into a gutter,
I drip soulfully
into the arteries of
your heart.
You can feel me,
hear me, see me-
I'm undeniably beautiful.
I'm crystal clear, and pure.
surely from the heavens-
raised up above me.

You're a sultry sinner,
you lure me in with silence.
I dare to say more,
I dare to force a smile,
to run a mile across-
your poker face.

You're a ghost, a ghoul, a thief.
you sail right through me,
stealing my heart and soaking it.
soaking it with bits and pieces,
bits and pieces of love...
I'm ravished!

I can not, I tell you, I can not!
Take anymore of your unlawful knot,
parch me, wring my heart
and leave me, for...
For you are a sinner!

You appear to be selfishly In Need,
SIN they call it,
yet it's a facade that you seed.

You plant a mascaraed show,
from which weed does grow;
a weed of love.

Yet I, so beautiful.
stand by the doors of your arteries,
waiting for you to let me in,
ayeh, you play me like sin,
you feel me, you hear me, you see me,
yet won't let me have this win.

Unmatched love..

Ndio tupendane

How do you start something that hasn't commenced?
Then write it to and end it yet it hasn't been read?
Something you see and feel kwani unajua it's not real,
something that seems so right, basically the perfect deal
yet even in surrealism it just won't roll off the reel,

Let's just say for chance's sake, with our hopes in the stars.
That the gates of love opened, and you and I fell in love,
Would something still be holding you back from me?
Would it fear be holding you in suspense telling you not to fall?
After all love is great overall why would you let that take a toll?

As I day and night dream of you,
It doesn't hinder me, for I-
notice flickering hope afar,
it's an art piece of sort,
shining into my thoughts,
Just like you linger all day long.

Although, my dreams of you are a sign that I am smitten,
surely in thought, dream, and reality it is unwritten.
it's no wonder I feel only the short end of the stick,
albeit, I'm inspired to bend on knee to give this a kick;
Huyo ni nani holding you from loving me?
Kwani hawaoni that we are meant to be ?
the stars have been aligned,
they should let us live our lives, 

Ndio, Tupendane, ndio tupendane


When will you, no how did I,
fall like a domino when I
barley know you so.
They call it love at first sight. or is it,
crush on first land?
This diner plate didn't diner wait, 
I got served too early,
now the weight on my plate-
that brought fate
overwhelms me.
Like a piano from the sky-
it landed on me out of nowhere,
I want this to go somewhere;
ayeh, we're in-between places,
between love and stranger.

The line, the line is so thin.
I could lie, then charm you with a grin,
why start this with sin?

How is it, no, why is it
you say no words,
yet still, 
you spit this body language
that swindles my emotion
as I wait you in love claim.
I'm worried you won't pick me.
I sent you a love claim letter...
If you claim your baggage,
you'll know that it's unlettered,
no its not Braille; 
ayeh you can feel it.
No I'm not blind,
I saw you with my eyes wide open;
love at first sight, or is it-
crush on first land?
When will you, no, how did I


A souvenir

Today I didn't lay my bed,
so the bed and I now metaphors for incomplete...

I seat by its side,
reminiscing last night's ride...

Your scent still lingers in my sheets,
a sweet faint perfume like an aroma of food you can't eat

I'd wash it away; ayeh, I hopelessly want you to stay.
I'll just let it be instead, and it'll fade away...

Oohh these earthly things,
that we do in earthly ways,
that are only earthly great.

We drove through the night,
I parked when things left right.

You raised the wrong alarm,
my tires burst from your harm

Who calls false alarm,
and says they didn't mean to harm?

It was great while it lasted,
before you got busted!

Oohh these earthly things,
that we do in earthly ways,
that only cause earthly hate

Your red lingerie still lingers in my bed,
it'd be like rose petals if we weren't at loggerheads,

ayeh its beauty faded when I realised you got jaded,
now I'm going to burn it hoping to get rebated.

You we're sexy once but you lost your flame,
I just wish you didn't say his name.

I'm disgruntled, I guess it's my turn
to hoard that which doesn't fade or burn

yet I have to heal my self from memories of you,
that sparkle through my mind like light in dew

I could burn things, some could fade.
still it remains, this awful dread,

Lingering in my heart,  a thing I don't revere
an unwanted love for keeps; a souvenir

Saturday, 2 August 2014


Mediocrity is a car ride to greatness.
the journey is so long it often seems hopeless.

