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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Monday, 26 January 2015

I am...

I am...

I am what I am,
And what I am
Is what I believe I am...

I am free will,
A contradiction of sorts
Where I choose the path of my destiny
Drafted out by God who's watching me

I am honesty,
yet also deceit,
I could lie and cheat
But choose not to accept defeat

I am peace
With a slight way of rage.
Therefore half indo
With a way of nature like Katrina

I am rich,
With a heart of gold
And poor with no money
To buy me bars of gold

I am rare
Like the stone sodalite
Yet also one in the same
A gem of similar specie

I am soulful
A chamber of hope, peace; freedom.
Yet also heartless;
I could beat one at the game of love

I am freedom;
Clouds; amorphous, colour; beauty
Yet a slave
Trapped in a body locked in society

I am joy
Bright and infectious like the sun,
yet also a paradox,
a clown filled with tons of sorrow

I am a believer,
for I choose to be one,
as God chose Jesus to be-gotten,
and Adam to be-made

I am a replica;
a copied cut from a similar hat,
uet the tricks in my bag can never match-
that of the maker and master

I am what I am-
and so much more,
and you are me
for we are OnE...

Sunday, 25 January 2015

Mother abscond

In the lock of her arms,
is where I thought I'd be wed-
but instead, I'm locked in dread-
with this poetry in my head,
of things I should have said.
I thought of the future ahead,
and what would have changed
If her and I vowed and wed...

I'm sorry darling, I figured-
that at about this time of the year,
I'd be rubbing my nose on yours,
I'd sneeze and you'd giggle
'cause usually, I cough and sneeze-
simultaneously, everyone thinks it funny...
Your mother would carry you away,
smack me on the head and say;
"You're going to make her ill!"
but still, I'd walk to both of you and hug you...

I'm sorry my dear, I'd have loved,
to hold your wee hands in my palm.
You and your tiny socks head and toe,
crawling on the floor towards me,
unaware of the joy that you bring me.
I'd have loved to see you pretend cry-
so loud yet no tears in your eyes.
You'd be a crook but to you I'd hooked,
all my love and riches I'd let you steal,
for you'd have booked my heart.

My dear, I'm mentally prepared for you;
ayeh, they say I'm financially impaired,
yet for you I could be pushed to the wall-
in a sticky situation like a roach on it's back;
helpless and needless to say hopeless;
yet I'd reap out follicle by follicle,
trying to figure out every obstacle-
that hinders crowning you possible,
for as my princess you'd deserve it all.

Ayeh, it's perverse, your mother abscond,
she left and didn't call and it's toll-
lays heavy on my chest I can't rest...
We all look for love my dear,
yet when availed we run like deer.
Is it fear? Or the blind urge for riches,
for love is as pure as sparkling gold,
and it's in human nature to discover,
find some and seek out some more.

Mother abscond,
and I do not blame her this world is cold.
In her fetus you would have found warmth,
but in my arms she did not find what she sought.

What rich doesn't teach.

Wealth is an ultimate goal for most,
ayeh is there essence in abundance-
if riches just lay there redundant?

Wealth could be in health, money,
shoes, cars, clothes, beauty or honey;
the sweet life averse from street life...

Riches have built roofs over our heads,
and fences of stone round our homes-
yet we're aloof towards our neighbours,
only to feel alone in these big blue homes.

We have phones that make calls from afar,
we're rich on the social network-
yet poor socially and fail to ajar-
when we're up close trying to connect.

Those who beauty romps their heads,
run thick make up to keep them ahead,
making up for the lack of confidence
which should be beauty's quintessence.

For eventually the forged beauty goes to waste-
as it's limited, stuck only to the face...
Yet if you know your worth n look like a moth,
hell will fall from spears of eyes but you'll be tough!

Beauty can get you what you want,
yet it's deceit that beauty is all one needs...
For a house that's unfinished on the outside,
could be a well furnished home on the inside...

