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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Tuesday, 8 December 2015

Yours truly, Lucifer.


Yours truly, Lucifer.

My wings are reinstating,
I was devoid of them-
when exiled from heaven.

Now I lay here before you, lord.
below the arcs of this medieval cathedral,
humbled, learned, and out battled.

To give you my black and white,
orated and not scripted for I need;
to expose desperation in my voice...

The sheep before you accentuate-
a dire need for a saviour, nay, a Shepard-
to guide them, they are lost not misguided.

I loomed in the shadows like an owl,
I watched them many a generation-
pour poison in their own cups and sip it.

It baffled me, I lost all sense of initial intent,
so here I am on bent knee before thee,
in the confines of cold brick and stone...

To ask a burning question...
Are these wings for me to come back home?





Don't mess with Hajat! [performance piece]

I found her packing bags,
nali simanyi nti naye anoba,
so I shoved her to the bed,
started acting all possessed,
grabbed open her case and stressed,
what the duck is this?
Where do you think you're going?

I trigger switched emotions,
it's like I had bipolar...
So I tried to cool off-
pulled the tie off my collar,
then by the door I tried-
to corner her and kiss her,
and she shoved me off;
you would think I had Ebola.

She kept putting her clothes in her bags,
I swear I almost hit her;
ayeh, I saw the weight on her eye bags,
I was giving her sleepless nights.
Then the tears in her eyes;
a deluge of misery-
alas her troubles too; a mystery,
I told her, baby, come her next to me.

She said "I'm leaving."
I told her "go head!"
She's like 'oh, you don't need me?"
Told her, "how about you who's leaving?"

I tried to get into conversation,
she's like "oh, now you want to talk?"
told her, "arguing won't solve this situation,
see I know I'm laconic,
but don't get into my head like chronic,
and knock me out with your diabolic words-
that you spit so fast like sonic.

Okay tell me this...
Do you still love me?
Are you taking my kids?
Will to come back home?
Will you miss me at all?
Will you crumble and fall
Without me there to hold?
What will you tell your mother?
Does your father have a gun?

Baby I know I'm stupid,
I'm always working out late,
but I do this for you and no one else,
see the dilemma is you want us both,
the money and me; your honey...
So when I'm out working late chasing money
you call me back say your lonely you need honey
make up your mind, I'm about to get an hunchback....

She said, "I'm leaving..."
I told her, "don't be stupid!"
She's said, "I've had enough"
I told her, "of WHAT!?"

She broke down and said,
"your family...They are all up in my space,
calling me this, calling me that,
telling me this, telling me that,
and then your aunt Baza,
I'm about to go Rambo on her ass,
if she don't watch the next thing she says.
so baby it's either you and me,
and oh lord please forgive,
you and your bougie family;
'cause I've heard enough,
I've been a good wife to you,
and baby I love you, you treat me right,
but every time we have a fight,
I'm just venting it all on you,
and I can't keep this boiling anymore..."

She said, "I'm leaving..."
I told her, "don't you dare!
'Cause I need you."
She said, "I need you too..."

And she cried, and she cried, and she cried,
and she cried, and she cried, oh she cried...
I hugged, and I told her I loved her,
said it'd be all alright!
And I dealt with those sons of....
My father!
And told them, Don't mess with Hajat!

Your old family and your new family,
are like wood and gasoline,
if there's a spark between the two-
you are bound to get a fire 'cause they just-
don't get along like a guy and a thong...

Separate the two,
for your old family-
was made for you.
If any of them chooses-
to leave they are fools.
For nothing stands firm like a family tree.
Ayeh, they should mind their business,
for respect is what binds us all!




I see, You see, and He sees [Performance piece]

Exceptional
(I see, you see, and He see's. )

My eyes tell me lies,
they see what is naked before me,
they see what God didn't hide,
the beautiful lies within which we lie.
These naked eyes,
they see elaborations of sin-
crafted by our own hands,
causing a fire in my mind...

I find that like a mine my mind,
explodes at the top like a cartoon.
For my mind has been exposed-
like the back of a baboon,
exposed to graphical content,
that has me in contempt,
for I am hell bent to sin, and
kissing Lucifer's ring.

These eyes, these little eyes,
often act like little spies,
seeking out distinguished sights,
of disturbing matters; encasing-
my mental state into an estate,
where even if I went blind,
I'd still have a pent house visual of;
things that cripple my fate...

These eyes, even while I lie,
trying to rest my weary mind-
envision a series of trivial videos,
where I often end up as the bad guy-
in dreams that I did not craft.

These eyes help me play the blame game.
where I pitch ball my sight and bulls eye,
upon something dark, guttural,
blood squirming, and gnashing...
Where I then choose to play God.
I judge others as if I'm the one that-
lays up on a cushion cloud and says cut!
When I'm unsatisfied with a scene in this movie called life.

These eyes are what keep me behind,
behind the gates of glory,
where brethren hath not seen misery.
where worry is a dead end-
on heavens road map and glory is-
a yellow brick road made of gold that-
we trek on all day long at home...

Life is blinding #Conjolted poetry
Life is blinding, we look but do not see. 
These eyes have made me blind,
I look but I do not see.
Yet in my mind I comprehend,
and apprehend the truth; but,
I have failed to decimate it and-
see that it sparkles an essence;
that cannot fade ; a piece of peace-
like tree shade; a glimmer of hope,
for me to seek, keep, preach, and-
teach to my fellow sheep that are;
sick of the same disease.
This myopic disease where we fail-
to see beyond our earthly needs and desires.

These eyes help me feel things-
as they excrete tears expressed in-
moments I fear will make me tear-
faith into bits and pieces and ask God;
WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS THIS?
Is this how you planned to-
perpetrate this? turn us into bishops,
to worship and praise you ardently-
on this chess board of life trailed-
to a diagonal preordained course on-
which you push us towards and hurt us...
Then makes us walk plank!
WHAT IS THIS?

What is this when I cannot see my-
soul purpose in this life despite this epiphany?

Yet these eyes, these oak brown eyes,
sometimes called lion eyes often make me,
a blind eye shy from being an exceptional being!
One acceptable within the eyes of our supreme being
but I keep sinning and thinking about self yet God,
God gave me breath and life to test if I'm worth-
eternal life now tell me is He Just god or a Just God?

He who gave me these eyes that tell my souls story,
that reveal its burning fire; the worry within me,
yet if I seek to reveal me to He that is above we,
I will see the beauty of his ubiquitous love-
that fills, surrounds, and blesses me.

You see, with these God given visionary eyes,
I visualised a cliff edge off which I fell,
and landed into the woman of my prayers.
A woman so beautiful I went blind,
for it used to hurt to see such stunning beauty!
But I forget it is God who bestowed her unto me

And these eyes help me visualise what she-
doesn't see, a future of her and I-
aside like bonnie and cylde as we ride,
3miles/hr heading to the inside of an alter,
with cupid on our side shooting arrows-
in our eyes till they die cause love is blind.
It stands the stormy weather raising tides.
.
But these eyes are witnesses of my lies,
trying times, and ravishing tides,
that nail me down like the messiah-
when I am walking through the fire
Of what often lays and crosses by me,
and makes me forget the man I strive to be...

