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

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...

She

She tortures me!

She's a muse I accuse
for the tremors in my mind.
That on my Richter scale,
surpass the highest unit...

I fear my mind might rapture,
if she sends me and earth quake.

She seduces me...

Lifts her slit,
as if the piece that peeks-
is not enough to keep-
me on my scarred knees.

I want her so bad,
Yet have her at illusive disposal...

She toys with me...

I am her action figure,
I flex my muscles for her;
body, heart, brain, and soul
as she puppeteers my ingenuity.

I play fool for her satisfaction,
but together we orgasm and create.

She makes me feel barren...

Without her I cannot give birth,
so I feel feminised in her presence,
I might be quill equipped and ink dipped;
but without her, I can't break creativity's hymen...

And when she visits I fertilise,
and she helps me conceive virgin concepts.

She mothers me...

Used to lay me in her bosom,
milked my needs to nurture me,
tamed the boy that I was-
into a man with an iron hand...

I now wrought what she drafted,
and she admires our hand crafts.

She loves me...

She gives me all she is,
a goddess that serves me with ease-
I wish her modesty I would return,
for it's hard not to feel loved in turn...

But for all her worth,
I am her kinky love slave...

If she chocked me with inspiration,
for her I would rest peaceful in satisfaction.

She, she is to me,
What life is to the dead;

A chance to live again .

The yellow dashed road...

Seated in "om" state,
atop yellow dashed line-
on bending road way.
I meditate in the calm-
of sacrosanct breeze,
and dull day weather...

By me a mad man passes,
thinking i'v lost access-
to my conical medulla,
like he with a loose wire.

Then a pastor trekking jesters,
with hands of a frozen clapper-
when he stops to pray for me,
thinking I was as troubled as he.

A cooperate man on a business call,
strolls by me boiling in his rental,
arguing about shares like he's mental,
and barely notices me in my Temple.

Then a chubby wealthy fella rolling lazily-
on his off road scooter swinging childishly,
says to me "stacking cash would be better,
than sitting on a road like a dead letter."

The selfie queen dressed so pristine-
with her subjects dressed for the scene,
huddle up behind me to say, "cheese,"
until I fart and break them up with ease.

Then they flee till a poor man comes by,
sits by the grass and tsk's as he sighs-
troubled by a worry in the hurrying world,
down like a flag that needs to be furled...

The birds in the sky feed my head with a song,
as Jesus and Jackson in my mind moon walk along.
The trees waving leaves add a really sweet symphony;
that ladles my mind with peace that's heavenly...

Sometimes we do things that are crazy to crazies,
but finding peace is an art form that's abstract-
paint it how you want, when you want, with who you want,
and sit in your vehicle to take you on that yellow dashed road...

Latif Baker

Latif Baker.

I hovered in the atmosphere,
staring at my wide open body,
as my gunner dragged out-
his double burrow past the door.

I had spoken words for the wise to fools...

I had told them I would save them,
awaken each from their sleep,
cut the chain off each sheep,
limb by limb to save each being...

They called me a political affiliate,
seeking another piece of their cake,
so stones they cast to my head,
and sent me to a hospital bed...

And I dreamt a dream like Abe linc,
of a Catafalque gawking like a shrink,
tapping death like a pen at my sorry state-
as people around cried and laughed, at last.

I awoke with a gut feeling,
dwindling from my conscious-
to the pores of my skin,
and into trickles of sweat.

When I got my quill,
to jot down my final will,

Maria Rosa (la vie sur un lit de roses)

la vie a las lit de roses

You drown me in your bed of Roses,
cradle me in there and sing to me;
parodies of silent operetta,
that comfort me and make me better
yet often prick me for I can feel your pain...

The earth unearthed and birthed you,
summoned by the will of higher power.
The tropics told tales of changed weather,
as you anew lost all fortunes mercy,
of radiant colour flowing out your lips...

You once used to flux white winter crystals,
but when we met it's like you had cracked teeth,
It felt like you were ashamed or afraid to speak.
but you smiled, and I l lost all speech,
they told me I missed to hear you sing..