The vast clothes we fold in our closets,
make us feel like lords dressed in gold,
and it's not that this applies to most;
the mongers hoard is just appalling!

For there's no worth in tons of cloth,
ayeh, it's subtle if you are charitable,
and your heart of gold is amicable
and when you care it's genuine.

But of course a Porsche to some is better than a horse,
yet there is no value of life in fleets of porches.
So a Porsche just to floss is worth the applause
but a ranch full of horses brings mercy from God.

For to preserve life, values life.
to live "the life" endangers life.
Take the life of a leader who's a giver,
or that of a queen who shops as peasants hunger.

Then of the things that make life sweet;

We shouldn't slip and fall to our knees-
to be victims of honey's slippery defeat...
The drugs, sex, money, and power,
are things that bring us to our knees
'cause we seek out of desperate need.

When we strive to achieve all these dreams,
some live to deceive to achieve,
some kill with belief they'll achieve,
some find peace in their satisfied needs....

It's important to know there's a key you hold...
Riches might make you bold on your way to gold,
ayeh, this world is cold if a friend has no hand to hold.
so learn to strive but strive to learn;

What riches can earn and the worth of plenty riches.

If you liked his check out it's all about riches

It's all about riches...

The root of juxtaposition-
in the world as a society,
is the blinding cause of gold.
for to most it's all about riches...

In my country where roads-
stretch along in pot hole form-
leading to mansions of lords,
there sits the agony of storms...

Ayeh; that's not to say,
that way below the "line of glory,"
agony does not tell it's story...

The question is...

Would you rather tear in a hut or ch√Ęteau?

Riches are burdens yet glad tidings,
sparkling in hue yet blinding,
often more attractive when in lack,
yet not quite filling when acquired.

Many strive to stack "riches,"
those equipped try to flee the cold,
brought forth to them by money,
hence seek warmth in luxury.

As some stitch their old rags,
just to fake it as they wish for riches.
others splash their riches on harlots,
expecting in return "golden honey"

Yet to their surprise some bee hives are dry....

They call it lucky if a puppy-
has a kennel for it to lay and sleep.
Why is it unlucky if your car dies,
and a homeless guy saves your day?

Helps you push it off his lonely street,
where at night he sleeps calm n deep,
as you drive by him to a flashy hotel-
leaving your rental for ghosts to keep.

In Isa chappals Villagers are getting jiggers,
falling ill with cracks on their heels.
as uptown brothers are rocking snickers;
tons of pairs just to up their appeal-

Laughing at villagers looking poor as hell,
hell better come over to teach them like Yale.
ayeh, who am I to say what's fair n unfair-
yet behind my closet is a couple of pairs?

The riches we have give us pride and greed,
while the riches we lack make us desperate...
It's a battle caused by lack of contentment,
where if the root of troubles isn't heeded-

Some opt to large burrows of ales,
wines, and litres of Jack Daniels.
Habits of drowning away sorrows,
shared by both parties compared.

So purchase of these intoxicants,
they say, keeps the troubles at bay,
as the sailor sails deep into sea,
seeking solace in riches upstream.

We all want what we want,
these "riches," these hopes;
illusions we chase and tie to,
some could even take a life;
struggling to get their own lives...

It's all about riches,
yet if the dawn fails to rise in the morn,
all those who sought out the sun-
will leave the earth with none.

The bearded fellow II (An insight.)

The image portrayed by a beard-
is a fallacy to human expectation.

The truth and sin within,
is hidden beyond the cover-
of a "wise and holy book."
If you flipped it page by Page,
to read the details entailed,
the trails of the man behind the skin
blessed forest full with beard.
would shutter your glass eyes-
piece for piece for peace,
left this troubled fellow-
dues of its absence embezzled
by lies, worry, obscenity; a trinity.