Sultry temptresses attempting to tempt-
my will and side track me off my wheel,
and then lead me to write my will of loves death,
after giving into free will and succumbing-
to undressing the dressing that 'they' wear in protest,
that God uses to test me or should I say we men...

Who I often see falling, falling, falling

Falling #Conjolted
This is what they mean when they say
you're in too deep, 'bra..'






















To the depths where there is no return and only God can catch us...

You see we are blind to self control, I'm appalled!
We can't resist to miss the hype yet the irony is,
we remote control ourselves, to do-
the damage we do, we are doomed!
Yet dooms day is just a Friday away, and-
death is its portal that sucks us away any day,
any time but with our eyes none of us can see this.
eternity is well nigh and our green card to the-
green lavish Eden is a clean heart, a clean heart, a clean heart...

I dug deep into myself and inside out,
I pulled out my soul and let it QnA the temple;
where my heart lays for my eyes have failed to see my mistakes...
I found that this shell, this shelter, this being is
rotting inside with lies, vanity and fear;
a recipe for calamity; a dark place; an orbit of disgrace!

I closed my eyes to my selfishness,
saw what the seeds I sowed had brought, and-
I accepted that except if I intend to live in deception,
I am not and will never be exceptional before God

until I accept Him to auto pilot my life and guide me...

I see, you see, and He see's. Are you exceptional ?

The age of the lonesome [Performance piece]

If you've been wondering (Cm)
why its so cold, (Fm)
and you just don't know (Cm)
what's going on, what's going on? G#- G

Truth is diminishing like a faint scent,
so conversation is a dinner plate of food,
spiced up with lies, gossip, and curses,
as honesty in a misty scent floats away...

We now pay for sex in different currencies,
so street prostitution is no longer "the sin,"
the absurdity is conservation and waiting,
so virginity has been yellow taped like,
a crime scene and it's obscene to be within.

Money has become an unorthodox din,
the blind are the congregation of this cult,
and with their white canes they tap, tap, tap,
impatiently trying to trap, trap trap cash;
ayeh, even if they feel it, their ardent desire,
for it to stack up makes them stuck up-
prouder than others that aren't worshipping,
or giving into the rituals of this creed.

Greed fueled by money, power, sex, drugs,
rumbles within our hearts in lack thereof.
So we seek to feed ourselves desperately,
willing to cut throat in cut throat situations,
as some back bend without orientation,
presenting themselves for butt strokes,
in order to earn what they think it's worth.

In street shops I purchase certain things,
but my ignorance is toyed with by the seller,
they cheat me with deceit till I throw a feat,
but I throw it at home after realising my,
ignorance is bliss but this makes me sullen.

The marriage ring is now the shame ring,
and married men have been endorsed-
to advertise it as they hit on young bloods,
rather than be home with their wives,
who have also resorted to being recorded-
flooding the social media with profanity.

If religion is the pinnacle of our judgement,
we're losing because we are decadent...
Muslims despite being strict and reserved,
keep their sin reservoirs clogged to the top,
with fornication; the sweetest of all vices.

So instead of binging and being gluttonous-
on alcohol and pork like their "enemies,"
the cold world pushes us to seek "warmth,"
that some have resorted to derive in vanity,
yet we are unappreciative of what we have;

Hitlers without moustaches nor fire arms,
to shoot down the helpless societal ghandis,
but minus food, we leave them to starve,
and when they resort to theft they're stoned-
yet he without sin should be the first to cast,
but if he does he goes quickly out his gourd,
becoming another disobedient miscreant.

Those sans religion are free like Pigeons;
emancipated from handicapping beliefs,
free to express selves through decisions,
wrought by their own heart, mind, and soul,
rather than enacting tales of the pedagogies-
which most men struggle to comprehend,
but choke hold their beliefs and deceive-
others as if they received them from Sinai.

The trouble is most of us are hard-hearted,
we've failed to learn from all these sources,
then complement each others knowledge,
yet God has strived to reach out to all of us-
in different languages, in different forms,
despite those that strive to distort the Gmail-
the God mail that some have lost faith in;
hence, why atheism is now an exit door-
from the confusion we have caused...

We are void of God; liberated orphans!
We killed Him; He who once was love,
reigning in our hearts and teaching us trust.
so we filled empty souls with insecurities,
that have caused vanity, lust, and greed,
sins henchmen competing for our light
To then over shadow us and take over.

Atalyekalagula

Atalyekalangula, taliba mukalamu...

Ng'omwiido ogwakula gwanirira,
gwona gwetaga okumwa.
Kitegeza Okutagana tikukoma,
nabafu boona balwanira Muntana.

Eyamaliliza yena yakatandika butandike olugendo lwe,
kuba, ebyensi tibimalikika.
Abatalwana bafa, abefaaku batuuka.enkomerero yentalo,
bamyansamyansa ng'entala elyasa obwire bwensi.

Omulumusi akulembaire okuvainuma,
aba tasembye kasta amalaku olugendo lwe.
kuba abasiinze abatyamireh ebirabo byaibwe,
ebiva ewa kibhumba.

Atalyekalangula, taliba mukalamu...

Niwa gezaku atya,
tali fuuna kitibwa kya nko'ko ensada.
Nempologoma esinza amaani mu kituti kya yo-
temala gatuukayo naidogo.
Yona Elwana yafuna olukusa,
olwisawo ekigere kyeyenda kyabawo.

Akola nge'nfudu yena abha mukozi,
kasta atatendukira mubyakola. kuba,
kyo gemma empola, kiba nga aamagi go,
kasta ogafaku, otolamu emere.

Neera, mwekalanguleh!
Mukole nga balimi, mumezzeh kyemusanibwa.



Sekiriba kyataka mpawo atalikyambala

Have you ever wished you had Jesus powers,
to pull someone out of the grave and resurrect them?

A friend lost a father and I wanted to visit the grave,
pull him out and try to resurrect him...

For nothing has been the same since I got her text,
every norm came to a stop after that final back drop.

I'm now mellow inside, feeling selfish and powerless.
I want to save her, I want to give her back her daddy but he's gone...

If I saved him, would he re-configure his life to live better?
Despite that, I'd spin reverse the world and re-write his actions.

If not, I'll be gangster about the situation and turn into Al Capone,
throw a cape on and save her in the dark alley she's walking.

I want to make everything better but even a prayer seems inept.
I've prayed and prayed, I don't even know what for anymore

I wish I could put my hand deep into my throat,
pull myself inside out and excavate my soul,

Then catapult it to the skies to find the pearly gates,
slam at them in hopes to break the chain of fate.

Peter, the keeper will tel me God's coming, I'd have succeeded.
When he does, I'll seat by his side, cry and ask him why!?

I'll apologise for reaping myself out before my time;
ayeh, I'll tell him it was urgent, and he'll say he expected me.

Then I'll ask him if fate knew that I'd make my way,
He'll tell me to shush my smart mouth and cut to the chase.