Day by day the gas in your tank runs closer to dry.
and on your way to greatness you're siphoned into worry,
by the orange light that warns you of the end being nigh,
so you plan b to hitch hike a ride and bury your worry.

When you raise your thumb up to pool over,
a blind eye is cast- you're like a thug in a pull over.
In attempt to get there quick, you're just slipping over tar.
short of support; you contemplate getting hang over.

You could drink and drive, alas that's suicide,
and like God too, the cops could persecute you.
So you're in between rocks; dumbfound and stupefied.
still you neglect the high road hoping to find you.

As you stagger on the road the cop lights start to shine,
your rare view mirror isn't showing the fairest of them all,
you could speed off and go way out of line;
Ayeh if you do time, you lose time and lose it all.

So you pull over, start to wish you were sober.
you dealt your cards now you deal with inconvenience,
criticised and analysed you're now crushed like a boulder.
your car has been towed so you curse God for lack of lenience.

Yet still he blesses you and gets you back onto the road.
you're in the city now. looking for fame;
Ayeh fame brings shame, it shouldn't be aboard,
still you seek it, only for it to bring you maim.

The wilderness of traffic jam in the city drives you crazy.
BMW lights bring you fame, your PRIUS makes you popular.
The traffic holds you back from shame, at that point things are hazy!
You could be where you want to be ayeh, in Prius life feels like Dracula.

Sucking out your hope to live the ''Life" like a duchess,
so in your car ride, you often feel hopeless,
There are many routes on the road to success,
don't get stuck in the traffic jam; It's worthless!

Sometimes fame isn't a way to success...
so when the traffic jam holds you back,
take a different route or a closer look,
you might already be where you want to be.

Sunday, 20 July 2014

Love's Hamartia

Love's Hamartia

Dearly beloved,
we are gathered here today,
engulfed in peonies and black roses,
to eulogise the lives of two youth.

Even though love may come and go,
like the roses wilt after they grow,
many of us still venture on our knees
pleading like peasants for our life to seize.

Ayeh! Worry not dear youth,
you will build your sand castle
To uplift you like air Brussels,
then awash, having crushed into waves,
your castle will teach you time's lesson.

Which by rise of morning Sun,
and twinkle of  evening moon;
tides calm in cold sea by day,
and rage in warm sea by night.

Time is our teacher,
which when slowed down,
brings joy and comfort,
ayeh when it speeds up,
brings misery and worry.

And you my dear hamsters,
on the run for fruits of life;
travel not unaware of change,
only ready to take on its balance.

May this confetti celebration,
and my unpleasant gallow humour
bid you farewell as you enter
love's unpredictable hamartia

By death's cursed end,
I now pronounce you;
Husband and Wife.

Sunday, 29 June 2014

Moon and her friends

Moon is beautiful and often bright,
night is wild and often plight.
and it's friends are such delight, 
they intoxicate us then they smite, 

Drunk as skunks, we're weary lots
so all her friends they start to hoax
swoop our minds and keep them locked
on idle thoughts and naughty talk. 

Bra strapped for a day.

Bra strapped for a day

From mars into Venus,
I'd be sent into her womb,
to germinate then curl up
warm and cosy in her belly,

She'd feed me,
I'd kick her,
they'd touch me,
ayeh, like an artefact;
I'd be sealed in.

As I pray to be born and breed,
into a wealthy family with bread.
that way I'd be assured of beauty.
Do you oft see the wealthy hideous?

When her balloon pops,
and gives breath to life,
I'll roll out like yarn,
ready to take on the world,

fill it with tearless squeals,
comic gaga's and gugu's
tears of joy and sorrow,
and falls giving me bubu's,

When I fully mature,
and speak without fear,
when they understand me,
and can finally bare me,

I'd have no time to waste,
in this fast world full of tests,
and I'd grow a load on my chest,
'least it'd be packed to attract,

I'd have beautiful hair,
plate it in tuts and swas,
bate and test boys with it-
to see who'd dare to care.

My father would spoil me,
buy me jewels and fuel,
high heels to please rotten me,
and I'd still treat him cruel.