Worshipped in different forms;
Music, the god of lies and obscenity,
which by religious distinct-
is meant to be left pristine,

Love, a spirit of joy and worry
whose vassal demands to be filled
yet the cause of emptiness, they say-
is the lack of spiritual contentment,

Lust, his sacred mother Mary.
love's relative yet not imperative-
demands to be filled yet is impervious.
for after penetration, the need-
to be replenished rises even more..

So this bearded fellow,
confused and often mellow.
battles a guise of self,
pampered by the reader,
that barely reads into depth,
the, worries, lies, trials,
why's and confusions-
that cause him to be fooled.

Indeed the lines are thin.
So thin from being pious,
he often falls victim of sin.
So thin from being assumed wise,
he often crosses over to foolishness.

Check out The bearded fellow



I hear a beat on every street,
from radios in shops selling sweets,
to persons walking by with stereo radios,
or headsets locked in like oreos.

As I try to lay my head to sleep,
a loud base thumps to a beat.
when I'm part dead and fast asleep,
an alarm pulls me back onto my feet.

Speakers, headsets, and headphones
deliver possessive melodies n beats,
that sink in and make us sing along
or to the beat someone shuffles feet...

Heads bob to songs in resonance,
hearts feel the real in lyrics,
minds are ruled by music,
music is fore front in these streets.

The world's getting louder by the hour.
Sometimes I wonder if I should cower
over these trumpets that move our feet,
as we move swiftly to the final hour?

I'm leaving/ until the BS

I'm leaving/ Until the BS...

New found love is a hot plate of food,
marinated in the finest recipes,
awaiting cupid's victims to sit and feast.

First timers dine in exquisite places;
the first impression has to be memorable
and their chef, Cupid of course, undoubtedly generous.

The lush taste tingles their tongue,
the fine wine sparkles in their mouths,
and chills through their skins rally like a defensive porcupine...

After the "first supper", Judas/ Beatrice betrays chastity,
and gives into what Simon says.
Then guilt trips are booked like cruise ships by those once innocent...

The pressure becomes unbearable,
the sacrifice was great, the compromise
is to bare the repercussions of BS in the R/S.

For if you leave, It won't be long until the BS.

So darling,
For the times you asked me,
not to piss on the toilet seat,
and I sat like a Mrs,
not to play the game of miss! [Smh]
I I'd piss on you right now,
but I'm not R.Kelly!

For the times I ironed my bedding,
for me to bid for a winning,
before we'd play the game of trading-
parts in sheets and I did win bid.
you made me a gambler for hairy cat...

For all the times you couldn't,
make up your mind on what to eat,
then picked a piece of chicken,
from my peace of plate and ate,
I always wanted to whoop you...
But I'm too may weather for you..

For all the times you nagged me,
about old things like a history teacher,
you did this, remember this...
What happened to forgive and forget?
 I thought last time was the last time?

You nag me like a broken record,
the worst of its kind replaying bebe cool-
trying to sing an ed sheeran song!
Oh God, Shush!

For all the times you had me on my knees,
to kiss the apples of your gardens.
Now you demand me to do so like a druggie,
as if your are going to pay me- well,
I've had enough! I'm not going to stand in line,
like those apple desperados for your apples.
For your are now like china produce-
It's only 'cause my options are limited!

For the times you had me on house arrest,
when I could be watching soccer with the boys,
but you were too insecure-
you threatened to label my genitals...
You're a psycho, I hope you know so!

For times you made me play house help,
then I had to pay a house help
who you accused me of sleeping with...
Yet all you do is swing your ovaries,
you've got the nerve woman-
matter of fact you've got the balls,
I should give you my pants!

And then you like to be lied to,
Yet you hate it when I lie to you!
Okay you're the most beautiful-
woman in the world! Haah!
Lies! Lies! lies, and you know it!
Women are precious-
it's inevitable not to look.
That's why i ogle when a fine mummy,
crosses by me, dressed to tempt me,
like Lucifer off that apple tree,
until you smack and wake me!

But don't get me wrong,
I know your always right,
and darling I'm sorry.
The truth is you are beautiful,
but the way you push me is ugly.
You shove me into a world with heralds,
heralds that forgot love at the post office...