I'll ask, "what I can do to make things back at home better?"
He'll tell me, "Sekiriba kyataka mpawo atalikyambala."

I'll be in shock that he speaks Luganda then I'll ruminate.
as I hover over the cloud waiting on my bus ride to earth..

I'll be angry 'cause He gives answers like my father,
but when I get back to earth, I'll hopefully have figured it out...


Resurrection

Resurrection.

Trickles of rain-
cascade over the dark cloud,
soaking placid loose dust-
on a buckled road way.
The rain's benign,
it barely has any rumble in it,
and the chunky clouds,
in tandem float away...

God rustles on cloud,
scattering through them like a paper bin,
making way for beams of hope,
to break through and peer.
The rays akin to portals,
aid descending angles from Heaven,
here to replenish and restore-
all lost hope among all.

Red eye plague

I don't want a red eye plague when I leave,
I want saxophones to be played in vibrato,
violins to squeal deep into peoples souls,
as they reminisce over my visit on earth.

I want people to laugh over my silly ways,
to laugh about my random one liners,
or maybe about my attempts to be funny,
and if they laugh, I pray their salty cheeks

Feel the chilled free fall of tears of joy,
the kind you can't control like a high,
the kind you'd wipe away with your fingers
'cause most people don't carry hankies.

You'd expect a handkerchief to be necessity,
on those so called black themed affairs,
where loved ones cheat on us with death;
ayeh, it turns out, not all are weeping a loss.

I don't want a red eye plague when I leave,
I want people to be happy that I dropped in,
I want loved ones to find hope in the truth,
because the truth unveiled to us a certainty

That all will be lost, but all will rekindle,
that some learn the unquantifiable value
of what God wants to give us before hand;
hence, why he tests us before He reveals...

I wish I'd die along side all those souls,
I share with an invisible Bluetooth bond.
so that sadness would never batter them,
along side the whirl wind of red eye tears.

I don't want a red eye plague when I leave
Lord help me eschew that burden we heave

Home

If home is where the heart is,
I must have left mine out in heaven,
feather weight on God's palms,
waiting for me to get it...

So I'm broken, I'm so broken,
but I'm hopeful. I'm so hopeful...

So many beautiful lies,
told on this canvas,
try to decipher,
but I'm lost in this beautiful art,
it's like a beautiful song,
in an orchestra,
and all they do is sing along,
such a disaster!
I try to find the truth,
but I'm aloof,
feel like a clown,
when I try to speak the truth,
all they do is laugh at me,
they laugh so hard,
but I will have,
that last laugh...

If home is where the heart is,
I must have left mine out in heaven,
feather weight on God's palms
waiting for me to get it...

So I'm broken, I'm so broken,
but I'm hopeful. I'm so hopeful

Box pieces, box pieces that's not how we get them here,
in containers all from China so we rocking second hand pairs,
doesn't matter, niggas want them while they hot,
rich is the aim so the shoes a bonanza!
God's just word kinda like the Pocahontas,
and we are the spoilt child looking for some answers,
some people find them in box pieces,
others find them in the warmth of a mistress:
oh God, oh God,  Oh God, save me,
there's so much trouble happening in here,
if I tried to break it down it might take a year,
some people rather lie even if you caught them red handed,
sleeping with your missy getting jiggy in your business,
profit is their interest so they get it selling loyalty,
seeking royalty, trying to ball like kings,
trying to get chaperones for their homes,
kneading dough just to feel like their safe,
yet with money you can't even resurrect,
and when you gone man you're going all alone.
I feel lost someone take me to the L&F,
I've been swept off my feet was feeling like a ref,
but I've accepted defeat I'm waiting on my stretcher,
some battles you can't win you've got to head on home

Oh God, oh God,  Oh God, save me...
Oh God, oh God,  Oh God, save me...

If home is where the heart is,
I must have left mine out in heaven,
feather weight on God's palms,
waiting for me to get it...

So I'm broken, I'm so broken
but I'm hopeful. I'm so hopeful...

NTontomera Ki?

Ntontome ntontome? Tontoma

Ntontomera mukwano
Ogutambuza abantu nebetala nga balalo
nga banonye bi baby ebinenyeza ebitone
mubidandali kubanga byesaze ebikunta-
ebizula nebitwambusa nga ruler kumbe
baba besisisa oluntu kuba tebagala zula
konze lwaki wesaze akantu akalinga akaso
kana kusala ko ye, "nanti nize ba'ta!

Ntontomera omukwano kubanga;
guli mu omuzanyo ogunyuma nga kwepena...
Nanti musoka kwebusa nga mwepena,
nemwewunza wunza nga abatakubidwa,
paka webakukwasa nebakuba paka-
kejenge wena wena amaaso negemola
nga kubidwa akayaga!

Ntontomera omukwano kubanga;
gwe gusinga, gujud katemba munji nti;
"njakwagala paka emunynye wezinbula wo-
mubuwebgula kumbe ali mu aiziru-
abulawo nga lumu! Ngo'maze serekerera!

Ntontomera omukwano kubanga gwo guwoma.
Newebakusiika batya odamu totya,
oba nga filimu star- nanti yeh tafa!
Ateh mu part 2 akomawo obuwomi yabuzula,
bulinga omuzigo kasta okombako
obanga akubidwa k.o kubanga teri ekigusinga!

Ntontome ntontome?

Ntontomera jaja God, liso dene,
omugabi womukisa, omumasu webisabo,
omugabi webirabo, teri amukira, teli amudirira,
eri amukika mu, teri ali muyisa kubanga
yagaba omukisa, ateh lwa yeh teri antisa!

Ntontomera jaja God atusigaza kubugere- gere
kubanga atugezesa tayagala abensalwa abatasiima
lwa nsonga  omukwano gwayina tegutegerekeka,
gunyirira ngo buwengula obyiringita enkuba yenjuba-
esobola otusanya wo, oba otuuzaawo nga tufa!

Ntontomera jaja God owamanyi nowe dembe ,
atuwa- natujako, atuwobulamu nomukiisa,
atukulembera nga tumwesiga,Atukuma nga tutide,
 atulisa nga tuli bayala, atusomyiwa nga twonona,
atugezesa obuguminkiriza, nga twezula ng'ebirombe-
olumala natudirira natuwemikisa!

Ntontomera jaja God olwobuyinza bwayina otusaanyawo.
Tuli ku kifu, tetuli bakiriza, tunonyereza nga ababi,
tudeno ne tuderi, tononya kitufu
Oyinza olowoza amaaso tetuyina,
Naye jaja God yetalookeera newankubade;
tusigala tusiinza kinusu nga tukyekute ko nge ekinusu.

Ntontome ntontome?

Ekizibu nyinza otontma okikesa nga abe ki kiri
Abazina swiri riri, kubanga sente zakubye,
Atewezikuba zigonza, naye nze neda zizekikesa,
nze nensonga etubatisa wano mpola nga tu tontoma
ateh nga yo esonze ku mukwanko ne katonda; sibye bimu?
ateh nga byombi kunsi tubyetaga nga omwana weyetaga mama

Ntontome ntontome?