I wouldn't be mama's favourite,
but heck! I'd be daddy's little girl.
She would complain about my ways,
having forgotten about her days.

I'd be sent off to college,
to lollygag through a system-
where I'd throw sin in my bin-
when college stud takes a win.

Out and finally into the jungle
living a perpetually contrite life,
I'd carry on in constant strife.
it's human nature so I'd tussle

Unluckily; my ambition would be challenged
they'd have lied to me about making my way,
til it dawns that I'm grown and I've got bills to pay.
Luckily; I'd be "Inherently beautiful."

So some cursed fellow with money
would make his way to call me honey.
When I'm content and bored-
by his nagging yet charming efforts.

I'd let him in, and-
when he "comes,"
we'd move to Rome;
and find a home.

We'd be madly in love,
so we'd throw away the gloves,
I'd do my dance like a star,
keep him from straying far.

And with hot melting pot,
I'd cast a spell onto his tummy,
watching it to keep him yummy,
till my time comes to be a mummy.

Then he'd know why he's cursed!
I'd throw tantrum after tantrum,
he'd have to bare morning sickness,
and pamper me like a baby.

When the children make there way,
and labour pains have come to an end.
wedding bells will be our trumpet,
the kids our hell, yet also our heaven.

I'd have stopped trying to keep him around,
It'd be his choice to stay or play around,
for by then I'd be trying to make ends meet,
trying to keep my family with a plate of meat.

Of course he'd be buying it;
it's African nature; feminist displeasure;
Nevertheless, I'd be cooking-
it'd be my outright pleasure.

Then when all is said and done,
and God thinks I'v had my run,
the night and it's pale moon,
will come along to end my day,

Give me bliss and comfort
by unhooking me from life's tight straps.

Mr big D***

Mr big D***

They now call him Mr big D***,
 "schlong" now please their tongues;
yet he no longer resembles,
the statues assembled;
out in Rome of earnest men
that worked with their tiny pens.
Men that toiled in raised dust.
depicted as brave and ripped to bone.

So the bitches seek Mr big D***,
to get them home but not too quick.
So he moves from home to home,
and pleases ladies with his bone,
as if he were some kind of god,
yet he acts stray like a dog..
entertaining short lived gratification, .
to satisfy insatiable desire.

love is a form of communication
that has to be studied diligently,
in order for couples to find satisfaction.
Sexual prowess as an requires mastery,
when attained it aids relationships
ailing due to lack of patience,
on their journey of love making.
lack of patience blurs our thinking.
we start to find quick solutions,
for us to attain short term gratification

He says, she says

Everyone believes their input
is always more than the other.
Especially after the tree,
that once held them-
comes falling down.

Then their trunk of love,
that once held them together
lies on the floor,
somehow still useful,
Ayeh; hopeless.

"I cared more,"
"No! I cared more."
"You gave me so much shit,"
"Do you know how much you put me through?
I am glad we're through, crazy, I still love you."

"You never cared!"
"Look whose talking!
Not once did you say to me,
honey, your look beautiful."

"Hah! If only you'd make up just for me,
then veil yourself all the way home,
running to come and show me. But noo,
It reaches here after thousands of eyes have lusted,
appreciated, and still you want my compliment."

"These men don't know how much we put in,
they think loving them is easy."

"Gosh! these women drive me crazy!
They keep saying we're lazy..
Yet we; take out the trash,
go off to work,
go out buy the groceries,
take the kids to school."

"Did you raise them?" they ask.
Then he says-she says becomes a trend.
It's all amazing yet overwhelming,
we never really appreciate each other.
like the world out there isn't hard enough.

Can't we all just look closer,
and appreciate the good and bad,
for they're all life teachers.

                 .   .   .

Stoned to death

Stoned to death.

"People are sick!"
Mama said after reading some drama.

They's many ways to die,
alone in your sleep as you lie,
after over dozing on sleeping pills
driven by sorrow over tons of bills

Or on the train tracks,
when you're feeling out of luck-
like no one's got your back.
so you jump into death's sack.

Or by the bullet of a rebels gun,
shot to your back you as you run,
far from a so called "servant of God"
deeming your ways ill before the Lord.