A Mimosa-pudica; I shrunk in fear my dear,
when I asked you to join me in wanderlust-
on a tour to the lea of loves great expanse...
I felt like you held your words in pride,
but you held peace sign after which we did stride...

It felt like we had been lovers in our past lives,
held hands in silence like entwined canopies-
the beauty of it seen outward and inward.
We had peace of natural ever green,
and the nature of the wild stomping in our hearts.

We went where the water falls fall and leaped,
after which love followed and blossomed.
I now stare into your eyes, your golden eyes,
and I thank God for your priceless beauty-
for it is true He handed you to me like air...

In your atmosphere I feel poetic poignancy,
for when we exchange character in character trade,
you crochet finely knit words for my diet.
Your silence is musical; it's sweet to the ear
like pine needles blown by a calm breeze...

Every time you are away from me,
I pick-roses and peal them petal by petal,
chanting "you love me, you love me not,"
and this mysterious rose speculation-
thoroughly confirms your love for me...

By your side in our precious time;
I lay calm and comfy in ardent silence,
with no need to speak just to feel,
the delicate rose touch of your skin-
burn goosebumps on my rough hide.

Your love is a pool of serene water,
adorned with floating rose petals,
and I, I am sunk deep in your waters.
for your silence is in an elixir;
that which gives me back pieces-
of my mind from this troubled world.

Maria Rosa, la vie a las lit de roses,
when a thorn pricks you,
I'll be that mouse that saves your elephant heart.

Take me to Church [Performance Piece]

Black Isa, Take me to Church!

I keep,
going to the river to pray,
cause I need,
something to wash out the pain,
and God knows,
I try to keep my demons at bay,
but oh they,
fight me and keep me awake

Take me to church,
take me to church...

Where I can sing with my holy spirit.
looking  possessed by unholy majini.
for from where I hail it's not a norm to sing,
like this beard that I fear makes queer,
in this place that I need to terrorise,
and bomb down my unholy self-
'fore they lock me up for identity theft.

Take me to church!
Where the preacher won't point fingers,
but will my parcel of alms fit their figures?
For I am poor but want to be treated like a deacon-
'cause first come first serve makes me-
high and mighty like a steeple beacon..


Take me to church,
where I can be treated like Jesus treated sinners,
and if I leaped a leap of lepers,
 I'd fit in among the leopards.
Pure breeds of fine skin and body,
doted to the soul by sins,
moulded beings moulded by sins-
for breaking their din...

I said; Take me to church
for my temple is unholy,
I keep going to the river-
but I don't know where John is-
to baptist and cleanse me
I keep praying and praying,
but the demons keep poking and poking-
for they find me sweet as I'm forbidden-
forbidden to them like pork is to Muslims...

Take me to church,
where we perfume ourselves to mask foul odours,
yet if like a whiff of incense with essence-
we reached the pulpit first
to confess and sacrifice our greed,
pride, and materialistic bridal majesty
to our majesty forgiveness would be in order,
but we do not bother-
we act naive and pay high prices,
to live exquisite niggard/selfish lives,
driving five sit cars but can't afford
to give another brother a lift,
oh do you get my drift?

We single out and stigmatise,
who at dinner time is worth fish or bones-
yet Jesus gave us all...
Maybe if they sold goodness-
we would all be wealthy at heart,
and it hurts that before you is a sinner,
once a jerk off fella turned to Casanova,
staging telenovelas for TV to see me,
as I lost me until I turned of the TV,
and saw a reflection of the real me!

I was lost, lost inside a box,
selling kilos of sperm to my hand,
condoms, and bygones for short lived gratification,
must I mention 'bout abortion, fornication,
segregation, homosexual relation-
now its cool for us to live without devotion...

For it's 'A' okay for us to live in sin today;
we must have forgotten who grades us tomorrow.
The highest of the highest; numero uno;
Alpha and Omega somebody please give me a:
HALLELUJAH!

Take me to church,
Take me to church...

We are Adams and Eves,
chopped from heaven like hanging eaves,
we cracked and gave into sin and greed,
we are the banned devils indeed and in need Of a saviour...