Newenkiiza mu lusoga mba teri batisa,
ateh mba tikigemeisasa kisa, nkinweza,
nakigeta mehmale nakisasanya kya yambuka,
ngo omuka oguvireh muziiko.. ayeh tida babuza,
kandireh kunsonga eya lero eyo ku bakena ayeh tidi oba munagena!

Ntontome ntontome?

lero ekindese okutontoma nga sinaba kuda bugwanjuba
kiri nti kano akaznyo ako kutontoma
kayina okuba nensonga luvanyuma.
Eyange mu bufunza-fiza eilinti;
buli kikolebwa kunsi kitambulila kumipira jya mukwano...
ate omukwano guva wakatonda- nera temukyerabira

Ntontome ntontome?


The man

I, I don't know, I-I, I don't know
I, I don't know, I-I, I don't know
I, I don't know, I-I, I don't know
I, I don't know, I-I, I don't know

I don't know if I will make it in these foggy mountains,
I'm climbing and abiding I might need a youth fountain,
to give me back that years that we wasted scallywagin'-
Lolly gaggin' learning everything but knowledge,
it was porridge what they fed us just to end up paying mortgages,
in college some do grow up others numb out and forget it,
or give up on their dreams 'cause it's a trouble to unlearn,
then pick up all the pieces as your stacking up on bills,
a rodent on some wheels, a genie working for pigs,
I've seen men give it up to f***in man,
and we inherit failed gimmicks we should be the last ones,
living a life of vengeance, we're done paying for the past,
greed's an open door we should walk out and abandon it,
and worry 'bout our dreams that we never do assimilate,
I'm sure you can relate if your struggle to be great,
as your effort slowly burns out your a candle all in tears.

I, I don't know, I-I, I don't know
I, I don't know, I-I, I don't know
I, I don't know, I-I, I don't know
I, I don't know, I-I, I don't know

I'm trying to understand the price it costs to be man,
having a grand plan whilst holding down the FAM,
controlling all emotions yet your porous like a rock is,
could there be a difference of a human and a man?
The trigger of emotion shoots its bullet through the same gun,
but somehow we all end up taking paths in different clans,
is this self will or pre-ordained deal?
You know! One of those things were we barely have a hand in,
I met this skinny fellow that was little as a pencil,
he spoke a little retro bout the functions of a man,
told me that, "a man is meant to labour not procreate,
that ladies are for babies not for work up in an office
If the two of them collide; kaleidoscope dive
change in pattern, change in ethics, change in gender sexes
can't you see that men are out there busy turning into Katelyn's
It's hard enough already that they are gossiping in salons..."
He went on and on, I could tell he was disturbed,
by the "tragedies" above, of this generation Y,
it's funny, how history repeats;
a people of the past had these "dirty- dirty" quirks,
now we paraphrase on our re-written scripture,
pointing fingers, making sure we cast out all the miscreants
yet, we're all indebted to "The Man"

Oluvanyumma (Afterwards)

Mummy heavy in the belly
carried a baby in her tummy,
given to her by baby daddy,
till the baby came to join the family...

Oluvanyumma lwe kyo,
tutambuza ebigere byenkere,
netu gwa mukidiba kyensi,
netuwuga kuba tutya okufa!

Nanti babah bamaze otuzaala...
Ngawo tutandisa okuza enjala,
nga mama yatulissa munjuba,
aliinze, muguminkiriza paka wetukula!

Being young was easy,
they'd breast feed you,
serve and heed to your needs
and all was done as you please,

Till it's time for you to join school-
before you actually know,
you're going to be in it forever...
Only to attain vast knowledge
without the tools to apply it.

Some for some reason love it,
others dread the first day onward,
ayeh, we live through and through-
till we make our way out.

Oluvanyumma lwe kyo,
tutambuza ebigere byenkere,
netu gwa mukidiba kyensi,
netuwuga kuba tutya okufa!

Nanti abamu tubatulowoza,
biwede kumbe byakatandika,
ateh nga abambu babikowa-kowa dah!
Bagala wuga mu maazi mawanvu!

Only to join the University system,
some unaware of what they want to pursue,
others out of free will opt to cheat to success,
it's mess I tell you these "cards we're dealt."

Others follow an orthodox path,
taking on their serene passions
becoming alienated from the norm of society,
till one day they accomplish their goals.

Within this time, desires grow,
most are sexually inquisitive,
so giving birth becomes a norm,
and celibacy is a known myth,

While imbibing in drugs, partying-
celebrating fulfilment in nothing.
are strategies to subdue dreadful reality,
pursued on this quest of many roads...

Out of which; only some graduate,
while others re-do failed papers,
for the "success system" is against them,
as if it's a clear cut measure or determinant-
yet the variables all play against uncertain odds..

Oluvanyumma lwe kyo,
tutambuza ebigere byenkere,
netu gwa mukidiba kyensi,
netuwuga kuba tutya okufa!

Awo nga tweyongedeyo,
amazi gafuse mawanvu Nyoo!
Bano tebakyali baano,
abamu balowoza tokyafayo,
naye nga bambi ensi ekunyize olimugezako!

You now need a job and you pray to lord,
but can barely work as hard as Job.
Your busy parents did a fine job of raising you,
some of your friends are living the "good life,"
bali mu motooka zabwe ba vuumya goodlyf.

Some can barely afford a pair of jeans,
yet struggle daily to live over and above their means.
Then your parents start passively scolding you,
asking you what next and if you could,
you'd just stay home it's the safest place...

Ayeh, they want you to grow up,
you've graduated and they need you to show up,
to show them that their education has paid off.
I call it theirs because they invest in it-
with hopes that it will yield returns...

So you send in your applications,
while others are being employed,
to run family businesses or because-
they know the who and what of Kampala...

Your friends start asking you why you're lost,
your love life is busy hanging on the cliff;
the pregnancy scares are real,
you're worried about your competition
somewhere out there in Makindye...
That's cashing or filling in more than you ever will;
basically, you're stressed out but you hide behind a smile
because the world doesn't entertain the weak!

Oluvanyumma lwe kyo,
tutambuza ebigere byenkere,
netu gwa mukidiba kyensi,
netuwuga kuba tutya okufa!

Awono, abamu bazade,
babakuziza bafuse bazade,
abamu tebwaakede bakyebase,
abala bakuba byeyo ensi fena etunyize,
abamu ebirabo batulide,
aga abala bakolo na mbiiro ensi bajitide!

Having kids is always a new and scary experience,
but I've been told by the "old,"
there's a way to handle it all;
after all, after first time you've crossed "the line."

The worrying part is getting married,
especially in these times where trust is an issue,
and love's been nipped in the bud and superseded by lust.
But, the society expects you to marry,
have a wonderful family and stable career

Yet jobs are scarce and partners are meagre...
Nonetheless, you start to hear about "kwanjula's,"
the baby mama and baby daddy drama,
how your friend has become a second wife,
and for some reason your growing apart from family.

