Naked angel...

I knew peace when I killed,
when I heard that terrible rhythme of her heart beat,
like the interview with a vampire,
I knew she missed me again,
in the silence,
she missed the blood in my veins.

A naked angel on your back,
how cruel could you be to yourself?
now,
there are black wings on your back,
you had your white fangs on my neck.
Yet you spared me..
that naked angel on my lap.

Dried lips and a dead tongue,
I speak ancient language,
like a mummy from the pryamids,
we are made in the stars,
made to go far...
wonder further,
called from abscurity,
called by name,
I would like to think if this is an evil,
then it is properly documented for assessment.
so I can make an arrangement,
contest in an engagement,
a fight to the death,
an end to the myth.
of my naked angel...

So I shall persist in this rudeness,
grow some spine,
speak what is mine,
invest in some wine,
taste these grapes from the vine,
spitting out the dying,
and sipping in all the life...
before my naked angel..
comes to rid the world of me...
reduce man's misery,
for a beautiful write...
killed angels from the sky,
with how to make words fly..
Only one knows how I die.
A naked angel on the back,
an inscription made in felt...
pen with black ink.
How cruel can I be to myself?
in my dying moments on her lap...

Cut and broken...

Cut and broken...
went through a glass once again,
little pieces of what once was,
still embedded within,
tearing at me,
making me bleed.
My eyes are all open,
but I cant see, cause am swollen...
is this how it feels to be hated?
is this how it feels to be forgotten?

I grew an undefeated heart,
I have powers to turn my loneliness,
from my emptiness...
learned how to share my pain.
pulling the glass off,
making myself bleed once more..
putting the pieces together,
making me whole.
I gathered and collected at the floor,
like little gems,
claiming back my worth.
Priceless!

Cut and broken from my ore,
to fit into silver bands...
shine in everyone's finger,
rare as a stranger,
by the side walk...
I talk,
like a cut and broken tongue...
I have lost one wing,
so am busy being human,
fell off the ranks of angels.
for I have cut and broken wings.

who is my tailor?
where is my carpenter?
how is my doctor?
whose seen my wing,
for am cut and broken...

Thugs get lonely too...

Took out a pen,
sprayed ink on my skin,
made tattoos on me,
a rail way track you see,
in these rusty brown bins,
eating roasted brown peas...
Thug life sticking needles,
getting high on fear,
those who fear,
How I really look inside...
that thugs get lonely too.

I lost one,
one of my street queens,
to the cold on the streets...
eaten live by the decay,
fading by the day.
from staying away,
slowly dying away.
The thug still stay,
found a street to run,
found a color to burn,
more tattoos on his skin,
express his pain,
that thugs get lonely too.

Opening buttons,
gifts unwrapping...
feels like somebody's birthday,
a lady with table manners...
and the weight lifts over,
feels like on top of the world,
blood getting warmer,
a thug ready to stay longer,
shoot his gun in the air,
act like he don't care,
but what he's really scared,
is knowing thugs get lonely too.

walking a lady to the stop,
watch her leave in a bus,
thugs make no fuss,
pretend the heart doesn't feel...
keep losing their way,
and finding their way,
to that mean look,
THAT "I don't feel look"
straight from the thugs book.
but Thugs get lonely too.
Ain't this how we look,
thugs who still groove,
thugs who still move,
thugs who still prove,
thugs get lonely too.

** GOO GOO DOLLS - Iris **

Verse 1

And I'd give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now
Verse 2

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight
Chorus

And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Verse 3

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything seems like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know your alive

Chorus

And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Chorus

I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

I just want you to know who I am
I just want you to know who I am
I just want you to know who I am
I just want you to know who I am

Question...? Answer....!

I have long wanted to voice the dissatisfaction
I have within myself
for not having
the courage to voice what truly lies within.
Even when those things may mean great harm and pain to me.
Maybe it is the pain am afraid of,
or maybe it is just the fear that's holding me back
I don't know!
I am lost for now,
I don't know what shall become of me
in the next millennium.
Will I be a fossil of this generation of degenerates
who fuse their minds to music,
and foreign influences
just because the world imposes this trends on us.
I am not sure what sort of influence I have on my world,
except perhaps that I am carrying on,
a sane note.

Is this the kind of frustration that other youth
in far worse situations than am in,
feel.
How despair eats at them,
for lack of assurance that what "we do now"
will matter when chaos comes trotting into our lives.
Will I be able to hold my own,
as my default father keeps on insisting.
I did not choose what role that I was going to play,
maybe all this is planned destiny after all.
How else shall we start to explain
why things insist on this gradient
and curve of events.
As if unraveling any faster or any slower
is a violation to a rule,
which keeps me here,
bound to this time and space which eats at me,
of every effort I attempt
to transcend the whims of mortality.
A want to survive.
A crippling need to be loved or wanted...
who is this man who speaks
in such venomous voice in me.
Why does he not come out,
and show himself in mine eyes.
Am I not fit to see the bearings of my path,
the end off all my action.
Should I find it in vain end,
which is my retreat from the physical world,
cast along the desolate spirits who walk the earth,
still searching answers to the true meaning of life,
to what purpose I have lived so long only to dissipate,
disappear as if I were not,
a significant part of this worldly adventure set on me,
from my birth.

Indeed,
why should I ask this questions if,
my creator would drop these answers to these questions in a manner,
like manna...
or like drops of rain,
a relief to the desert sands of knowledge I claim,
and still hold much pride for.
In noon time,
I will acknowledge that am aging,
always a day older than before,
making with what I have,
however short or brief.
If pretty ladies sit next to me,
and I stray a thought of passion,
catch myself before I can utter any nonsense.
Keep my cool and realize there is no need to act like a fool.