Or by the hands of the people
casting you high like a steeple,
nailing you to hang on top of a cross,
yet your death brings them great loss

Or by the power of the law,
hanging over reasons you don't know,
could be you fought righteously against it,
to save the hopeless stuck within it.

Or by loves great cause,
where you overlooked all flaws,
eloped and forgot about laws,
then got penalised into death's claws.

Punished and buried in stones to death,
thrown by those who gave you breath.

I found my mother sighing after watching news,
so we started to talk about what she had seen,
So this piece was inspired by the news headline,
A man and his lady had eloped; however,
under the sharia law they became outcasts,
for their act and were stoned to death.
It's a sad world sometimes...
a song that often makes me ponder on this situation
is Jailer by Asa... check it out,

Also check out the poem mother knows best,
All of these are conversations had with my mother

Prom queen

You bent on knee,
gave your all to me.
I thought it fiction,
then it turned into;
a single cast sitcom.

The sand glass flipped-
after I made a fool of you-
as if your tooth was chipped..
I presumed false identity,
then my time came to pay indemnity.

Yet when I set my eyes upon you,
my blood crescendos-
to a sexual innuendo,
where my brain clocks out
and is thrown out the window.

Our game of thrones
was won by he; unknighted.
I, king took throne despite.

Yet besides me;
one I did not pick to be queen.

I chose you as queen,
despite the chosen one
dressed slightly obscene,

Albeit, you my monarch
now rule me over.

I could bend on both knees,
ayeh, I seek not to worship thee.
and the fact that you first bent knee,
makes me unworthy of your knighting;

To serve as king to your love.

Petals of joy

Petals of joy.

Rays of sunlight partially blind me-
from seeing what I a meant to see,

A fairly moss filled step holds me, 
as palm leaves sway and whisper,

A form of silence encompasses me,
words chipped by birds surround me.

Words I do not understand, ayeh; 
they somehow give me comfort.

Amid my serene surrounding; echoes, 
echoes of an irritating buzzing stereo,

Biasing joy larking in my atmosphere...

Below beauty of a rose petalled plant,
always lay rotting remnants of its petals. 

Mother knows best. (The white sweater)

After washing her clothes,
the question of hanging-
came into clause.

Out the kitchen door,
was the line on which we hung,
below which by the corner-

the drain pipe led to a manhole,
neglected and full to bream,
in need of immediate cleaning.

It smelt foul like rot.
we were used to it's sting
and it's foul looking stream.

she cursed and complained,
I tried to explain but all in vain,
until she had us clean it out.

for the other option wasn't suiting,
so I had to help her do the cleaning,
so she'd hang on the only option fitting.

After the day had sailed away,
it was time to pick them up,
I took them off except the dump sweater,
which I left to chance hoping it'd dry.

"Will it rain tonight?" mother asked.
"No chance!" I said.
"Ayeh naboineh ebireh.."
(but I saw the dark clouds)

I tried to gamble with chance,
chance showed me I had no chance,
the rain came trickling from nowhere,
just like mothers instincts foretold.

I quickly opened the door,
and there it was(the white sweater),
laying on the ground we had cleaned earlier,..

If you haven't read stoned to death & Dear mother,
These are simple poems dedicated to my lovely mother.

The innocent beauty of evil

When evil smiles to lure you,
you can lose your panties-
hand them over willingly,
and tell it to come back soon.
When Evil over powers you, It's pantie dropping time! lol

Food to harm and heal your soul

It's so easy to forget how-
addicted most of us are to music.

Here's how to check your relapse;

Who let the dogs out...
Who run the world...
Oops I...
What goes around...

Music is food to the soul, true.
Ayeh if you consume too much,
It could harm you unknowingly.
Silence is peace to the soul,
find some alone quiet time.

A rainbow of the deluge

Down comes rain,
amassing us with blessing,
reigning over us with hope,
yet alas destroying crop.

A gun could save a life,
yet also injure another.
So as the rain shoots-
insanely through the sky,

It carries blessing,
sent from heaven as tears;
tears filled with joy and sorrow,
abreast lightning and thunder.

After which, a rainbow of hope,
glows towards a pot of gold.
guarded by butterflies,
and little elf in green.