You're going to burials every changing season,
some people are getting fired and rehired,
people have turned gay, many are starving,
others have "made it," most have faked it,
everything is moving so fast! (EH!)


Ayeh, you know what,
time will always fly by...
whether you keep up or you don't,
whether you get a job or your broke,
whether you're the richest out there,
whether you have ten kids or two,
or whether you waste away your life,
It'll will always fly by,

It's that one constant man can't constraint,
the other is towards where time is chasing us...

Ensonga yoku tontoma kuno eri emu,
ebyensi olusi bebeera bizibu,
naye olusi feh abeteka mubizibu,
naye mbakubiriza, mubera baguminkiriza,
ateh temuvuganya nensi koba yo olusi-
etambuza speed ya yiri yiri!
Nolwekyo, kola kyokola tofanga kubantu,
kubanga byokola obikolelah gwe!
Nante, bulyomu kunsi asubidwa okufa,
neera temutya, kale ko mutye ensi tujilese tutya?
Bana bajukira mubulungi oba,
baja ba bekuba obwama nti tumuwonye?!

Neyanziza, neyanzege,
mukama abakumeh.



Past the shore

It's intriguing how life is bitter-sweet.
One minute it's sweet,
the next you've dipped your feet-
into chills of bitter cold,
You're feeling under the weather-
under which weakness lives-
and you're its mistress,
so you cuddle her like a pillow,
hoping to find warmth,
hoping to find warmth...

I journal this for you, boo.
for you were feeling blue.
If you look past the shore,
you'll visualise and realise
that sad times often rise then demise...
Like the trembling bellow below the sea.
which hits with one selfish blow; ayeh
affects the whole sea which-
metaphorically consists of those around ye.
At the end of the day it settles,
and tides calm like clams.
So love with all your emotion,
and always look past the shore
if you forget the nature within you.

We are like the seas and oceans.
Deep with emotions that to rise like raging tides,
bubble with joy for a surfer to enjoy a ride,
and calm down in need of peace of mind.

The bench and the wayfarer

It was about three in afternoon,
as sun burnt the ground.
The smell of roast earth,
oozing in the atmosphere...

Dried leaves surround edges,
of the path way I strolled on
And above, tendrils and green foliage-
hang onto branches for their dear lives.

I was swamped by my cubical work,
so I went out for a smoke and a breath of air.
The irony of this amused me but my lungs,
selfish as I've made them wanted it all...

So I laid my newspapers on the lone bench,
lit my intoxicant, lay my hand over head,
and made peace with my body and mind.
then without chain, I walked back to my slave chamber.

wrought for thought


Wrought for thought.

Short of reality,
I stare at my phone,
appreciating a portrait,
of moss green canopies,
holding onto spring leaves-
dabbled by the evening sun,
beneath which lay a shadow;
harbouring drive by travellers,
who hath not seen the marvellous-
beauty painted by our lord Almighty...

I wish she... ( Lyrics to one of my songs)

I wish she, could see my love,
it sparkles likes the moon at night,
it dances like a flame of light,
I wish she, could see my love...

I wish she could see my love #Conjolted
If  it were tangible, it'd probably kill her. 
She's a red light district and I'm attracted to her,
it says stop but all I want to do is go,
she's a lonely cliff and I just want to fall,
but her suspense it holds me up in the air,
how I wish she was a moth to my flame,
but all she does is buzz around me like a bee.

I wish she could see my love,
it sparkles likes the moon at night,
it dances like a flame upon a candle light,
I wish she could see my love...

I'm a light house, she's the sea and she can't see me,
yet I send her beams shining on her shore,
why she let's me stay is pretty much a mystery,
'cause she won't let me see what's underneath her sea,
it must be fear that makes her think I'd leave her empty,
yet I'm docked to stay; a dead boat by her bay.

I wish she, could see my love,
it sparkles likes the moon at night,
it dances like a flame of light,
I wish she could see my love...

she's a broken bridge and won't let me walk her,
yet I'd fix in a her in a heartbeat if she'd let me,
if we were travellers I would meet her at the cross roads,
with flowers in my hand and cannabis to smoke,
but she's a dead end if I move fast I might crash,
I hope her walls crack and they let me in to stay

I'm driving really fast, and she can't see me,
I'm hoping that I crash, and then she heals me,
I'm gambling with love, yet its uncertain,
but for her I will die; at least I won't stay...

I wish she, could see my love,
it sparkles likes the moon at night,
it dances like a flame of light,
I wish she could see my love...

Sunday, 18 October 2015

Love charade [Duet performance piece by Hawa and Ibrahim]

Love charade [Duet performance piece by Hawa and Ibrahim]

How do you fight for your opponent?
One playing hardball on all your moves-
blocking out your attempts to drive in?

When do you know you've got the one
when actually they don't want to be?
They act like priorities in your life,
you prioritise them hence forth;
but they've called dibs on your back seat-
yet the co-driver seat is vacant,
and you wouldn't tell them;
you don't give free rides,
you're too in love to utter a word,
that'll get them out their gourd.

How do you tell someone,
you're beautiful; but, that's not it!
I mean, we could have cute babies,
that look like willow and Jaden;
Ayeh, we don't want them getting "F's" in reality!

It's wrong to walk into people's lives,
and not ask how they feel or where their emotions are...
It's like walking into a jungle thinking,
you're going to be lion in their wild, wild, wild jungle heart!

God must have abandoned us to play this game called love...

The worst players are those with a competitive spirit,
trying to win every game to turn out as "player-players."
walking around with their gang of hooligans unaware-
their Lebron has a soft spot for one of the cheer leaders...

Yet the cheer leading chicks also have female spirit,
despite engaging in cat fights due to love bites from hooligans,
but when it gets down to throwing that "love ball,"
they play guys pants off and Mary luswata reports the story...

A soft spot is the kryptonite in these games and fights.
if two opponents fall prey to their weaknesses, collide and draw.
it's a perfect match! But, if one is superior than the other,
it's an unfair ball game and someone's bound to get hurt!

Love and reality are not synonymous.
love wants us to sing along in harmony,
reality wants us to quit the auto tune BS,
and come to terms with the fact that most of us can't sing!

Omukwano gwafe gwa mageero,
that's why we're often on similar paths
that have got us writing poetry day by day...

Have you ever had your armoured heart,
struck so damn hard by a charms' dagger?
Even before the tip of it is pointed at you?
But each heart chamber gets enchanted!

Omutiima ne gufuna amaalo...

You get all mushy, close to tears and in fear
you're losing yourself passionately,
to a being made so wonderfully,
but it's too late, you've been squeezed and sieved;

bakukamude nga aktuunda!

Sentenced to house arrest in your heart,
on your thoughts like a bullet proof vest-
as if protecting them from anything else.

Then you wonder who sentenced them to your heart and thoughts?
Yet you've been criminal minded going against the laws of love...

Then you start asking them to take you,
you make promises that it will count.
you ask them to let you in,
allow them to loosen you up,
to tour the contours of your physique
to accept your plea and promise not to flee.
to be your shadow in the dark especially-
on these lonely streets of Kla that have no street lights...