Or is it the case of need to know basis.
Am I on a need to know basis?
There is a great deal of mystery to me,
that am yet to be discovered.
Even so, why do I despair so?
Isn't it in my occupation that I should seek an understanding
into who I am,
what I will become.
Invest in that the duty and strain of my brow
into realizing this.
Maybe I should keep my tongue in cheek,
cherish what little query I still have of death and the the coming...
For it is clear what has a beginning has an end.
Regardless,
I will carry on with this charm,
play my harp and guitar like a pro.
Guess there is some sanity and bliss in optimism,
make hay while the sun shines sort of way.

Black Nail Polish...

I haven't lost it yet,
I bet...
Long time before that happens,
Because am still a garden,
who sows their seed.
so I'll keep it coming,
perennial as the grass,
that some smoke or chew on.
Last on every breath,
even as I bleed to death.

I know this nails which tear my flesh
which sever my feet,
get me on my knees,
leave a bloody trail,
make me write mail,
that's made my scent known,
so I can be hunt down,
by sniffing dogs.
But the black nail polish,
knows to scratch my back,
get my attention running,
with those cat like eyes,
which steal my soul,
bury it whole,
into her own.

The punching of keys,
to eddy words into meaning,
conjure mine with feeling,
until I drop into little trickles,
of color,
like a magic trick,
Perform my illusion,
drown in my pen ink,
splatter the finger prints
of my art,
make this my personal matter,
concern you with wonder,
how is it life sounds so sweet?

Or is it because,
Am a poet,
or that I love art,
as if it were given birth,
by its mother,
her name is Beauty.
Or do I go round into a circle,
empty my foolishness,
and fill all splendor within,
attempt to last this smile,
who's been stimulated,
by the one am looking at.
The one tearing my flesh,
with black nail polish.

Love me, love me….say that you love me.

Sinking in this soft song,
Sitting in my bath tub,
Immersed in this blab,
Gift of the gab,
Lab tech in this quality,
Place of serenity,
In my youth…
Lost without truth,
Making calls in the booth,
Kept a hostage in my boot.
That bleeding ass toot
You call boyfriend.
Rocking stars in your bed.
Puppet in your toy land,
Babies with red bands.
Know nothing about love,
Puppies with the perve_
Dick with a nerve,
Just learning to swerve,
Under the wheel of love
For you…
Love me, love me….say that you love me.
Hold me, hold me….why won’t you hug me?
Touch me, touch me….baby come an’ kiss me.
Draw me, draw me….said that you need me,
Now,
That I paint love.

Writing in red ink,
Ink from my slit wrist.
From the veins of life…
My arteries,
My art is…
Utterly!
Life altering…
Am no underling…
Wondering,
Where else do I go…
But I don’t know,
When I begin to matter,
When life starts to flatter.
The efforts of my letter,
Better,
Make life better.
So I begin to enter,
Roles without a mentor.
Become a victor,
Evictor of oppression,
Impression in the minds…
Mine of dimes,
A collector,
An inventor of ether,
A toxic thriller,
Miller,
Of fine grain,
Grains of pain,
Pain with no gain.
Again,
Without you.
Knocked me down.
Love locked down.
Love me, Love me….say that you love me.



@ Copyrights 2009. B. Merlin Mwaura.

Breaking the Habit….

That eager addiction I have of,
Trying to rid myself of,
Teach thy self not…
Walk down that hasty road,
Doing doodles on a class board,
An art role,
To paint picture with a large soul.
Making a sex scene,
A top cover magazine.
Playing in the background with the maestros,
Chanting acapellas with our woes…
Make the revelers pause,
While they dance on the floor,
Holding hands and opening doors,
To each other.
Trying to break a habit,
Stop a heart beat,
Extinguish all color, be colorless…
A sneaky reason to be manner less.
Be invisible to the eager eye,
Being invincible…
Yet these lips turn red…
Poison ivy comes sent,
To kill we softly,
Quench all that bitter longing,
Trying to stop sinking,
Into obscurity….
Who cares about a rat?
What hole it comes out of…
Depressing scribbly things,
So we stopped making assumptions about me,
Remain charming and daunting,
Don’t we all hate something we can’t control?
Eating things shoved down our throats.
Starting to break the habit,
Spinning into a wild fit,
And still manage to say nothing,
Only an irritated mumbling.
Because its all digesting…
Garbage in and garbage out.
Acting like a maniac,
Involved in a chain react,
Pursuit of our happiness,
The beauty and all ugliness…
The quality of mentality,
The crude prodding by reality,
And finally,
We are breaking the habit,
That eager addiction we have of,
Trying to rid thy self of,
A Feeling like …
You’ve got nothing to lose when,
All your soul is dead and gone.

Smooth desire….

Found a flame to scourge the soul,
Tear off its timidity,
Bore deep searching holes,
Find those jewels and gold,
My Midas touch on things….
The reason to craving rings,
King on my conscious paradise,
Where all folly and games begun,
Here where senses plan,
A feather to raise the faintest quiver,
Land on lips with the gentlest humor,
Looking into the eyes of those, who swim in pools.
Who violate the innocence of water,
With their beauty.
Who fall in love with fools,
But still enjoy in laughter.
A pretty chatter.
They that burn like furnaces,
Take forever to calm down and cool
down their pleasure.
Those still with adventure in their blood,
Few have learned to tame them.
Few have had the real game.
Pitying hunters!
Cage them for exhibition.
So rare to be considered a delicacy,
They that have eyes and do not see.
Pass blindly the bearers of beauty.
Qualities passed down from generations.
Pass down liberation,
To be comforted by artificial things.
What of this which comes on its own?
Of what it brings,
The seasoned have trained disguise,
To hide well behind a smile,
To place a price,
On priceless things like these.
A smooth desire to want yours,
To have yours admired.
Inspired to have the ear of desire,
Warn it where not to,
Or who not to go to.
Placed it where it can be seen,
Make wonder how I came to it,
That it is possible,
To breathe in all the air, and fill your lungs with it.