Proving that grass-
is surely greener on the other side,
and that despite our faults,
there's always a chance for reform.

"I love you, but I hate your sinful ways." GOD

Breaking my thirst

I'll sink my jaws in sand,
so it can absorb the urges-
that cause me to drool like a dog,
pant like a hyena and if this fails,

I shall seek an oasis in desert.
read me clear; not anymore; 
a mirage of hopeless dreams;
ayeh, a pond of deserted water.

And in this elixir,
I shall dip myself like seed,
and sprout anew like cactus,
with thorn like epidermis.

And I shall have no need to quench lust. 

Season greetings

We often float away.
sailing on different waves,
unsure of oncoming tides,
carried by strong currents-
affecting us in our lives,
or in the lives of others...


As I sail this seasonal sea,
I am filled with immense joy, 
when a fellow sailor says "ahoy"
for the seas are filled with ploy.
So it's comforting, it feels like -
I've seen sun raise over water,
or survived a night's rough tide

Holy matrimony

Your eyes besiege my every thought.
Hence I write this as due testimony,
'fore the morning blessing goes away,
and leaves me with no worm in hand.

Your eyes besiege me my every thought.
My forty days of fast might be sending pay; 
ayeh, I'm head over heel so who am I to say,
yet I give not grass its glistening morning dew?
I can only believe and patiently like mantis,
prey over you like gator with jaws of love,
wide open awaiting as you're contemplating,
entry into our sanctuary of holy matrimony..

Thursday, 29 May 2014

Fallen soldier

They say soldiers are chosen by God.

When she first held her ink filled gun,
she realised what was destined to be done,
she knew the reason why caged bird chipped,
and it equated to its wings being clipped.

Seeking freedom she sailed over many scripts,
unsure if her words would spite one to choke her in her sleep,
Yet still, held onto her pen, and with it too wrote of deaths pit;
"Death where is thy sting?" In it she now lays stung and asleep.

Soldiers are loyal captives, captains to their God given duty,
destined to emancipate and be emancipated through sacrifice.

R.I.P Maya Angelou, the pen surely is mightier than the sword.

Tuesday, 13 May 2014

Dear Allah,

He's killing me softly!

For guidance I seek your knowledge,
yet fear I might get lost in this voyage.
I trust in you and your voice,
I might not hear it make a sound,
ayeh it does astound me,
when I hear it recited out loud.

Like Mohammed Ali,
I'll carry my match sticks with me.
to remind me of the flames,
that I could dwindle down into
if I fail to win these earth games.

My opponent makes it harder,
his game reminds me that this life;
is no simple ship to sail.
His beckoning temptations;
ask me to tag onto his tail,
yet from his path I seek Holy bail.

The strings of music attract me,
I seek to make a living of their beauty.
yet the tales of the past forbid me.
and I seek not to go against Ye,
nor the Prophet that preached to we.

The preaching seems so distorted,
yet on this new path I am devoted;
to enfeeble my desires and reach your empire.
Still though, I am lost like a child,
crawling to you in this sticky bile,
poured over earth with his quirky style.

for he continues to tempt me,
my eyes now gather sin for me.
but in your silhouette from enlightening psalms
I'll blind them and keep them tamed.
so I can look down and keep from shame;

Like a blind man in this game.
Yet he too, could have thoughts;
so cruel and demeaning.
thus putting me in a dark cage-
impure- weak and misguided;
victim to choice short of forbearance.

He's killing me softly,
aiding my death and giving my heart misery.
ayeh seated on the ground humbled,
I'll read your word and keep bound,
to the ground that makes me and takes me.

Saturday, 10 May 2014


All I want is to go to heaven,

Ayeh I don't have enough coins for the slot,
if only a spot could be bought.

I'd be the first buyer,
of course they'd be many bids

Although, I'd wake up early just to catch that worm,
stand in line and hope to be sucked into the portal.


Still I save coins in my little piggy box,
hoping no takes them and that charity is not a hoax

Hoping to save enough to give out to needy
hoping that it gives me clarity and enables me entry. .

you see I sought religious knowledge;
some things you just don't get from college.


I need ways to take off heavens lid.
partially equipped, I still feel so stupid.

I know right from wrong;
my soul can tell them apart.

But my wrongs tear me apart!
and my good doesn't feel hefty.