Too insecure to love,
'cause they might kill the messenger,
Too in love with themselves,
if they could they'd send a clone to deliver.
So in their seductive uniforms,
they slither but quiver.

Meant to relay love,
but make us relay after them,
yet most of us are horny pricks;
therefore, quick to forget the actual message.

so darling, I don't want to chase after BS,
I don't want to chase skirts anymore,
in this hot UG sun yet the chase gets dull like dun.
I get tired of convincing people,
I'm forgetful like a goldfish-
but love like an ingrained leech
Yet with you hit home run,
for you handed me the message.

The worst part of all this poetic BS,
besides me being mad at you for your stress,
is the fact that you've been silent-
waiting for me to cut to the chase.

Ayeh, I'v packed my bags and I'm leaving,
I'm going down stairs where I'll be sleeping,
In the couch, until you forgive me for all the BS I just said!

Wednesday, 21 January 2015

The convoy leaders

“Rushing though streets for executive duty,”
their cars flee from local traffic with “cause.”
They are supposed to convoke people,
ayeh, from the streets they draw them apart,
rushing through urgently to play “their part.”
They lack patience, an essential key in their cast,
they are leaders incomparable to none yet we are one.

They raise their stature yet their society is stagnant,
they break their own laws yet bind them to govern us,
they speed through streets going above limit,
causing alarm with sirens yet the city is close to a stroke.
Going about town in air conditioned state provided cars;
it's no wonder our transport faculties propagate enmity,
how can they help if they don't know the state of our means?
In their convoys what message do they convey?
Could there be an urgency they need to attend to?
Yet midway their caucus some are half way present,
as us who perform the liturgy of giving way,
meek and in fear of being put away silently scribble-
these little notes in hope for better days.
Ayeh, can this literal jargon flame like a dragon?
Will it ever cause a fire or just be a bygone?

Some say let bygones be bygones ,
so maybe someday our troubles will go away.
we’ll have leaders that understand our ways;
the ways of “people,”  whose statistical data-
collected by slaves of their chatter tells them,
that a meal a day isn’t a must but a probability,
and that jobs for their lot are filled like tow lots,
and that the average man lives below poverty line,
below which the pauper lies glaring at greed
watching it drive by in empty convoy cars.



I often find comfort in my ways-
till you put me in my place.
Oh so cold your sting rushes through my skin,
and all those things that don’t belong to me;
Suddenly, bring me to me knees asking GOD

Why oh, why me?

Why do I walk till tomorrow yet my friend drives today?
Why do I empty dry pockets as some spill money on the floor?
Why do I feel the need for my friends collection of Adidas galore?
Why do I seek love here and there knocking door to door?
Why do I want beef yet I have plenty of  fresh beans?
Why do I fail to acknowledge patience and give into selfish whims?
Why do I struggle to compete instead grow and achieve milestones?
Why do I whine over small things yet god has big things in store?

Why do I want more?

Ivy, oh ivy,
why do you drive me crazy?

Why do we desire king size beds for us to slumber,
yet for some the pavement only gets colder?
Why do we want vehicles that move faster,
yet villagers walking bare feet are getting jiggers?
Why do we swirl and twirl our tongues like Oliver twist,
to binge in feasts as if we lack food like those on streets
Why do we strive to achieve the "finer things,"
yet paupers have no access to basic needs?

Why do we want more?

Ivy, oh Ivy…
Why do you dive us crazy?

You rush through our blood
like lava down a valley-
burning all that makes us feel;
content and with contempt-
you temp us to seek what we don't need,
yet what we want is an illusion of need….

Ivy, oh Ivy,
You're killing me with your poison.
Envy is the enemy;
let me be, let us be!

Can you move the world?

Can you direct and manipulate your jargon,
to speak vibes to the masses and move them-
make them lay down their tools to join your wagon,
as you speak to their hearts and make them spark?