The Perfect Storm…

The elements are churning in the wind,
Convincing evey little whim to stay in,
To stay hiddden till everything wins,
The struggle with a ferocious wind.
The minds are yearning,
Begging impression from the glares of genius,
Petting depression from the eyes of venus,
To set in beauty from her journey,
Prepare her for a party,
To attend to bull and belching,
Before everyone starts clinging by the ear,
To hear,
The story that is the peril of man,
How they struggle to paint her,
How they croak their voices to sing,
How even some, write to charm her…

They are the perfect storm,
Who change taste and feeling so easily,
They are tormented by their want of me,
Am only beauty,
But the poet still insists on words,
Gangsters still insist on guns,
Want to buy me things,
Expensive little nothings,
Yet they forget their hearts,
Cold crevices within them,
Leaking that what makes me,
Am beauty in them…
Am beauty within.
A perfect storm stirring,
Winding like the clock,
Rising early like a cock,
To make the first impression.

The perfect storm in their eyes,
What stories they have had to tell,
Just to get me in their spell,
Play show and tell.
Am only beauty,
But this man,
This girl,
Show me fury…
Don’t they see what’s begun
Is a perfect storm within.

No Prison of Mind...

Prison is not entirely confinement
it can be physically restrictive...
but you only bring the society of a convicted mind
to engage themselves with more intimacy.
Our situations in life are no more as restrictive
because humanity glares at us with unrelenting reserves.
So like prisoners, we are in constant conversations
with amplitudes of ourselves and our minds.
We refine and shed like snakes the old skin.
I reinvent myself on a constant struggle within
We have become like scholars,
sentenced to reflect on life.
Because the time served is a lifetime.
We are eager to impress our judge,
Doesn't matter who we make the judge...
For our past become crystal clear as time winds,
Like convicts growing more aware of the crimes committed,
than a justice system governing our land.
And when it comes to psychological evaluations
Our moral fibers would serve as interesting fodder
to morality issues in our country.
Our history presents some things as repetitive.
An' the modern man still grapples with them.
We are the patterns of our thought,
When we have our most undivided attention to genius
Realizing the challenge,
We result to propose dimensions
That compose and define a mind of genius.
We do our greatest harm,
for a mind is free an' full of love for things
and because no meager mind has a matching charm!
Yet, There are those who are free even behind bars,
For truly,
There is no prison of mind.
Only what is in our mind, and that we are.

Live yours right!

A person puts up a spirited search,
for the certainties of tomorrow,
to grasp predictability upon the events,
of the natural world and the artificial ones.
Then there are those certain aspects of morality,
That we are in continuous pursuit of perfection,
To get better, to want better, to have better.
Yet there is a certainty of death,
and life puts on a grave importance,
for those in suffering and the ones in bliss.
We become authentic with our activities.
Every endeavor becomes personal or has our personal touch
To free the oppressed, to feed the hungry, to heal the sick...
becomes the domain of the privileged.
Health in society is to care for all,
Law in a land is to govern all, if not our morals...
Food to feed thee strength of a working nation
and that of those who are struggling.
The empty walk in tatters, shred to pieces within
Love for them has faded, and are monstrous in the eye.
Then the qualitative and the quantitative measures of life
tells us apart, of who's worthy and who's not.
and that is introduced as our norm,
We accept it with much trepidation,
discriminating amongst friends and making foes.
The order sips into disorder, convincing us we are still right.
However far from human we have come,
Our outbursts and menacing nature makes us alien.
Those that do receive true salvation,
are too timid to speak up.
The times are rife for a repeat of history,
where good men are sacrificed.
The true revelations is that we are life,
a beginning to it and inevitably an end.
A darkness and light,
So I live mine right,
while another lives theirs as they see fit!

Done

It is no wonder to me, that the truth has been so elusive to many.
Mostly because the truth is right in front of our eyes. It is so simple and yet powerful, it is thought to be kept hidden. To realize this truth gives both strength on one side and cripples on the other.

How else do we live in a world of serious contradictions, that bringing conflict between one another, and within ourselves. It is better to do whatever in our means to survive and undo any obstacle in our without much remorse. We are tearing the bonds between us, creating new ones on condition of this or that.

How does the world fail so much, that my home is plagued by curable diseases. That while I have meal in my home, another suffers under the tyranny of poverty. The gap is growing wider, estranging neighbor with neighbor. How many days must we wake to see one another like human beings. What is this promise of a Kingdom of Heaven? If heaven is not among us who live.
The dead hold the world's wisdom, only they can tell for sure if there are parallels of this world. So what has to be, is life in full. Let those who do wrong pay, here on earth, let who yearn, let be into their aspirations. Every war has it's hero, so will every side. So whose war are we fighting, whose pain, whose peace are we calling for? Mine and yours.

We have learnt through history, our strength is in great measure. Withing ancient wording, and coding. We are what has to be done. The peace, the prosperity of all.

Passers By...

So I proceeded to retire from my spontaneous life,
and now am at this place which threatens to take me away,
from myself and the heights of character.
I guess it feels like am walking around with a dull lamp,
Peering with squinting eyes at the far horizon,
wondering what powers shall come save me,
from my plight for I am suffering utter boredom.
Yet I can only save myself,
because I am my own source of pleasure
and Man's pleasure is in having his own way.

So I find myself in a smoky cafe,
which am told is some fault of mine...
I can however manage to articulate these things surrounding,
and they are very much to my entertainment.
Thank God for my brother,
who results to incredulous things,
for his own amusement and mine.
There is also some chance of solace in literature...
These past few weeks have afforded me
the little mercies of a reader's digest.
An assurance against mental starvation.

But I have started to enjoy,
the timeless design that is creation,
it is in every passer-by's eyes.
Like tailors handling expensive garments,
produce inventions and the foreigners go crazy calling them.."Designers"
Yet, Just like them I strive to cut a coat above the rest.
How you might regard the attempt,
I live to you to consider the personal touch.
The environment here is quite resourceful,
even though I did allude to its boredom a little earlier,
there is plenty of salt in the sea,
as is in this cafe's shakers.
A fat man is waiting anxiously on a table,
as the lean trendy waiter brings in his greasy meal,
and the doctor right behind him,
sipping on a strong cup of tea.
I, like every one else placed in this mosaic of life,
happen to have a pen and paper,
to document how greedy and sloppy this luxuriant man is!