Then you ask them to say something for you've said it all...
you spoke in song yet can't sing at all,
No love #Conjolted
Going to join the players league #NO love allowed. 
and they are looking at you struck and in awe-
they don't love you and its not their fault!

It's just not you they want to play with,
so you've lost the game and it hurts, it hurts.

So it seems we are attracted to things that hurt us,
IT'S LIKE WE ENJOY THE PAIN!
Ironically, it's not what we're looking for...

You want something they can't give you,
they want something you can't give them,
you both want what you can't have...

That's why her and I are seated on the bench
waiting to join the play off season,
so we can become "player-players."



Special shout out to Hawa Kimbugwe 

Is this what you want?

(A desolate Home)
Is this what we want?

Running from the only place you call home,
fleeing scorching heat and consuming penury,
having reaped apart the ozone and made it war-torn,

Is this what we want?

Sharing diarrhoea in blue GM Tumpeco mugs,  
a wild fire of disease as if we're not already morbid-
dwelling in inhumane greed distorting economic activity,

Is this what we want?

Living on the planet like match sticks in a matchbox,
God said fill the globe so we've unleashed libido-
to multiply in number and then divide in unity,

Is this what we want?

Sleeping nude for it is hot as balls,
their resting temperature is 92-97°. 
mosquitoes will rejoice in our nudist colony,

Is this what you want?

Sleepless nights amid dreadful buzzing sounds. 
cultivated swamps spewing swarms of mosquitoes,
malaria like a holocaust taking worthy lives.

Is this what we want?

Tree watching in your house made of fine veneer, 
rock climbing in five star malls, fishing in aquariums,
bird watching only in the history of Nat Geo wild,

Is this what we want?

Seeing roses and flowers in our phone memories,
or in names of daughters Rosa and tulip,
as mother earth ails and woes over her deceased, 

Is this what we want?

Cars morphing into boats sailing afloat flash floods,
cows and goats swimming like dogs dropped in ponds,
you've seen this out in new Orleans and down in Bwaise,

Is this what we want?

Small things leading to big things-
one cut tree; draught; conflict; war
horrid draught led to heinous war in Dafur,

Is this what we want?

Fixing cracked up and buckled driveways,
run down homes and broke bridges,
why greater need yet pot holes are unfilled,

Is this what we want?

Failing to plant seed over densely infested land, 
buried in polythene bags, bottles, airtime cards,  
Veblen goods we purchase to make us feel conceited, 

Is this what we want?

Envisage a raging sun after surviving ice age. 
yet when things burn- remnants are ashes.
I'd rather be preserved than cause the irreversible?

Is this what we want?

Four wives, one season...

I understand females in the world are more,
But honestly, I don't want to be a male whore.

Don't get me wrong, I want options like Heffner
and a play house where I can play kwepena
without actually having to hit on her-
yet still stand the chance to get with her...

Or them... :)

And then there's a lot of things that tickle my fancy
like chicks with no weaves or baggage that's heavy to heave,
ladies with no hair that look and rap like Eve
and when it comes to soccer they can play all evening.

I want a woman that can cook, clean and protect me like a mukiga,
But I have to say this carefully away from Fahima,
the feminist general that'll take me for a crazy individual
asking for too much yet I meet her half way as I hunch back.

Most times, I also want a woman that can do what I do,
so as we spoon in the room we can share the same food,
literally rhyming in poetry as we gradually get in the mood
where the moon will be our only witness as she moans n croons

Cock-A--Doodle-GoOOD!

God! I wish- I could- have them- all...
But its impossible! Its like asking Steve hawking-
to try and not look like he is gawking
or maybe just to try a little bit of dancing...

And I'm not poking at his disability,
the truth hurts and puts most of us out of ease.
It's like when I'm flirting I'm like geez nigga please,
you can't last five minutes and there you are trying to tease.

But that's the truth to me cause I barely get enough training,
so four wives in four seasons is a deal breaker,
Ayeh four wives at the same damn time is a jail encounter!
and if you ask me, I can attest and tell you about my father.

Although, that's not my story to tell,
I'm just out here trying to live my "pre-ordained tale"
in which I hope is a fairy tale of some kind of forever-
yet forever makes me wonder if she'll /they'll love me any better...

I want to be.[performance piece]

I want to be SLIM, For to be slim; 
supremacy lies in me! 
The hope is you see- 
I'm already from Alkebulan;
the mother land and not Babylon; 
therefore, I'm proud heir to a throne 
of supremacy having been born- 
in this mighty kingdom where poetry, 
is gold marrow rocking in our bones.

Funny 

I know white guys that know guys like me, 
that think black guys are stupid!
Crazy I think black guys like me know that 
their are white guys that are stupid!
Which puts us in between and makes us twins 
because we shares genes which therefore means- 
we're all stupid! Yet the truth is we are all ingenious... 

Ayeh

I want to be a competitor because 
competition makes me better 
but i want to be unlike the shilling 
that's grinding and milling negative feelings 
among people that could probably kill for a shilling 
for they are living on the ceiling and now the sky rocketing billing! 

Disaster!

Albeit, I want to compete with those that aren't elite-
like Lucifer the true deter who strums my heart like a guitar,
yet if I skinned him and wore him like fur, 
I'd boss to success in this duniya.

Therefore

I want to be one not two not three,
so if I made it to four I'd moon walk back to one.
But everyone wants to be the one so in turn,
I will be nil nothing until my empty soul-
receives its blessing 'til I am one with God.

For 

I don't want to be a tourist of tragedy,,
caught in an abyss of jealousy, 
yet I bought tickets to addis,
for I was running from habits,
where people quick as mating rabbits,
hamper their only hobbies hating-
on secret opponents that barely know of it!


I want to be happy like a hippie-
till you're like really? 
why is this guy acting like a hilly billy,
doing silly nilly willy yet really,
what is the deally yet ideally-
this could get me a milli to take to my family, hihi

I want to a funny guy so I can spread infectious joy
but I'm no Chris rock that lucky mother; lover.
Oh well, at least I strive to be an inspiring, 
So hear me out mother, father, sister, lover, 
brother from another mother, 
In life we often desire to barter trade for better-

Do you often wonder why whatever we have, 
puts us under the weather yet if we seek shelter, 
under those that overshadow us we can never be better!

For example 

I'd also like to have Selena for dinner,
but she often catches a whiff of my reefer-
then as I quiver from the fuel used as preserve 
things start to differ for she hates smokers, 
and their bad breath that lingers...

So I am loser and I excuse her,
for instead of helping me get better, 
she leaves me wither!

I want to be so many things, 
but I can only be me! 
A newer updater version of the old me. 

For...

I am

The prototype


The names Chuck, Chuck Yagwe.
I'm relatively an intellectual
With a hint of love that's retro
'Cause they say the old didn't let go.

I'm programmed to entertain,
coded to cook and clean,
buy flowers on my way home,
and take care of kids when I'm home alone.

I participate in conversation,
listen diligently rather than hear.
never respond vehemently,
and handle my lady with fragile care.