Can you shoot into the mind of a solider,
make him jump out a plane into chute?
In which as he glides dead to the mind,
and deaf to the stunning sound of guns,
he lives only to kill a man poisoned as he.

Can you con a man from being a devil to a saint?
Preach words of saints that make his evil faint,
paint his heart clean from the danger of being vain;
uplift him! Make him repent, and say Amen!

Can you drive a slug from bed as it lay fast asleep?
Make it snail out of bed and dawdle to trade-
to barter what it made from nail and hammer,
in order to honour the cost of bread and butter?

Can you drive fear out of a weary heart?
make it run out with it's hefty baggage-
as if to escape a coming deluge,
only to make way for David courage.

Can you lure riches of the poor and wealthy?
Make them cash in and bow down to your wishes,
as you preach and convince them of the unknown-
that moves mountains like faith and hope.

Can you move the world??

WAKE UP! AFRICA (sleeping child)

WAKE UP, sleeping child, wake up.

Sieve your African freshness-
infected by Caucasian beauty,
and persuasive Asian invasion.

Wake up and see the orange hue spew-
far from the east coupled by morning dew,
on fresh grassland in glorious morning anew.

wake up and feel the morning breeze,
the world calm, peaceful, and at ease.
before rising dust and sun creeping out trees.

Wake up early to face new dawn,
let the sleeping dogs toss, turn, and yawn,
as you conquer those that use you like a pawn,

Wake up, wake up, wake up!

Rise and call dibs on your morning blessing,
before morning peace awakens evil doing-
to loom like darkness yet the sun is shining.

Rise for even if you sold most of your gold,
you have distinct minds of wisdom untold,
minds more valuable than that which you sold.

Rise and shine instead of bump and grind in pubs and clubs
that keep you up all night in a trance leaving you down and drub,
hindering you from work and seeking God in religious hub.

Rise and set yourself to run this timed race,
for you were born into a mortal human race
and from birth, your cry; a whistle to commence.

Rise sleeping child and keep up with the pace,
left behind you'll be nothing but a disgrace-
lonely, weary, teary in the worlds cold embrace.

Eat or be eaten, conquer or be conquered,
lead or be lead, squander or be squandered,
live or help others live as you are fostered,

Rise and find something to live for
Something to fight for, something to die for,
For if you have nothing to keep you alive
You might as well lay fast asleep….

Rise for you are treasure stored in a chest.
Unlock your potential, let them see you shine,

Autumn falls.

Autumn and I we're-
leaves off the same tree.
when she blossomed,
we fell for each other.

When wind took a toll-
I watched her go,
and winter picked me up,
in its ice cold palm.

I'm now stuck here-
glad that I met her yet sad,
for I'm about to crack,
in this ice cold palm.

I have hope in spring,
its rains are a testimony-
for release of pain and agony;
a chance for me to testify.

I wish I had you Autumn,
I'd have loved to kill for you,
a beautiful flower in the chill,
as buzzing bee picked its pollen.

To hold you by your hand,
roll over the green meadow,
smile and let tears of joy roll,
woe, you left me all alone.

Summer will come,
it'll make me scream;
this heat is not for lovers, 
at least I'm all alone."

Ayeh, how will I rest-
these troubled eyes,
whose tears will dry-
in short summer nights?

Woe, I'm still frozen in winter,
awaiting your arrival, autumn, 
eager for your season of love-
to blossom and fall again.

Johnny walker.

I'm drunk again on johnny blue,
having caught a case of mad blues,
Ayeh, with this bottle I will swig,
and write my blues into sparkling gold.

Humpty dumpty I was feeling empty,
sometimes you trip, sometimes you fall,
I often fall on this uncertain life trip,
so I go out drinking to fill my shell.

You never see it coming #Conjolted
It's hard to see the rocks that make us trip

Life is so uncertain. it's no wonder
we can't predict the rocks that make us trip.
and fall hard to the ground as we wander-
it's how I staggered to these words...