So this must be a popular joint,
for passers-by and GK AFFILIATES.
their coffee is quite improved too.
Soon,
I'll put everything back into my folder,
and walk out into the boredom again,
join the busy mass passing by.
Because am just another passer by,
With urgent matters to attend to.

Inside...

I saw five dead today...with bullet holes. Nothing like what we see in movies, that's just screen play!
I saw the horror in death, the grave silence and no movement. It made me sick. I held it in,and looked into every dead man's eyes. I am not afraid of death, God's children aren't.

However,I am afraid of something...it occurred to me when I finally decided to go to Strathmore. You mean a lot to me, a tad too much. I know what you mean by pushing me to the periphery, and I never had a problem with that. Until now, when you put it so vividly. Tired you say...I hope not!
We are both quite capable of moving on, with much ease I'd believe. Thing is, I always like it when you come over or when I see you. Life is so vulnerable and brief...am here to make my peace and die.
Be forgotten and make room for some other sensation to the world. I am not sure of this world, what I will get eventually. I am sure though, I will truly and gladly have you. Am not only saying that, I know how serious am feeling.

Pity how things unfold between us, an effortless adventure. You need the thrill I know...I need the scars and the dare devil moments. I did find what I was looking for...it is right in front of my eyes. I just wish you'd turn around and see, yourself looking at me. My eyes have never been this clear, you'll see!
I miss you.
Do not spare me, I don't need protection from you!
Protect me from the world, because I am about to upset it. Disturb its controversies, make my life's attempt.

I want to live full...

Where the air is Thick!...

Where the air is thick!
I have gone to a place,
like what a journey would be...
and had sweet thick mango juice,
A Kayamba playing in the back ground,
like that group of men call themselves Kayamba Africa
there was a man though,
a Rasta Man chewing at Muguka
green gobbler and something he's mumbling
between stuffing his mouth.
and puffing a cigarette,
the air here is unmistakably thick
so he says with a thick baritone voice,
"young man!",
"write us some of that scribble you call poetry..."
"am in a mood for anything"
and a thick air came about me,
to put some sense into him!

I have had the taste of the loins
put to folklore my curiosity and yearning...
My friends and I prepare judgment over things,
before our indulgence,
I listen to Bach, Mozart and still get high on Jua Cali talent,
there are emerging Benga, Jazz and Soul birds where I revel,
it is not just the drink and dance floor that takes me there
it is the thick air around,
the music and people dancing to it,
I might just as well have Alvaro while am at it.

I was looking for club Sound…
Listen to my own kind for a start,
That never seems to pan out as I imagine it…
In fact so have many things, I keep holding back.
Of course the fellow going green in his mouth,
Had something to say to this,
Took a lot of stomaching for my young intestines,
“ Young Man[Kijana!] did you use rubber?”
“ Then you know nothing of tasting loins”
Taken aback, “AIDs” would have been a more probable
Way to go about it.
I simply manage… “The world is a terrifying place”
And the thick starts again about me…
Now taking a form of rage.

The thick air around,
In the library between books on a shelf,
Called it philosophy, poetry, art….
I think I saw Hamlet in some play Shakespeare wrote,
And now the soap opera about me,
A love affair am having has failed in comparison of these.
So I’ll keep wanting more,
Scribe my own kind of scheme to brain wash people
That this too is a kind of love.
The thick air about me,
The life here within.

Student Martyr….

Student Martyr….
We are the start of a good tomorrow,
A local campus will unsettle these streets,
Stop traffic for a course,
Because there are others in prison schools,
Waiting to be bailed out,
Out of an eight for fall system,
Doing K.C.S.E and coming to this domain,
The AAAAAAAAA’s and EEEEEEEEEEEE’s of a failing system.

We are student Martyrs,
Make those who come, a better place.
While we set new standards academically,
Set new standards on our fee slips,
Shouldn’t pay any higher for the same bull…
Four- five years in the same school,
Is this a money laundering business?
To build castles
We have not even stricken ….
While a Unite Of Nations threw stones at police,
We the stressed-more ask for police escorts in the evening.

A student Martyr will say the unthinkable,
Do the impossible…
To stand for what is right for all students,
For all teaching faculties to comprehend,
The institutions might not need one individual…
But what can they do when there are no students?
Have they not heard of the Domino effect?
Make one fall, and then start a chain of failure…
Build one, and build all the rest.

Life of a student Martyr,
See one and you outcast…
Hear one and you silence…
Read one and you banish.
A student Martyr in persecution.
Don’t they get it? it is we who make the institution.
It is the University of our minds,
Because in our diversities…
We choose to seek a common goal,
A universal understanding of one other!

A student Martyr in our comments,
In the murmur of conversations between us,
It is the voice of the oppressed,
The grunt of the one violated,
It is the cry of injustice outside…
It is the one throwing stone…
The one reading this poetry,
A student martyr living it!

A poisonous Air...

There is a poisonous air,
coming from the wars of heaven,
the wars here on earth,
and we have taken time to manipulate,
the clean air,
we have sold it,
we sell it for a price...
so we can breath
so we can sell each other our freedom.

Why should we ask for what God Has given?
who brought the coin?
the money that now tears us apart,
the coin that chooses people's fates,
by the toss of a coin,
we live or die.
The hungry,
the wealthy...
selling clean air,
begging for what they have.

A poisonous air inhaled,
has made us disoriented,
It has deluded many,
we must get the high off freedom,
and so we buy without thought,
we buy our freedom as if it were taken from us.
We buy our thoughts as if we had none.
We beg for order as if we are not orderly.
Even in war and mutiny there is order,
chaos is a kind of order.
It is a disorder....