So I wonder..

will I be able to lift that lid.
If only I could speak to God,

I'd have thae answer, alas the answers in my mind are a cancer;
whispers so devilish I falter in dis-ease as they spread with ease

So I am lost like a cat meandering as I purr,
Wondering far,struggling just to keep up to par.


So lost I often forget the truth..
I forget that simple pain of an aching tooth,

Is nothing close to the flames of the uncouth,
And that to act all vain can get me into those flames.

I am just one call away from cerecloth.
after which I find out where I'll stay not only for a while

Ayeh, forever..

All I want is to go to heaven,

Yet born into this world so susceptible to sin,
I fear and feel weary in my lack of leverage.

Ken.(speaks out)

"They say Barbie's the one for me,
ayeh that's only in life that's HD.

Could we possibly be a perfect pair
all because we are slim and rare?

She, tight and knit in a top showing some cleave.
I, ripped and fit in skinny jeans with my balls trying to breath...


Now every male is trying to be like me,
yet I am trapped in a body where my soul can't be..


I wish I could help you wipe your sweat,
pep talk your mind from things that make you fret.


Ohh this high definition life,
It can drive you mad like your wife!

Yet I am only papier mache;
there's very little I can say.

Yet everyday,
I am a sales man...

I sell a fake life to a man..

How grand!

My sins are many,
and to different hearts they vary.

I give you desire for money,
to buy my leather pants and jeans so skinny.

I make you chase the sweet life,
looking for Barbie, my sweet skinny honey..

Your friends deem you chubby,
I make you uncomfortable in your skin.

Now life is full of irony, I'm sorry,

For as you seek a diet to get skinny,
many die because they are hungry."
Check out Ken for the prelude poem 


Boys are being told
how to look.
All lean and mean,
like G.I. Joe machines.

How to feel,
like good is bad.
What is real,
yet perfection is a state of mind..

There- there,
wipe those beads of sweat.

You are handsome,
you are strong,
you need to know,
that Ken is wrong!

You are special,
Don’t let anyone-
your physique.

You might be skinny,
you might be fat,
heck! You might like
to wear rags,

Just don’t let anyone
change your mind.

For you are,
as you are meant to be.

Hang man

What would lead a man
to tie rope round his neck,
kick chair out-
from beneath his feet
to dangle in mid-air,
legs violently kicking
as he struggles for breathe,
'fore succumbing-
to thrashing death?

Could it be he loathes life
for grinding him to pieces?
Or is it that he feels too short,
He'd rather dangle his short legs
in mid-air till his snort of air?

Insecurity is no security,
It’s like a guard with a gun feeling fear-
he might as well shoot himself!

life is too short,
to worry about hard times,
things we can't change,
and other things of the sort,
which eventually float away like boats

Thursday, 24 April 2014

I needed to breath

These many words I write,
among the poets that wrote.

are a chance for me to breath,
to emote what I truly feel.

They will be a tale of proof
about this journey that thus far,

has me feeling asphyxiated-
like I'm locked in polythene bag

Wednesday, 23 April 2014

I hope one day you find me

It often seems like I know nothing about you,
you're like an illusion in my life.Sometimes-
I know you, other times  you're a mystery
alas they say you can only know so much,

I have tried to discover you in many ways,
sometimes I get lost trying to find the truth
or is it that what I find is not satisfactory?
I am now lost in the things I sought.

You see your love is not a house,
It is a mirage of a home I float upon-
hoping it won't leave me homeless.
for truly we all need shelter.

I hope one day though,
You read these words so.
Maybe to find out things you did not know,
Or just to fill that one sit in my show..

Where most times there's no one watching,
the sits are empty, and lights are glistening,
as I whine and unwind trying to emote
yet its you dear who's always on my thoughts.

So these words I wrote are guides on our road.
they could mean much if you looked through,
they'll let you know where I want us to go,
they are my truth as I seek the truth,

and as I wander this meandering path,
of secrets untold and trials to overcome,
I hope one day you'll find me.
and find that I am lost as you might be.

Tuesday, 22 April 2014

I faltered

I faltered.

I faltered-
helped you falter.

My sin to my soul,
our sin to our souls,
we all pay for letting it in.