Take me to church,
for I fear I might get bombed in my own mosque,
yet I've heard that the church is a woman in a skimpy skirt!

Now, now don't be mad a me for I am not he,
who walked into our homes in broad day light,
with no need for a welcome like vampires,
with no shame like USA and infiltrated-
all our DNA and killed our humility with a sin-Ak...
so it is the reason I now seek refuge

For I am lost... so I wrought...
Isa if you hear me our saviour
This is not a poem it's an S.O.S....

Up

"You have only just began..." Journey UP to success.

I've been stool sitting-
for many a year,
in a cart ride heading-
to a place called "home."
A place where success resides,
a place where my trajectory,
wears a smirk and tells me;
"Little hamster, you're almost there."

Yet the stool on which I sat
with friends by my side,
to par with me like cats,
as our teachers parroted,
was a "key" to a future locked away...

I was on this balloon ride-
empty within yet floating-
steadily on my way up,
to a vast and void sky...

When bench time elapsed,
I rose, king from a throne-
crowned by a graduation hat-
heir to tons of nothing.
I opened the locker of my future,
and my eyes feasted on a horrid world,
I dropped my keys in agape!

Having bequeathed nothing,
except years of experience in cramming,
and absolutely none in creativity,
I pita-pata  my feet where I saw light-
commencing was apprehending,
but I did what I had to,
even with hands tied behind my back...

I climbed the stairs in travail,
the light before me blinding me,
thoughts in my head draining,
saying, "you don't have to do this..."

To be honest,
I didn't know the "chariot ride" to heaven,
was close to walking on a blade line.
Yet to aid us on our journeys,
we are handed these pedagogues-
that lay out our bench marks, and hark!
They don't prove intelligence.
they are just marks on maps,
drafted for us to see,
Ayeh, to keep on walking...

Upon apex,
of the flight of stairs-
my feet coal burnt,
I calmed as I pant,
finally!
I basked in the light,
hope, home; "heaven.."


When I turned to my left,
a flight of stairs appeared and I glared,
and the devil grinned and said to me,

"You have only just began..."

Authentic

Just the other day,
I asked a friend;
"do you Ugandans-
have an accent?"
She thought for a second,
then turned to reply,
"no, not really, well it depends."
And I'm thinking wow,
such an ambiguous answer,
then she goes and asks, "why?"

Well...

Thoughts on the Igbo's,
and their thick lavish accents,
made me wonder my decent.
I mean it's rather quaint,
but worth contemplating.

See I wanted to create-
something for one to relate,
something the Ugandan in me-
would own entirely,
something that wouldn't steal-
my so called "African-ism."

My first road block-
was that English is British,
and there's no way to own it-
even if mine is relatively polished,
yet also, American-ish

So I have this ism of ish,
going on about me...
I'm African-ish, American-ish,
Brit-ish yet also myself-ish.
I'm like a queer fish;
everyone is trying to hook me.

So anyway, I hopped that block,
and took a turn round the corner,
and there it was again,
the damn road block!

I had no "IGWEH," nor "KINEKE,"
Or even a click to my speech...
I was disappointed,
I felt naked!

So there I was, stripped,
everyone staring at me-
my tiny balls, my little hairy chest,
feeling ashamed yet astounded-
I couldn't believe I felt unauthentic.

I mean I spoke this language,
I called it mine too,
But, you know it's sketchy,
it lacked root,
it lacked that, how can I say-
je ne sai quoi (french-ish),
or in layman's language "authenticity,"
so I felt like I didn't belong...

Then again,
with these "road blocks,"
I sat down and wrote,
upon realisation in my mind,
that root is not my route,
and that this that I wrought;
is my kind of poetry...

It helps me sink my pen
into ink wells untapped,
to seek deep fresh inspiration-
to replenish me like zam zam.
It helps me express myself,
exquisitely using refined styles,
reborn and re-structured;
It helps me be me,
a being that understands,
languages are for expression,
cultures are for taming,
religions are for grooming,
prayer is a medium,
and "God" is for creation..