Love an armour with drama,
covers your heart like a bullet proof vest,
makes you feel comfy yet can cause you trauma-
when you close your eyes and get hit by lies.

Sometimes we get bewildered as we worry
'cause things we love make us sea sick and sink,
yet we're a smart lot all we need is to keep afloat,
so we can sail and keep on rocking boat.

So when I'm down sometimes,
I just keep drinking n drinking!
So no matter how much I'm tripping,
I never hang over to feel sombre.

I sipped on a fine brand of Johnny walker,
and despite my walking stick from many falls-
it's the only reason I'm still walking forth.

Two cherries

Two cherries

I see it glowing in our hearts,
It's like two cherries on a twig.
If we plucked and harnessed this art,
will we turn it into wine and swig?

If we did, at the falls is where we'd end up,
to catch view of dazzling scenery...
I'd chauffeur you there in my pick up,
open the door for you to faux chivalry.

I'd reverse park for us to seat at the back,
lay cushions to seat on and cuddle,
hold your hand tight and thank lady luck,
'cause that evening we'd have jumped a hurdle.

When the sun sets over cascading fall,
as its rays shimmer with a rainbow hue,
I'll keep silent and let the moment take its toll.
After which, your heartbeat will switch when I kiss you...

When our eyes open and the sun is gone,
I'll unravel a lesu and sit across you.
The petals on it will have your mind blown,
you'll tear like a rose releasing dew.

I'll put candles in a paper bag,
protect them from the wind.
you'll complain about the bugs
I'll sing and skew your mind..

You'll joke over my awful voice but I won't drop my act,
till I see you laugh and smile your queer smile.
Then before my final tact,
I'll stare at you like it's been a while...

You'll ask me what's wrong,
I'll tell you I love you
and that with me is where you belong,
you'll blush, and I'll  laugh at you,

Afterwards, we'll dine,
and as the food melts in your mouth,
I'll pour you some vintage wine,
to wash it all down south...

Except my merry thoughts and lukewarm feelings-
from the drugs I'd be glad to be in your atmosphere.
I'd move closer to you to savour the feeling-
to let it last in its psychedelic sphere.

When this fantasy ends,
I'll eagerly wait to see what fate will send...

We are two cherries waiting to bloom,
if together, will our hearts beat to love's tune?

The Art of love

It's not about your physique
or how weak I make you feel
when I kiss you from your cheek
to the point below where I have to kneel.

It might be from the touch of my hand
that paints love over your body
as we master piece our hearts in sheets,
but no, It's only chemistry…

Not that formed when we kiss
but from how much of you I miss,
I mean that heart of yours that gives me bliss,
that hurt of yours that makes me trip,
that equation of you and me that forms we,
that compound formed when we yawn,
for as we sleep we are locked like a bond...

The art of your love
is not from the art of making love;
Ayeh, from the pieces of you
that you share with God up above...

Your ability to believe in me
despite the wrong within me,
your ability to take from me
yet still give me, for you once had a heart
but in a heartbeat, you gave me yours…

The beauty in your character-
that gives and never folds like a sleeve,
the frim hold in your hand,
when we walk like a chatter
and look like nothing else matters.

The patience within you
to deal with me like a patient-
for I yell, I nag, I make you sick-
but you handle me with care
and despite what I never break you,
even if sometimes I treat you like a rag...

The art of your love
is in the need to have
that replica who uplifts you!
I say replica for they say
We are one in the same;
A piece from a whole;
A cut from a diamond;
A copy of an image,
Of the artist of love…

Crystalline beauties

God made women,
and women made me money...

Itching and scratching,
for the spark of crystals,
I imbibed on crystal,
spending more than I withdrew.

My life in debt,
I soldiered on like a cadet,
running and hiding from the feds
like a meth addict.

One day, I found solution...
It Knocked at my door,
seeking a fixing for her itching,
and BOOM, I got hooked.