When asked I plate my lady's hair
in twists, swaz, tuts and do's of relative gist.
For no reason I buy gifts for my lady
unlike the average man that gifts after being shady...

I'm hardworking, smart, and ambitious
Ayeh I also make time for chemistry's art.
I'm funny like the comedian Kevin hurt
but tall enough for a romantic tip toe kiss.

I'm manly like Hugh Jackman
yet cute like Channing Tatum,
I'm a close to a hopeless romantic
yet have aspects of commando dramatics.

Sometimes I sing like ed sheeran
when I'm out on candle light dates.
and when I'm with my lady and her mates,
I turn my swag on and rap like Jay z.

I don't piss on the toilet sit,
that wasn't programmed to fit,
I sit to piss instead of play the game of miss
so at night my miss takes a comfort piss.

I make kamsutra love to my woman,
she crafted me with the right "torpedo",
not too big and with just the right wiggle,
so when I shoot the results are explosive!

I don't watch football, I watch cook shows,
but I'm sporty when its time to act naughty.
I don't have female friends, only a "mother"
But I twitch and malfunction when I see a "shawty"

I open doors, barely have flaws
But recently I started to drop jaws
when a voluptuous woman draws me...
I fear I might be male-functioning

Tuesday, 21 July 2015

Identity crisis



Tablighi bin Bomber

I,

Identity Crisis #Conjolted
In a bombshell, are an insecurity for my identity.
I,
In my thawb appear to be strapped with hand made explosives
I,
"In my beard," hide knives to stab my enemy
I,
Adopted a name that sparks fear and makes them pensive.
I,
Have witnessed name turn from identity to criminality.
I,
Can testify that image is a fallacy to what is me.
I,
Plea guilty of expressing self in a manner mistaken as "societal identity"
I,
Am ruh and not the embodiment of that which they see.
I,
Sadly can not reveal soul to man...

Rich bin poor.

I,
In a bungalow am a king with a crown made of quills like a quail.
I,
In knitted cloth am a poor man slim fitted among the rich.
I,
Am painted rich as the malted lager named ales,
I,
Am a king on a chess board being pushed by my subjects to reach.
I,
On a thin line am a poor man living on the edge of a cliff
I,
In reality am an heir to an illusion of wealth,
I,
Painted as ale are drunk as hell with joy for appearing to be a rich motif,
I,
Am edgy as I take advantage of this wealth in stealth,
I,
gladly will not reveal soul to man.

Waste man bin Rasta.

I,
Laced with nutty dread ina me head are dreadful
I,
With dirt brown dread are "dirty" yet merely quirky!
I,
Smoking spilff are therefore thief yet not a grief tool
I,
Won't cut mi hair therefore rebellious and naughty..
I,
Sing a sweet song fi di herb of peace called chalice.
I,
Therefore praise and worship the highest grade
I,
Know king selassie as they know Jesus down in Venice
I,
Like the Tablighi keep me dread fi di rastafarai movement and trade
I,
Relentlessly serve me soul with serenity.

Harlot bint Hawa.
I,
Gave into sin to feed my yarning empty tummy
I,
Do not deceive with false identity to try to achieve
I,
In high slit on night shift are dressed to tempt thee
I,
Am prey to temptation of the apple(sweet life) like my mother Eve
I,
Left torn down house to work till dawn to give my kids a home.
I,
Am a skimpy skirt; seductive, naughty, and straight to the point.
I,
Aid false needs of those with greed that call me a whore.
I,
Am a trader as if a seller of pork at a pork joint...
I,
Verily seek peace for my heart and soul.


We are who we are, what they say we are, and what we think we are.

Wednesday, 15 July 2015

Guilts Sanction Gaveled

Guilt's Sanction Gavel'ed

Beneath guilt-
lies a glow of purity;
wrapped in kilt.
Easy to unravel;
ayeh, hard to suction-
out like gravel.

I chose to trek-
the loners path,
within me woke-
desire inquiring,
if thy kingdom;
barricades firing.

So desire the enemy,
friendly fired,
and killed humility.
Resurrecting guilt;
the sanity in me-
which had been built;

To take me home-
where I belong,
in Purity's dome;
ayeh, it's too late,
at sacredness' cost-
The apple I ate

Rots in tragedy's fate,
and I await sanction...

Nine to five.

Nine to five, nine to five,
my prescription to live and stay alive,

Yet I work for everybody else but me!
My lady at home won't let me be,
the kids desire for money grows everyday-
wild like ludicrous bills and fees to pay.
Boss demands overtime on charity basis,
my businesses have illnesses of no thesis-
selfishly taking without return of profit,
like mother's illness soaring like a rocket,
and I can not throw a fit, I have to be a man,
toil with hand for a feat sans grand plan.
yet time my enemy is steadfast against me.

Nine to five, nine to five-
the only way we're taught to survive,

It must be 'cause love she is so expensive,
priceless thus costly making us defensive,
guarding our hearts from failed dreams,
acting in jobs we'd rather leave like steam,
we fail to achieve so resolve to quick means,
to get material things to fill the gaps within,
yet skinny jeans can't feed the heart's need;
impossible! And so we feed on greed,
Hell bent on excellence of currency,
cocooned in illusion so truth we cannot see-
yet love in-time can give us all we desire...

After working from dawn,
past the mid-sun at noon,
till the dim light of moon,

I try to rest at night but can barely sleep,
sold my heart and in it love is sound asleep.
I drove with desire and gave birth to liars,
started it all they shouldn't burn in the fire.
Fell for conspicuous wants veiled as needs,
satan tempted and I fast as steed agreed,
to toil for a man yet we can work together.
So now I engineer his dreams like a beaver,
and envy his life built from my sweat,
as love sails far afloat with the lot I dreamt-
yet tick-tock as in contract death knocks.

Where'd I go wrong?

I seek my missing rib, 
to piece the peace within, 
that broke and chose to jib,
when fear cobwebbed pristine.

 where'd we go wrong?

I know you fear spiders 
but never did I creep,
slyly through cracks to seek- 
black widows to bring fear;
henceforth, making you tear.

You were afraid to love, 
said you needed gloves,
'cause you didn't trust "whores-" 
that chased me from before
seeking my tender rib, 

That had heard I was sweet, 
and longed to have a taste
of what I served in sheets.
Is this what made you weak, 
then give into defeat?
yet all I am is meek, 

And such an act of greed- 
I'd never want to seed.
Have I not plead guilty
of needing you daily?
For you were first like eve;
to-bring-me to-my-knees. 

Ayeh you decided- 
to damage rosy love,
and turn it into a; 
Roman Colosseum, 
before we'd even mate
and sumo fight in bed.

Those lonely black widows,
were not enough reason,
for our change in season. 
To testify with plea, 
their sting would be my death. 
So where did I go wrong?

Didn't I create fire- 
that lit the spark of love?
Didn't I hunt for need- 
to feed all your desires?
Didn't I give you piece-
of heart and precious rib?