And the creator-
made an authentic being.

Asylum mayhem

Walking the mad man hallway.

Lighting struck and thunder shrilled,
as the hailstorm ravished outside.
Doctors and nurses,
were busy sipping coffee,
and I was trying to run from 'me'...

I was alone in the hall way-
lonely yet happy,
conflicting and tripping
like a switch being toyed with.

("Aaaah, aaaaah!@#")

I dragged my hands over the wall,
and my feet on the floor.
lighting struck again!
"Aaaaah, aaaa...!"
Belittled by my "flaws,"
I was barely grounded-
weakened by their drugs,
so I struggled to reach the door.
"Aaaaah, aaaa...!"
The light bulbs seemed to flicker,
but my uncertainty made me doubtful...

I slurred as I barked to myself-
in bitter-sweet silence.
'GET YOURSELF TOGETHER...'
As thoughts ricochet loudly off the walls-
of my damned brain like bullets,
I ducked and started to shiver,
till I realised the flickers-
were mere lighting...

"Aaaaahh, aaaaaah!"

The nut jobs kept screaming!
pushing over my sanity barricade-
yet the war in my mind's sphere,
encompassed me like a lunar halo...

"He-he-he...
I'm not crazy," I comforted myself.
Banging my head on the door,
uttering vignettes scripts,
from the canvas of my dark mind;
a black beret of a crazy artist-
seeking peace in abstract forms,
out of norm to the naked eye...

"He-he-he..."

My hands were tied to protect me from me,
yet to me, my mind was fine.
Even if my "insanity" battled my sanity,
as skrillex music in my head-
made me bob like crazy,
distorting my chain of thoughts...

("Aaaaaahh, aaaa!")

There was no light ahead,
but I kept dragging alas,
the door was shut when I reached.
Locked like I in my straitjacket,
so my hope steadily escaped,
yet from myself I had to escape...

("Aaaa,aaaah!@#!")

The path way glittered like sun lit hay,
the storm toned down to drizzles,
and I slid my back down the door-
to bench and find comfort on tiled floor.
as I imagined I was sitting on a cloud,
and despite my asylum confines...
I smiled and saw beauty in my
hopeless situation; heaven in my mayhem..

"Muhuhahahaaa,
I'm not crazy..."

TIRED!

This loud mind is troubled,
and its loud mouth rots in silence-
with close to foul thoughts,
that reek the stench of a long soaked soul.

I need to wring my brain,
it's bottled silence too long...

I've been told I'm too young,
too young to walk the isle,
yet those that walk it are toddlers
toddlers in black suite and tie

Afraid to be wise,
afraid to do what is right,
afraid to live off the line.
For everyday man-

Is a sheep that flocks the duck line,
that which leads straight into a land mine,
for I often see people go BOOM!
Then get surprised over mistakes they tiled,

I am tired!

Tired of being BROKE!
Black, redundant, opaque,
kaput, and envious, I am tired!
Black is just a colour; it's not me.
yet due it I feel like I do not belong.

Redundant for my lack of creativity,
and ingenuity because of dependency.
Yet I am a 'free slave', free from stupidity,
free from indemnity, I owe no dues!
I might be an opaque modern slave,
and His light "can't" go through me,
that does not mean I am not blessed.

My mind has been pushed to kaput!
I have been forced to believe I am worthless,
in minute counts of tiny Penny's,
merely minted but have me smitten
yet are made from God given minerals-
it's a shame, and at this "exorbitant price;"

I-am-Envious!
Feeling broke as if I cannot afford,
confidence without any additives,
elegance without Gucci for enhancement,
dividends without reading so damn hard!

As if, As if, I cannot knead dough,
yet the people of my homeland,
are used as satire for their expertise-
in grinding and hustling that dough...
Ayeh, that's not funny.

I tell you what's funny?
Not being able to afford a toilet roll,
yet one can afford to brag and ball.
Me trying to keep it on the low-low,
with no fake chains on my neck 'cause of yolo.
Me trying to live within my means-
yet it seems I'm being miserly.
Me envying my friends as they shine
with fake chains and industrial rejects.
yet they are just trying to fake it till they make it..
We're soot filled Kettles,
bubbling boiling inside, trying to shine again.