There is a poisonous air,
that has ruin many at heart,
darkened souls and sold to the devil.
The prophesied times are with us.
It is not going to happen...
It is happening!
and the air will thicken still,
It will scare and unsettle those of us without belief
It will waken the beast,
It will call the heavens,
and I might as well begin,
to start buying my freedom,
in better advice,
with a surer foot!
Start taking the poisonous air,
slowly,
puffing,
sipping...
and getting my high.
so that a painting become liquid
those we love become vivid,
and what passion I have become written
like poetry, the poisonous air it is.

To be Kenyan is to be these…

I went to a local primary school,

Used the same bag for seven years,

It was pure leather from K.M.C. products.

I drunk K.C.C. milk thanks to a political strategist,

Who I have come to both ridicule and praise.

I didn’t think much of my future,

My dad did much of that for me…

Time he stopped doing that,

Like I’ll stop cowering from wondering,

If the system continues to fail so bad…

Then more of us will die,

From secret assassinations,

When another group emerge harness disorient youth.



I am glad I got what I have,

Straps of sandals on clean feet,

Articulate in my matters and affairs,

I take little to a fool’s whim.

Why should 2012 be any different?

Same mongers seat on the throne.

Shame politics still tribal,

Jesters and my future employers.

Because I might as well be their recruit.

Or else I live doing examinations in lecture rooms.

Till I have every degree that makes a C.V.

So that am accepted clean into the running of things.

But true is that,

How many get in clean,

Dirty business dealing with kids,

Even charity and N.G.Os seem a little hood wink,

Why do we have so many things need protecting from?

More ladies driving on our roads,

Congratulations to them, who know how the world goes round…

Same as it did back in the day.

It is the smart ones that have it going good.

That is food for thought in our books,

Before another magazine define how unromantic we are,

The Adams apple will rumble right,

Cause an evening fall down,

Because it needs a boss.



Laughing at the same ranting,

How advanced we are going to be,

Talk about the Kenya we want,

What we don’t want is more talk.

All good things come to an end.

At least make as many people get taste of it.

Before we have a repeat of December ‘07.

Let’s enjoy the peace we are having,

And not take it for granted that we live like this.



Youth will make love with condoms,

Disregard that A.I.Ds. exists,

Until there are no more virgins to conquer,

Till our morals waste away at Carnivore,

Over and over again on a local tune,

The new heat wave taking over us in our millions.

Because I get the feeling no one believes in love anymore,

Like we have take away at everything,

No more home cooked meals,

Take away at clubs joints.

Taken away by the western plague.

Playing marbles with everything,

Tapping fingers on our desks,

Hatching new conquest and ways to make ourselves,

Today’s talk and press release.



Wait till am done with this formality,

Get my degree…

Pay back my dues to my mother,

When I get this talent working for all

For the good and entertainment of all.

When I get it right in the manner of things,

How to proceed with an extra cautious foot,

Because I am about to roar,

On a pillar and call out a crowd,

My small crowd, the ears I get to…

The minds I touch and move,

As my blood moves and penetrates.

There is nothing as lively,

Until we start sipping into the system,

Until the great tools of year gone,

By Greeks and Romans,

By the Chinese in the yellow river valley,

By Kwame Nkurumah,

By my History teacher,

My geography teacher who I imagined wrote notes,

Of deep and intrinsic thought.

How is that we start legacy?

Is it not like these…?

To be Kenyan is to be these.

Hail Caesar...

There was a time I wasn't sure
what I could be capable of...
That a man can be the tears,
a bloodied nose,
a vein with hot blood...
He is life and that too is magnificent,
Like a blank wall,
we take spray paint and put graffiti
like a girl will do her nails.
It is the blunt things that sharpen a blade
it is the current that smooths the stones.

I will speak language,
what a secret organization would know...
watch the pattern of his behavior,
like watching a piano student
couldn't be more obvious,
that this is Caesar,
watch his finger around the queen,
making moves on a checkered board,
Playing chess like Kasparov.
on the harbor where many fishermen dock
and if you manage to find me,
in a straw hat,
taking the sunshine,
while I chew on a chilly
spicing things and life up.

What is the difference between swimming in the river,
and swimming in the sea?
There is much more water I guess.
But I bet sharks are pretty good swimmers too.
I know my heart well,
there is much to build and much to see...
how would you think an alien looks?
much the same as our insides...
Terrifying and horrifying
but very real.
Ask the C.I.A if you think I was lying,
but I guess you'll hear the same thing.

Hail Caesar,
Holding a thumbs up...
approving yet another brutality,
The sport of men,
The spectators the weak and timid.
For we who are hailed,
go for the thrill,
it matters not how fast the beat,
It is the keen eye that sees,
from a pyramid...
a vantage point to get the most advantage.

Magicians perform,
Illusionists become...
and when the orchestra sings,
It is not song but an eruption.
The air is taken by all...
so squeeze the breath out of one,
and you upset everyone else.
You marvel the rest.
There is of course the matter of horror,
but that is over rated.

Human beings do more terrifying things to each other.
It is betrayal,
It is deceit,
It is love,
It is envy
Even in such things as happiness,
we do carry our selves in high esteem,
a little eloquence,
a little fizzle,
and a drink from a cold glass,
and we make ourselves the image we see in our mirrors.
Hail Caesar...
and raise a thumb or drop it down.

Leaf and Pencil…

Leaf and Pencil…

How long before I drown
before loud sirens come pick me,
before mouth to mouth resuscitation,
how long before leaf and pencil
become the last things in my palm.

Does she miss me,
does she need me,
bent on the sandy shores,
playing with her youthful soul,
does she miss me,
walked the world with feet sore,
torn around this misty lore.

Leaf and pencil write some whisper song,
draw this heart on beach shore...
take the sandy grains from my shorts,
clean her sandy sorts,
of hers a tender flock,
and caress me some more.

Coast guard and speed boats,
dolphins and seals float,
on swift fins on to seaward drift
take me there where she be mermaid,
steal me from here to far depths,
give me some gills to breathe with.