You chose to start a war,
pulled out guns and raised walls,
roses my battalion,
their thorns must have brought fear, 
so you aimed gun at me,
shooting down my remnants...

and before coupe de grace, 
you euligised and said, 
my rib and heart not enough
in exchange for your heart,
Yet you gunned mine into tatters, 
and left me to piece my peace.

Now I lay in ruin; 
cobwebbed and desolate.
Hawa, without me in; 
how will we procreate?

Blue flames

Blue flames

A white geist rises from-
an incandescent flame.
Illuminating the remains,
of the witch's letters in exchange.
Sullen, I lay in darkness,
owed to a technicality-
of a stupid failed gizmo,
disturbed as my blue balls...

The witch came to visit the city,
many a day after being away,
only to drop in to light my fire,
and leave me at; "ATTENTION!..."
Now I watch the lies cast in her letters,
rise like a tide in the twilight,
while miles away, she runs further-
with a beat down dripping heart...

Saturday, 13 June 2015

when you take that road




Chasing a dream for some people
is like running on a treadmill...
You could walk, you could jog,
you could run; ayeh, you just won't get there!

That's why I prefer road work,
with beads of sweat sparkling,
from the light of sun reflecting,
as the atmospheres pressure-
cuddles your body in a bear hug,
and you're close to giving up,
but you just won't because-
you need to cross the finish line.
And even if you can't see it,
a yonder away past the bending corner,
you strive on like a rolling boulder-
despite your body being worn out,
'cause you chose to take that road;
one tarmacked for loners,
only for the determined.
To achieve through belief,
that they can get there only,
and only if they keep pushing on...

Envisage a lumberjack,
hacking away at a tree bark;
he focuses on his aim then cuts in vain,
till finally his in deep then shoves the tree.

The key is consistency, the yield is timber!
Keep running that extra mile and you'll succeed,
'cause the finish line is usually where everyone else stops!



A business dilemma

A business dilemma

Beauty is meant to turn heads,
love is a business for trading hearts.

With my body trying not to heed,
I still found myself head over heels,
eyes stampede to you like cows on heat,
beguiled by beauty that hindered-
my hobbies of heathen hopscotch.
My heart reached extreme hysterics,
yet it was once sealed in like heaven,
awaiting the fairest of trades to have. 
till I let it out for you to buy and hoard.
Now as I hear it beat in my hand; it hurts,
For it's value to you, I assume, is horrendous.

Am I a bad business man if I'm hampered,
from investing in venture yet I've haggled?

Food for thought

The pine needles whistle,
gently blown by dancing wind
within a deeming day...
Where in a moment of peace,
I lay sunken over stool-
with my hands clasped,
right before my nose-
gently as if in prayer.
I'm Cluttered in thought,
driven by my discordant mindset.
Which knows only one route-
out of unpaved happenings;
Worry!

I think of tomorrow,
even 'fore the sun bids farewell,
to share glorious day
with people uncertain
of what will happen today.
of what their eyes
will cast sight to
in the ambience of dawn,
after being handed keys-
through awakening.

In our sleep we dream,
while awake they say we should,
Ayeh if we spend our time-
dreaming and day dreaming
when will we learn living?
Yet day and night dreams-
are foundations to castles
built in glittering sand. .

It's brick by brick isn't it?
So it's action not thought.

Otherwise jamming the brain-
like a parking lot,
will only make you wonder-
If the lot of thoughts,
will feed the slot to your throat...

In a nut shell,
boats of thoughts,
carrying buts and maybes,
sailing afloat our minds,
yield no fish on unused hooks...

The light blinding my eyes,
faded further into the evening,
blooming a beautiful orange hue...
Brick by brick,
I walked away from the park,
not as a victor, but as a seeker,
who sought food rather than thought of it.

Big blue world

Ooh this big blue world,
got me feeling like a little boy,
I'm wearing sneakers just to fit in
but my foot it just won't slip in (oh no!)

My mama bought me a brand new pair,
said if I lose it I'd lose my hair,
that's why I don't  live like they do,
that's why I don't really care, like they do,
that's why I'm singing the blues,
that's why I don't watch the news,
I hate the pressure it gives me,
this world can make you swim in the deep...

Ooh this big blue world,
it's got me feeling like a little boy,
I'm wearing sneakers just to fit in,
but my foot it just won't slip in (oh no!).

I cried, Dr Dr , my foot it just won't get in,
I tried to be like them but my foot it just won't give in,
I've tried a couple sneakers rather waste on snickers,
eat away my life deal with drama of obesity,
and honestly, I'm living but I'm playing with these big boys,
they're filling up on shoe sizes I can only dream of,
and with big boots, they kick me right on my behind,
big bullies, they dip me in the deep to swim with fishes.

Ooh this big blue world,
got me feeling like a little boy,
I'm wearing sneakers just to fit in,
but my foot it just won't slip in (oh no!)

I'll walk bare feet,
who cares what they think,
keep my Sneakers in their box,
I want no trouble from my mama.
I'll walk bare feet,
who cares what they think,
keep my Sneakers in their box,
I want no trouble from my mama...

Ooh this big blue world,
it's got me feeling like a little boy
I'm wearing sneakers just to fit in,
but my foot it just won't slip in (oh no!)




Broken wings


Broken wings #Conjolted Poetry
Broken wings
Broken wings.

Have you not seen me,
raise from the green,
and soar through a beam,
like a dove so pristine?

Do you not have faith?
Do you not have hope?
I see you are afraid
I see you are envious
I see you scuffle in dirt
Trying to find the quills
of ancient rumoured wings,
yet you're over due in search,
once flew like kings and queens;
high and mighty...

Close, almost close to deities...

Now you are,
incapacitated, dilapidated.
Engineered to persevere
yet tinkered and tempted-
by thoughts of evil and fear...

Come to me,
come to me...

Let me look into your eyes,
let me see that burning fire,
let your soul tell your story,
come child, do not worry!
I know you are weary,
and I can save thee...

I have let you die,
but that was not the end...

You're a seed that was planted,
all you have to do is grow...

You crashed from the heavens-
good heavens! I felt your pain...

Now in vain
you seek your wings.
Come child, come!
Do not be afraid,
take my hand,
let me teach you how to fly,
for it is only in your mind.

An illusion of love


She's a painted illusion of love,
that attracts me unlike most.
Yet quaint, her feelings-
are sparse and quite remote.
She's an abstract form of distraction,
and she detracts all my attention...

See, she's an oddly placed painting,
spangled to attract and mangle my heart,
one I stare at like a gecko-
upside down, down side up,
as she wiggles up on her ego ceiling,
inciting my feelings like an ibex...

In my mind I hear her soft chants,
whispering and drawing me,
driving me to the asylum,
and seating me with my fellow mates
who sail with me on her sea of attraction-
distraught, singing shanties to please her.

We are disgruntled goons,
friends till one of us lures and claims-
her distracting presence to self.
There after, knights turned robin hoods,
stealing possessions from the rich,
to give back to our own poor souls...

Yet if through war and theft I acquired her,
and fit myself in her polished frame,
I'd have forgotten how to honestly love her.
For it's love at first sight, then desire
and admiration at second observation
after which, scavenging for lost love...