How did success go from-
being measured in honour and valour,
to trinkets of wealth and countable paper?

I'm Tired, tired, tired!

Of being average yet I am a maverick
Tired of having to shine like a star to stand out,
yet one can never be a star;
we are human beings-
made of clay, made of matter!
So no matter the matter;
we are meant to shine!
So I don't see why we need bling-bling,
for us to stand out like Singh-Singh

(Sigh...)

I am tired!
Tired of being afraid,
afraid to change and move forward,
yet I am a product of birth,
I was procreated hence forth-
from birth there should be growth,

Afraid to love one another for it hurts,
tell that to God whose trust we often squander.
Afraid to live out the box,
yet there is - no - box!
Afraid to be smart,
yet it's part of our art.
Afraid to be honest for truth hurts,
so what should we do, lie?
Afraid to be an individual,
who's distinct and entirely different,
whose finger prints match no other.

You see, even If we were Siamese,
Our blue prints would be-
differentiated with much ease,
and even if different, we act like twins-
fighting against each other,
losing the value in our exquisite love,
yet there is sanctuary-
in the matrimony of togetherness...

Walks of life

I walk slow,
with a humble snail gait,
trying to figure out fate,
and what bait it sets to my dates...
Recurrently I contemplate,
over things that agitate-
like upon which way,
life will be sending me today,
or whether if my ways;
will get me where I want tomorrow?

Some of my mates,
those I've lived to know,
and those I'll get to know;
take paths of conical shape.
Earth is round due its gravity pull-
all things come dwindling down,
so no matter how high up above-
it is to the ground that we are bound...

So they spin round in circles,
seeking a precious path of marble.
Upon which are things distinct,
things which get your mind to the brink-
things like money; sweet, sweet money;
A dictating Hitler for humble dwellers,
yet also, fish bate for dry land fishers;
that veggie green gives man a gators gait.

The essence to "a" life yet not our essence in
                the presence of life.
                         .  .  .

Some walk meandering with haste,
caught up in whimsical debate-
pondering upon which mate to mate,
or which car to take her/them for a date.
They cheat and lie to help them look fly,
soar a faux soar which leaves them sore,
roar a miaow roar to fake way like kajal-
trying to shake fate off the road it takes.

                         . . .

The slutty walk of the temptress is sultry,
it lures and allures the evil spirit to conjure,
into the prey of the temptress trying to endure.
Selling sin is a disturbing thing! Especially-
if your desire is to survive life's molestation,
with prudence you weigh out all caveats,
and alas, a roach on back with nothing left-
you poignantly swing from right to left,
stressed and intoxicated dreading sunset.

For in depth of dark your soul is wounded as you
                      await sunrise
                           . . .

Ayeh in time; my dear, you will be fine.
Those customers that in twine in your vines,
distressing your mind like squeaking chalk,
those whose staggering walk talks no talk,
those are the sinners to console your soul.
For we are all sinners awaiting parole...
Ayeh; a careless attitude shows no gratitude,
yet the riches amassed onto their pay rolls
Test further the desires they fail to control.

Desires are sources of pleasure whose roads
             must be trekked with caution.
                          . . .

Then those that strut with chests for heads;
with Infallible pride to lead way like lead.
These are those that majesty did not crown;
ayeh; in and on their heads is a plume crown
nothing like the heavenly halo of those saved.
These, these are those that walk a thin line,
for pride in your bride is commendable,
yet nonsensical pride is demeaning.
Pride is a shoe to help you walk that mile,
a shoe can be used to step on people!
                            . . .

An earnest great trekker takes pride in work,
walks extra miles and still affords a smile,
breaks yawn at dawn from rest like the sun,
leaves the fam home to gain on life's run,
fears to sloth for he knows life is a test,
strives to grow and stand out from the rest,
distastes hate and quests for peace in love,
faults but repents and shuns re-engagement.