Leaf and pencil,
write the green matter in my conscience,
tell-tale of gooey content,
indispensable talent concentrate,
leaf and pencil,a hearty comment!
Nature is my genetic tendency.

Leaf and pencil on a poet,
lips and tongue,his duet...
with cunning lad and guitar,
make music and a heart beat torrent...
leaf and pencil on song let...
scheme the winds and her ears receive,
a leaf and pencil,
pink and purple sunset,

Leaf and pencil last quest,
on beach and sandy note pad...

Merlin an’ The poet….

Merlin an’ The poet….

Once the world was a sad and sorrowful place,
and the inhabitants of this world were desolate,
being cancerous and vexing beings.
There was no love as great that didn't find a fall
nor was there any young couple lasting long enough to find marriage,
all were but fleeting things unfulfilled.

There was a man though, gentle in his ways,
mannerisms of a gentle lad indeed,
pleased most his mother,
and the nature his lover.

He was naive, but he did harness a lot of knowledge,
his friends thought him wise,
an' nature court him thrice,
till he made love to her bountifully
A new being was born, and
they called it Freedom.
He was kind to let the child liberal,
and the world took to the child with vigor,
learned to appreciate a lot of things.

Whenever nature called him back for supper,
errands and chores to far places,
they all new how fragile they really were.
It scared them, the world!
They knew how weak they were getting with the child around,
so they schemed to conceal the child,
Kill him if they willed.
The marvelous pair...
when learned of these hatched plan,
took their child to the mind of one,
who's trust could not be doubted,
who's love not wavering,
He was quite unlike other beings,
for he knew nature too with that same intimacy,
but his choice to loom far from such legacy,
he took to books an' he writ poetry...
this was his honesty.

So freedom lived with desirable things,
since the man, had a love for art,
had a love for poetry,
had a love for knowledge,
had a love for feeling,
had a love still...
for an earth bound creature,
called her " Helen",
He played music, guitar strings...
violin and flute.
The child learned poetry an' praised it's mother...
with all those other things
an' the divine couple,
Nature an' Merlin...
thanked the man for all the good he did.

Then Merlin knew he was not lasting long,
an' they made love while heavens stormed,
an' causing another child coming of soon.
They called it Beauty,
sought the man who raised Freedom,
an' there left for her care,
for the world had grew a lust...that ate away their hearts.
An' they were both be-smacked with an awesome woe
They wrote song that wooed,
paint art that moved,
danced like worms in goo..
Dreamed of morning dew..
and while Helen was good, an' their love had grew
Freedom, Beauty an' Helen...
were so hard to choose,
who lay more in heart while timber burnt
to warm his soul,
This Man watching moon.

there was more laughter, art and speech...
Liberators grew in their many.
Conquerors an' Kings found their company,
never too long though to last their whims.
Until came another man...
of virgin sired,
an' wed with Beauty,
an' brother with Freedom.
An' the poet wept...sort his unrest.
Helen being kind to comfort,
while all went to heaven...
an' Man left.
There was a child born from this court,
called him Death,
came down to earth, haunt man an' his love...
promised that he would join them soon.
All he had to do was continue being good.
Have his loves, an' all come true.

Into the Darkness...

Into the Darkness.

Light has come and died,
The echoes of silence faded…
To this artlessness…
Where no colour permeates,
And a long long journey has started,
Into the deep,
Far sadness...
of this darkness.

Into the dark the sound has faded,
The world has disappeared,
For direction we pray,
For hope,
As a step is made,
by us,
by many,
Further into the unknown,
Here where lacks inspiration,
Picking little solids in our fingers,
Painting and scribing what we are feeling…
preserving ourselves in song,
in art,
in poetry...
in our heart's throng.

Into the darkness,
Feeling exposed and vulnerable,
Grabbing from what we can’t see,
Coiling together,
The fingers into our fists,
Punching this hollow air,
Shouting at no one.
We know the tears are flowing,
When our fear is growing…

We have not fallen,
Or know if we are lost.
So we keep together…
Guarding one another!
But the darkness has started,
A long long journey,
Into the deep…
Far parts of me.

Till Death...

Till Death.

There are things I want in life…
But if this things deprive me,
What is most important of all…
Then I will gladly rid myself of that need,
I will try being,
Without this.

Till death,
Should life change in the process,
Make more meaning than it already is
Give more sense,
Tame these wild inclinations in me,
Should I learn how to crawl out of the dark,
Share in the light,
Open my eyes and see,
The beautiful things here.

Should I then,
make haste towards my God,
Thank my existence,
Make a legacy,
Timid as it may be,
I shall hope I made a difference.
With a tune or without,
With my lady and dance…
I will tell tales to my young,
How once I was a lad…
With Great Spirit and dream…

I shall make mine the strings,
Play a long yearn to the heavens,
Play music unheard,
I will tear down my clothes,
Walk into the pool of many waters,
Feel it caress my nudeness…
Surrender to this violation,
For I shall have welcomed it.

I will let her eyes unsettle me,
I will look head on…
Maybe let off a smile,
And when my heart betrays me,
I will pretend it was nothing!
Till death,
I will not be easy and predictable.
Rouse curiosity for I can be,
Amazing and sensational.

Till death,
I will take none for granted,
A charm is always nice,
So is indulgence in dialogue…
I will hold those little hands,
And let their innocence slay me,
Hear their chattering,
Laugh at the little marvels,
Treasures from maternity wards.

Till death,
I will speak the truth quietly,
I will creep through the covetous,
Through they who bite and stab in the back,
I will crawl among the desolate,
Learn their secrets,
See them for who they are.
I will stoop to the very lows,
Emerge when they speak,
For I will stare into their eyes,
They need not lie while am here.