Who knows were we have been?
seeking sin and letting it in. 

God only knows,
For God's surveillance works round the clock.
And in the database,
we have faltered.

If only our reflections,
would help us sit and reflect

We would know that each kiss,
steals away a lifetime of bliss,

Yet it is this,
we run to for bliss.

Who knows?
It might be it,

Crossing my fingers,
we don't end up whipped..

I faltered,
helped you falter,
we joined the herd
and turned into cowards.

Now we need the Sheppard.

Monday, 21 April 2014

Love [performance piece]


I'm writing everyday,
trying to figure out a way
for you to stay
and for me to say;
I love you.

I'm your number one fan-
yet your not famous.
But to me, you're a star,
not a Hollywood star,
they'd step over you like tar,
watching that would hurt.
And I know you don't love me
it doesn't take a genius.
albeit it'd be opportune,
If we'd purchase love.
I'd run to your store
and ensure it sold out.


I don't usually say much,
I come off as cheesy and
uneasy when I share a slice,
so I am barricaded-
yet on paper I spew,
silence is a komodo
relatively extinct in my mind
yet I sink in its lack thereof,
as I think inane thoughts,
of drawing love hearts in sand-
for you to look at.
writing notes like Coelho-
for you to look up.
But I'm no writer,
despite having written things
some said to be splendid,
but you, stay still and in silence,
stealing my shine like a bandit,
taking another piece of me,
yet still I let you have it...

Take it away, take it away,
maybe one day,
we'll walk the isle,
in a stretch of tulips,
Side by side.
In your hands peonies,
the freshest they could find
for you're the freshest I've found
and I want to preserve you,
like they do precious things,
and when this fiend of a dream,
crawls out of the dark,
with you in an actual gown,
we could seal the deal,
release our inhibitions
like we have longed to.
Then stare at the stars-
all night, like lovers do...

I'm writing everyday,
trying to figure out a way
for you to stay
and for me to say;
I love you..

So I'm looking for fans,
maybe, if I were like you,
you'd know I adore you.
Some one told I'm in too deep,
taking the highway to hell,
to a place where people lack sleep.
but I'm in it for the long run
if my legs break, then I'll crawl
for I have big dreams.
I see you and I with a baby or two-
in place so far, far away,
in a villa or chateau...

You're not my type,
you've broken my pattern,
you're  rich coffee-
in my hot water heart,
you've changed everything!
I feel like we're like poles
repelling each other,
yet the further we go
the bigger the black hole
in my heart yet who am I,
to define this ludicrous ET?

This alien feeling that came
soaring in a spaceship,
abducted and brainwashed me.
leaving me powerless sans manual
I am now obsessing over;
a possessive feeling-
I'm compulsive,
this state is demeaning.
How can you, no, how can I,
let you see past the blind spot
where I await you with open arms,
to bless you with love sacred as psalms?

I'm writing everyday,
trying to figure out a way
for you to stay
and for me to say;
I love you 

Sunday, 20 April 2014

Invest in blessings.

From the skies that resurrect land with rains,
to sun that warms us and helps us harvest,
to vast water bodies that cannot cross paths,
which we utilise to revitalise and clean our bodies,

To herbs and crops that grow on our land,
to animals that protect us and provide food,
we truly are all blessed; ayeh
we should also invest in our blessings

I invest in hope, faith, and hard work,
It's hard to strive if you can't borrow from the future,
hope gives you vision, faith gives you confidence
Hard work is cumbersome but it does pay off.

I invest in prayer and patience,
We all struggle daily to achieve things,
no matter how small they might be. we all do.
Prayer is pep talk and patience brings forth reward.

I invest in friendship and commitment.
If you take time off to show affection and care,
if you're patient and seek to understand
God pays you back with true friendship,

I invest in love and family.
I give love to friends, foes, and family,
for we are all descendants off the same tree,
we uplift each other, if we are there for one another.

If we are grateful and not green in envy,
or shadowed by a canopy of pride.
or waver in belief as we struggle and strive
there's reward in investing in our blessings ..

Friday, 18 April 2014

I want it all

I am selfish-
I want love,
even if its bitter,.
You will find that past the sugar,
love is truly bitter-sweet.