"The earnest human is an honest trekker;
                  a beacon of hope."
                          . . .

 "Life is a journey jammed with trekkers
                 Of multiple characters..."

           

Fibonacci stair 'Case'

The dream weaver caught me off guard.
It was a standard procedure,
parables at each corner and many doors,
all for me to walk through if I chose-
I suppose, but He lead me to a certain flaw.

The stairs swivelled in Fibonacci sequence,
each step embedded with gems and jewels,
leading to what we perceive as finer things.

He walked yet looked like he hovered,
leading the way with his golden stick.
He struck between simple and exquisite,
never talked nor looked at me,
we just strolled and I observed it all.
I barely remember all that I saw,
Just glimpses and pictures to piece and tell.

Further up, things turned glamorous,
with people sleeping on and with diamond.
They never looked, only the diamond shimmered.
It shimmered yet looked jaded and jailed,
tied to necks on chains none knew its worth;

Just its money value...

I don't know what I was meant to see,
but mostly I saw people in opulence.
Further up; the numbers dwindled,
till we reached the top where we saw it all,
and how far you could humanly fall!

They say our weaknesses reveal our need,
our need to be touched within and felt,
and only one through our hearts can drill,
to excavate and truly reveal;
the majestic diamonds we are.

I was feeling low the night before,
something within just didn't glow like before.
So I laid low and when it was time to sleep off,
I was cast in a dream to be shown-
things I thought of but didn't quite know...

The water is beautiful when you see it glow;
Ayeh, is its beauty lost when the sun goes?
In life some things we will never know;
Ayeh, we're to discover the gold in our souls
So take it slow, don't reach so high you'll fall

You might learn but when you land it'll be time to go.
and if you understand, you're as humanly high as you can go or glow.

Sarah

Sarah, Sarah...
"Lwaki obguma ngo'bwito?
Tobaikiriza kuchamuza,
ata kuzimba tomwetaga.
Ekitibwa kyo nekyo bugaiga bwo,
wokigaba oida kwavuwala

I once met a young girl of thirteen,
black young and beautiful-
short, thick, curly African hair.
They often call it kaweke.
Her eyes, a rare shade of brown-
none could read the pain within...

Her influence was the big screen TV,
which she often visited in the kibanda-
the local movie studio in her village.
Like many, she was drawn to luxury,
yet didn't come from a well to do family,

Meals in her home didn't happen daily,
some were specially reserved for Christmas,
along side gifts like shoes and clothes;
of which what was bought was not for all.
Being the middle child; the black sheep,
she always ended up last on the family list.

So her many tears lead her to the kibanda,
Just to catch up on unrealistic reality TV.
to fuel up on her desire for the trendy,
and fill the void within dug deep by family.

while at the kibanda, she met a man;
a hunter, starved and ready to devour her.
So he bated and manipulated her desires,
creating heed over things she didn't need;

A devil in disguise tempting an angel...

"Sarah, Sarah.. "
He didn't know her name, she hadn't conceded
so he called her Sarah for lack of a better option.
"Sarah, Sarah..
Ki?... lwaki tompaku?"
Sarah, why don't you give me some? he begged.
Ku byenkuwa iwe tonendesa?"
"Of all I've given you, aren't I deserving? he added.

"Nkuwe ki?"
What should I give you, she'd always ask.

He kept giving her gifts,
some she didn't accept,
some she'd foolishly take,
and in return he'd demand,
and Sarah of insect wit,
was naive and didn't understand-
the nature of the game she was playing.

At first he wasn't forceful, ayeh;
he started coercing her to oblige.
Having accepted all he's bribes,
she started to feel indebted,

So on this one dreadful evening,
after insisting to escort her home.
He had had enough of her games,
and enough of alcoholic drink..

when they reached a dark and bushy area,
he gripped her face and forced a kiss.
Perplexed, she tried to throw out her fists,
he held her arms and shoved her to the ground.

She shrilled but no one came to save her.
He was intoxicated so was short of fear.
He pulled up her short school skirt,
and like the brute he was he had his way.