Till death,
I will know good music when I hear it….
I will know good character when am with them,
I will know talent when it marvels me,
I will smile at humour,
I will lust after beauty,
Love the heart.
If nature demands it, I shall be emotional!
If destiny chooses it, I shall steward it.
If am but a vessel…
I will overflow with content…

If there is light, I shall follow,
In the dark I shall wait…
Fight if I must, with the strange and unfamiliar…
I will enjoy the test of pain,
Bleed if I must,
Conquer the blade…
Shift the wind…
Am not Samurai,
But my soul is its own master.
Taught me great things on the way,
Till death when I walk in her element,
That spirit which I call soul,
Let a drum beat,
Join me with the rhythm of my land,
The great hooves of the wildebeests,
The trump of the elephant,
The soft paw of Simba and Cheetah,
Make me one with these beasts ,
Let that mourn curve in the hills…
Around her breasts,
My lover’s hair!
With the water that she bathes…
The air that she breathes,
Sing a song of the triumphant,
When this poet is no more,
Till death,
And when am gone.

Breaking Free...

Breaking Free…

I never noticed the flowers,
The ones on our highways,
In the dust and soot,
They still look good…
Like my diamond in the ruff,
Who I’d wish to set free
See how beautiful she be…

I saw some thought coming,
Its bearer seemed a bit strange…
Took me and imprisoned me,
Tore me off my dictions,
Told me of a prison… I was in!
Prisoner of a fiction,
That robs me of time,
That drains me of life
Every day,
Until I had enough of it…
Until the plan got complete
To have me converted
To have my eyes wide open…
To see me breaking free.

A tattered person,
A driver on a speedy highway,
A man collect like garbage,
A student sat on the wrong fate…
A maize vender and his chilly plate….
A drug peddler in dark alleys…
A hooker stripping down a pole
A poet sinking in talent,
A grave digger down a hole…
Deep in the eyes where few see
A soul trying to break free.

Picked this intellectual tad
I.T. for retards,
Now pressing on this space bar,
Attempted to PAUSE this far…
The mind on some deep thought.
How I go about life?
Have I known what I was called for?
Am I what I was born to do?
Acting like exempt students of life…
Thought I’d skip some life lessons,
Looked like I learned them eons,
Till I lost that last war,
With faith and my religion…
Now I roam out and about,
For something I can believe in!
So I can break free….

Paper......

I see it now,
the extinction of paper use,
no books...
no bibles like the prophecy told,
into electronics will all go.
Like running out of paper,
Explaining why I write so much on facebook.
Or why I lost that last note,
About good and evil
Love at valentines,
And decided to post that other stuff,
Talk about death on valentines.
Until of course,
ran out of paper use,
Opened the heart to a different tune,
A dirge,
An organ in a gothic church,
And sang me an insanity!


Before the paper run out,
I will turn to the opinion pages,
Read the new inspiring Mutahi Ngunyi,
wonder about those expensive suits,
our lidless politicians.
I suppose there is something out there
Mutahi is alluding to...
interesting stories of Kenyan Military Generals
or intelligent LECTURERS,
maybe an IMAM or Father of Christian Faith.
I am spelling a REVOLUTION…
and am spoiling for one too.

Before the paper run out,
Erich Omondi will produce one of those,
Arguably hilarious peaces,
Maybe tarnish a campus name,
I heard he was on our corridors.
Maybe before he run out of paper,
And Have to spend days
Without a lovely audience,
Because lets face it,
He does well with Churchill,
Match made in heaven,
For us with a sense of humor!
He will have to read,
poetry,
and seek his poetic justice.


Before I run out of paper,
Write something I made clear,
Am keeping list of cupid sympathizers,
I have recruited people,
who think otherwise…
a little less BLOODIER than I,
thought I was being ironic,
until of course,
they tear with their own,
a faint heart that never worn a fair lady.

Before I run out of paper,
I will think about the government of Kenya,
G.K. name sake initials,
Who missed class for missionary reasons,
Who happened to be,
last week’s cartoon,
I will think about certain individuals,
Salute them for my respects,
Before I run out of paper,
And draw them for who they are…

Before I run out of paper,
this sheet won't go extinct,
I will congratulate our generous efforts,
To read notes made,
By a melodic composer,
Who sings what is in his heart,
Or lack of it,
Who sees the world,
A bit funny…
Thinks everyone should have
a sense of humor
Knows enough to know nothing,
Quotes what is said in class,
Because he’s learning.

Before we run out of paper,
Make love notes,
Hate notes,
And thank you notes to all,
Saying “Thank you, am doing fine”
Mean the doing part more
Than thanks for nothing part.
Think about that SLUMDOG MOVIE,
the ghetto life indeed,
which one needs to see,
to surely believe!


Before I run out of paper,
Have to flush this down,
Write here, “ I was here!”
Save this last part,
For a special verse.
For a while later,
Place it in an envelope,
Send it,
To receive,
What needs no paper!
What takes no space…
Like having something that is true.
Like knowing something is true,
before running out of paper,
to save this written truth.

Death of Valentines...

I lost it yesterday,
I Sort a blade and went for cupid...
She said I was hurting her,
I said," I know!"
Now I hold her head,
blood trickling to the floor
these eyes so wide open...
like glass beads reflecting,
the image of my own
heartless soul.

I hid the body under my carpet,
now I got a big lump in my room.
I warned her the day would come,
February fourteenth,
I walk now with withered petals,
I'd pluck them all
but I figured this looked better.
I have bloodied finger prints on my face,
she surely put up a fight.

I have branded this as romance,
She will haunt me now forever,
I will have nothing for her to forgive.
I will only have me
and her head if she wants it.
I think,
I took things too seriously this time,
when she placed a flower vase on my desk.
I broke the wood and made a coffin,
I even managed a wreath,
To place it on her tomb stone.

I hold a shovel now,
deep in the hold of a lover's night,
cold breeze comforts me,
as I dig a shallow grave.
Pretty round ball,
me and her had a ball,
crept up walls,
said nothings and a lot of something’s
I pity her horrible fortune
had life and great aim...
the arrow in me is proof of it.

I am dried of tears,
empty sockets of dark space.
I am pale of years,
Killed the hundredth of these...
I am tied of fears,
stuck in a web down my basement.
I have not yet seen
the cupid that slay me here.