"I'll do anything for some loose change" she said...

So I let her into my shack
and she unzipped to bare back...
I asked her what she wanted,
said she needed to slide on glass.

So I hooked her up
and she cracked.
She thanked me,
and told me she owed me.

So I told her to make me some money.

See I didn't snort, smoke,
or inject, I invested.
She sold her soul for me,
and I invested in zip lock bags-

Of crystalline beauties...

God made women,
and men can pay a price for women.

I got caught in this circle of addiction,
surrounded by women I pimped,
snorting and smoking ice, earning
me crystals from desperate moguls.

My slaughter house turned mad house,
my beauty started looking disgusting.
The men fought with my beauties,
as speed drove them fast into death...

I had built an empire selling sin,
I watched it dwindle and rot like a rose.
From beauty and sparkle as had been,
things went haywire when cops came to the scene.

I went from a shack into luck,
and from luck into shackles.
See, Beauty might glitter and sparkle,
ayeh, all that sparkles is expensive as f***!

Like a snow flake from the sky...

A beating heart,
unlike fire from a lighter,
needs no thumb flick 
to light its unbearable flame;
its spark from no where
appears as fast as light

Spiralling ablaze,
spreading it's vast red light
all over the atmosphere of the heart,
like a snow flake "out of the blue"sky,


Through sweet and sneaky whispers,
sin is delivered and received-
by needy listeners;
Selfishly In Need.


Lwaki temwagalana?
Musiba muyombanga..

Mwe kuba migongo
mwe kuba migongo,
mwe kuba migongo,
mwe kuba migongo
mwe kuba migongo

Lwaki temwagalana?
Musiba mulwanagana
mwe kuba migongo

Some things.

Some things wither and die.
Ayeh love, stays right there- 
like the moon through the day.

A love faux

I am but a harbinger,
for in this new age,
love did bring her
to script it's arched wings
that give flight to most.

I tower watch,
as her sea of code,
flows over the book,
that lands our community-
she is the bell-ringer of love.

and I, her harbinger.

"Tan! Tan,"
she wrought,
cavalry she brought,
armoured like Thor,
white hair like a horse,
elegant and chiselled by thought.

Onto his horse he whisked her,
upon which she sat like a drifter.
None they did need,
ayeh, together they did plant seed,
out which sprouted love.

I cannot paint as she,
I am but a tulip, she; a peony,
bringing beauty,
to this art of love
that I script in faux.


Ntambude ne kiibo,
ntambude ne kiibo,
ntuse mukatale,
waliyo abampita kapale.
nanti nesaze akawale,
'naye teri alaba e'kiibo?'

Ntambude ne kiibo,
ntambude ne kiibo,
buli jendaga baansika,
nanti boona banetaga,
kumbe nza yagala okulya.

Ntambude ne kiibo,
ntambude ne kiibo,
balekaana, balekaana,
balinga be bakuka emigo,
nga weba gezako opakasa.

They have veggies of all sizes,
and buyers from all races,
a comedian ku sada, (reefer)
looking for a little cheddar,
not cheese, I beg to differ
he'd rather have ki commando;
a mix of beans and chapati,
to gas him up then crack like Bahatti.

The street is packed
bright and early,
braced for the birds-
travelling with money
to bait and catch worms-
in haggling transaction
to leave in satisfaction..

I'm in Nakasero, with my kasero
struggling through market ruckus,
to fill it with veggies n groceries

Detached Halo

He pulled off a king Arthur when he detached is halo,
letting loose his inhibitions for a great one like David,
and before his great Goliath fall desire took a toll.

Loud music,
thumping bodies,
off-beat dancers,
disco balls, dj box,
stamping feet,
discordant minds
intoxicated by wine,

Posterior atop dynamite,
whined n whined,
as waist lines twirled
using wasted minds,
when time was right,
lines got crossed...

Strangers on date night
mated on dance floor-
acting like lovers.
Friends in fun zone,
went wild like rhinos,
fuelled by liquored minds,
horns in need of decapitation.