I am selfish-
I want money.
even if it's evil.
You'll find that past its power-
it is a necessity in our societies.

The things I long for light up desire in my heart,
yet often deem out my inner glowing soul.
and that light helps me see past yonder,
and stay in touch with the on that guides me.

I am selfish-
at least, I know it.
I want it all,
the money, cars, 
clothes, and gold;

Ayeh, is any of it worth anything at all?

Sunday, 13 April 2014

"Sir, all I want is justice!"

"Sir, all I want is justice!"

"Why do they throw stones?
Why are they punishing me?
They are the reason my dog barks."

His breath was nasty,
mine was worse.
He must have been drinking,
I hadn't yet brushed

He din't have a point to drive home.
albeit his query tested my patience,
and I eventually let him into my home,
where we talked of nothing but Rome.

Empowerment and lack of power,
acting like the Romans or acting right?
Justice and injustice, right and wrong,
peace in the here after and letting troubles be.

"they throw stones at my home,
they say my dog barks all the time.
but it only barks when attacked,
and I have done nothing to them!"

"Why do they throw stones?
Why are they punishing me?
They are the reason my dog barks."

Strangers pick and throw the stones,
to this old man's old home,
he needed to vent, he needed justice,
I had none to offer him
Only water to cool him.

"The constable came to my home,
Pulled out his lathis, the big stick.
Asked me why I spoke English,
I said it's an English speaking country."

"What can I do sir?"
He raised his hands and asked me.

'I'm only a boy-man,' I thought.
'I know I turned 22 yesterday,
But how can I help you whose 79?'
I felt pressured, I couldn't deny.

Ayeh silence kept me in the zone,
so I listened to him go on and on.

"They hit me with their lathis,
I tried to bribe them with a 100 rupees.
but they kept me in the cell,
I sweated so much and yelled.
When the rich man bribed with 200 rupees,
 they let him out the cell."

"These police men! Puh!
So corrupt! They made me suffer,
but in the end they will suffer.
God knows I have worked hard."
"What is your name? He asked."
"Ooh! Name of a god,
all names are names for god's,
I am Hindu man, I have studied bible,
Jesus suffered so much for our sins,
his own people punished him."

"Why do these people punish me?"
Why do they want me to suffer?
I used to work so hard, and they used to pay me 100 rupees.
My wife is sick, diabetes. I need to feed my family,
these neighbour's are so bad, simply talking bad things!"

"Sir, all I want is justice!"

I am no judge,
I wished I were.
I was his neighbour,
I hoped to be among the good.

From one conversation to another,
we jumped to the moon and back,
to his childhood and transition to manhood,
as I sat and patiently listened.

"I want to study Qur'an,
Who is Ibrahim?" he asked.
"Well in the Qur'an his the father of all nations."
Luckily I was on a recent verge of completing the Qur'an.
so I gave him what I had taken time off to learn.

"I need to study the Quran and more of the bible.
I need to go and purchase." he said
I offered him my second Quran to cut his chase.
"should I pay?"
"no, no, don't worry about it."
"thank you very much, thank you,
Any doubt I'll come to you."
"Sure uncle, no problem."

I got lost in thought,
Wondering on the ways God works,
Wondering on how my housemate,
who was also on the way to open the door-
from up stairs would have handled the gentleman,
Wondering why I choose to drop-
the broom as I cleaned my room,
Yet I had just complained
of people who visit at the wrong time-
once the bell had rung.
I wondered...

My time was invested but not wasted,
My faith was tested but reinvested.
Our conversation was a questionnaire unresolved

"look at me," he said,
"I have no teeth, people always ask
why I eat slow. (he laughed)
You have to respect food,
thank God, He gives and takes."
I remembered and mentioned to him
how the Quran speaks of God
granting us life from youth
where we acquire wisdom,
and to old age where we grow-
frail and he takes it all away.

"Ibrahim, thank you, thank you, thank you..
God is everywhere, He gives and takes.
He gave me this nose to breath, eyes, ears,
(he pointed to all his features) and He is everywhere!"
"Thank you very much Ibrahim, thank you.

Why do they throw stones?
Why are they punishing me?
They are the reason my dog barks."
He said it one last time..

"anyway, let it be! Thank you."

"No problem uncle, have a good day."