When she got home after that,
she was dissolved by thought.
Uneducated but knew right from wrong,
she tossed, turned and cried all night long.

She was too afraid to open up to anyone,
so she kept at his game like a vile curse,
taunting and tempting her to the hearse,
until he realised she had become pregnant.

She realised her body changes soon,
She saw the troubles faced by her family,
so she picked a leaf from her tree,
decided to 'act wise' and go for abortion.

It was not the wisest thing to do;
some disagree, some say live and let live,
but she could barely afford to keep it together,
how could she dare add another on board?

Through persistence she got his assistance.
He aided the abortion but had given "Sarah" H.I.V.
When she got the tragic news from the doctor,
she felt poorer than she had ever been before...

Her family used ask what the matter was,
but did it matter, they'd only reject her...
I met her as a visiting counsellor in her school,
she confided in me and we became close friends,
Not too many years in, she passed away as an s.6 graduate,
I guess the glory in story lied in her strength.

Sarah, Sarah...
Lwaki obguma ngo'bwito,
Why do you heat up like boiling oil,
Tobaikiriza kuchamuza,
Don't let them entice you.
Ata kuzimba tomwetaga.
You don't need anyone that doesn't build you.
Ekitibwa kyo nekyo bugaiga bwo,
The respect you give your self is your wealth,
Wokigaba oida kwavuwala,
If you give it away you'll have no value,
Kikumeh, wekuumeh!"
Safe guard it, safe guard it.

H.I.V

Ekitibwa kyo nekyo bugaiga bwo
Wokigaba oida kwavuwala!

Know your worth before you walk a path-
that's elegantly designed to ruin your life.
H.I.V is real, just as much as pregnancies,
and you're the dust that causes its allergies-
yet you could be the condom that stops its sperm,
or that fighter that avoids getting into fights.
Don't struggle and hustle when there is no meddle,
in it for you on the table for jumping a huddle.
keep your keys on the table and don't drive,
Unless your driver straps on and takes precaution;
Otherwise, you'll end up hitting "bumps,"
and incurring costs out of your budget.

This is for the beautiful women out there,
You are the leaders of this world,
that we men egotistically call ours.
You're mothers that bring forth generations,
you might have come second in creation,
but, without you nothing can go further.
Even if us as fathers role play like mothers,
we just are not you, we can't yield that fruit,
we can't till like you do, we might be farmers-
with the capability to plant seed;
Ayeh, you are our beloved mother nature...
We await your light to aid our growth,
that ray of light that shows us the path.
A path through a door of which;

You hold the key,
So H.I.V, Hold It Vainly!

The orchestra...

The shadow is our friend,
it helps us play our little games.
The spotlight our muse,
helps us execute our moves,
as we sparkle like reflector lights-
leading the way to entertainment.

Our lines are vines,
that connect us with our audience,
if they are cut off;
we stammer like epileptic victims,
with no spoons in the mouth,
it's not sweet at all....

Our audience,
The saddle on which we struggle,
as we endeavour to jump huddles
nerve wrecked in need of cuddles
from the sweet caress of success,
for it's that beautiful girl;
our derby's prize, the meddle.
The only thing to make us calm,
after we have entertained, satisfied,
bowed, and waved goodbye..

The sits in which they fill,
are the tickets that we bill-
to access them and make them feel,
how we feel when our hearts are still.
Numbed by the love that inspired,
and gave us reason to bleed,
and in all honesty to seek heed.
They are the parcels that bag,
our reactions from persons,
endeared by our inventions;
they are what carry us all...

The stage is an aid for the masquerade;
a prop for the props from the audience en mass,
as we carry out precarious acts in play,
like a Nightingale singing out in the pale-
to drive out ennui and sway them to stay.
It carries us, it's the deck on which we ship,
sailing steadily into performance sea,
where upon the waves there's much to see;
act in comedy and sorrow in honesty,
drama in enmity and action in situation,
and for the grande finale of medley,
all we desire is your ardent devotion,
for the orchestra is our home,
and you are welcome to walk into our emotion