His dynamite played possum
till lust burst like a bubble,
as she wined and bubbled,
as he surfed over the surface
of her scarlet red dress over
silk smooth mulatto skin-
tatted with birthmark on her back

It's was a light my fire affair,
he acted like he couldn't blow,
till she sat atop mighty throne,
and boom! She won.

The break through

My bones might crack and break
kindred like my heart for love's sake.

After a great fall, I might slip and slide,
trying to get up like a seal on sea side..

I might sweat and drip,
on this trillion mile marathon trip

ayeh, I promise you this,
my faith, I shall not dismiss ..

I might shade tears,
like a baby troubled by fear,

I might lose friends,
even after trying to make amends,

Family might break bond;
a bond which can never be cloned.

ayeh, I promise you this,
my faith, I shall not dismiss..

Money might bring forth treachery
rather treachery than anarchy..

People are going to die,
I'll get hurt and ask you why?

And at some point I will die,
at least I'll tell you I tried!

When I can't bleed nor plead no more,
or shed a tear or sweat like before-
my heart will be sore, I will be flawed
but I tell you this, oh lord...;
my faith will keep me at your door
banging till I break through...

If you liked this poem, check out the poem
How will we know

Let the kids play

Why fence your field like it bares yield?
Why wrap it in a shield like they came to steal?
Why hold the fun yet the kittens can play with the yarn?

Paradoxical hope

The sky's blue;
ayeh, I'm not blue,

my smile sparkles-
like a twilight moon.

I'm no full moon,
truth is this mood anew.

For a yonder away is hope;
albeit, I chase it on hamster wheel.

as I lose pieces of my mind,
in trials of tyranny under scorching sun

for I am not in charge of my journey.
my means are winds as I move towards unknown-

yet I seek home atop fluffy clouds in a castle of sunshine.

Check out the prelude poem Blue

Thandiwe.. Ndi niweh

Thandiwe.. Ndi niweh

Thandiwe, ndi niwe,
tidi oba o'nategerah
ayeh, nga bwobidi, ebintu

Twidiganye tulinga balongo.
Olusi o'nonogera-
nafuuna ei'sanu,
olusi o'nonogera-
Ayeh nokwo kwona-

Engeri jetuvireh wala,
tusanagana okumanagana
paka ka pini mu bisuubi,
ayeh awo, twabisawo
na'kapeke ka chuumbi
tika funtizawo kumala

neera beh'saana.
Olwekyo, tukumagane
tutolewo empaaka,
ttulwanisa nga ba mulilanwa
abateyendesa birungi,
kuba omukwano gwendeza

Engeri jetukali-
kusiba mpetah,
nga a'basikira ebekikah-
ekyo mukulu akaali ofah.
Nyenda nkutegezeh,
nti mpeta teidah tuyunga
kubaa, teneya tugitah!

Thandiwe, ndi niweh...

Let's soldier on...

Let's soldier on...

If you believe me,
don't you leave me.

When I tell you I love you,
It's to hard believe.
I understand,
and, I'm not trying
to make you feel grand
but I feel it when I,
I hold your hand,

It's that simple..

The love, I mean,
which by means
is only felt-
like the rush of wind
through skin.

I'm not a liar,
I only tell what I feel.
I might be an April fool,
but I'm a fool for you.
Cupid might have got me 3rd,
for I'm months away
from the sacred month of lovers
but the third time's the charm,

So would you let us march
to this love parade...

Thursday, 1 January 2015

The mirror

Portraying our "perfect imperfections,"
often helping us idolise ourselves,
as we worship our bodies like slaves,
bowing to what the body now craves;
a fallacious image helping us dig our graves

For the selfish ways in which we behave.
unsatisfied of our God given beauty,
yet what's on our plate is what suits thee.
Ayeh, the mirror reflects a rejection of inner duty,
of accepting that we are "perfect creations."