They will follow the bloody trail,
Lonely gathering of cupid sympathizers,
I will take photos of them all,
Hit list them till I have at last,
one who sympathizes with mine,
that one cupid who slain,
deep with arrow,
where I forbid it!
I will not hesitate then
to proceed,
and conquer her kin.

For finally I will attend,
my valentine's death!

On fire....

Tragedy hits once so often to wake a nation into its grave realities. I guess that is some reason to peg onto the recent disastrous events that took place within a certain week in January. We lost 150 plus lives by just a fire. Nothing to be taken lightly since there is something we all learned from the two fires. A supermarket caught fire on a Wednesday afternoon, and the irrational detail is the fact that the stores employees closed the doors requesting receipts to allow the victims exit.

Things did eventually get out of hand, and the same individuals continued the streak of cruelty by saving their own swine asses. Going down electric poles like shameless strippers, for they have stripped lives off of people. Another incident, a while a way-three days later- a tanker blows off on a highway. Killing 111 people on the spot and injuring scores of others, now nursing devastating wounds.

Kenya is on fire, where a frantic such for leadership ensues. It is now more frenzy than calmness. Everywhere one goes, there is talk of who can do this?who can handle that? Frankly speaking, I have been some of that myself. I know I can rant about something and make good sense of it. I am aware there is no fairness in this world, unless of course you are heavily endowed with earthly possession. Things don't quite cut like they used to. People are often inclined to tear everything in pieces. Things are surely falling apart, Chinua Achebe once inscribed!

Someone needs to douse the

Kenyan Politician...

The one thing I have not heard anyone complain about is the price of Local Newspapers. Now, I understand we are burdened by a shortage of food, low pay [Given the Teacher's strike] and everyone talking about a poor Economy. The entire fault mounted squarely on the Members of Parliament, for everything they are. I can't help wonder what a Kshs 35.00 can do for common mwananchi. For a campus fellow such as myself, that's a pretty ready meal.
In truth, our leaders are unworthy of the title. Visions 2030, while a Kibera, Dandora or Nairobi West fellow struggles with the thought of having to mug his friend for a meal.
Men in suits are all they have proven to be. Wonder if there are interesting stories on Kenyan Military Generals or intelligent lecturers, maybe an Imam or Father of Christian Faith. I am spelling a revolution and am spoiling for one too.

No one Wounds me with Impunity.[Edgar Allan Poe - Cask of Amontillado]

A dull morning to start the day with I must say. The heavy grey clouds with thick dark under bellies hover around much of the sky; they’ve got pretty thorough covered. Though occasionally, the sun manages a sneak past the hovering mass, it is not a convincing fit at all.

Taken to this imposingly heavy mass of liberty, I have roamed the corridors of my campus, opting to skip my two hour lecture for a reason am still to come to terms with. I could say, I have become a somewhat sluggard, as my appetite for that vice sloth has been pretty insisting lately. That being said, I have no sign of waning any time soon when it comes to that little matter.

Luckily, I have another two hours at my disposal to figure out what my will wishes of me. I am still at ends trying to crack this concrete wall, of an enigma behind my recent behavior. Therefore, I decided – for there is no place better – to collect myself into the pages and shelves of our library. I always seem to find a cause to correct my erroneous paths, unlike benefitting the norms of my life’s formalities.

So the line crosses somewhere, sharing life from a whole into difficult and pricey parts. It is no wonder then, they that ask, question the proceedings of their lives, of the seemingly many precepts of orderly and model life. For those of us, feeling uncomfortable in the suit and shoes of modern trend, the expectation and diction of progress at whatever cost. We are fallen by tragedy to witness and wince at the world, wonder and gather curiosity as to how a whole world, a people cannot know or see it.

It is evident, to mine eyes that my grated companions, friend and foe, make it difficult that my fancy may make easy a difficult thing, untangle an ugly knot of delusion and prejudgment of what they or I are capable of. Far worse, present on the stage, the world plays audience to art, leadership by a fine example of BARACK OBAMA, drama and disaster; unconcerned by the numerous sirens blaring of an impending danger.

‘Finito’: Long lines leading to judgment. The lengthier and bulkier ones to a fierily grave, straighter and narrower one to heavens above. A friend of mine shared this with me; spoke of a dream had last night and now coupled with me on a break first table contemplating an unsure future. It is no simple matter I mention this, for in sincere confession I skipped a beat of my ordinary hearty renditions. And with good reason, for it is known to me as will you, my friend holds no particular religious faction, far from it, he is as secular as they come.

Save my Muslim friend with a wardrobe harassment complaints filling up every suggestion box, even the cafeteria food section. The days proceed in usual fashion, as a cultured lot, prone to snobbish and traitorous tendencies fill the corridors of my religiously sensitive campus. Why do so many of us, (self included) hurry to attend to our roles in the world, some of them which are not too happy to fulfill and equally unashamed to reveal. Institutionalized to offer no salutations to anyone, apart from our sexes and opposites that seems deserving or class-worthy. Offering still, none to our neighbors, former and farmer acquaintances or fellow age blocks of both inspirants and aspirants.

Accepting for fact, we are better of and better persons when amassed with accolades, material possession, promiscuity and our names fail not in the praise and worship in these tens of tongues blubbing about vice laden activities. My conscience is labored, it feels belated and burdened with the weight of the world on its shoulders. Christianity offers deliverance, Islam offers moral philosophy, Hinduism a natural tranquility and secularism the fanfare of who’s who in society, addictions and habits alike, strain to the tether and envious jealousy over achievement and success.

My world, my campus, my home…a place of chasing time!

The First Comment!

The one moment you think of starting something, and it seems like you are the only one doing it, saying it, trying it like you do. It is more evident to you and assumed that there is great chance you might be alone and likely a lonely pile. It could even get more estranged when none of your futile attempts to alert the world of the curious folds of thought taking place in your mind, are not merely speculation or insanity.

Far from it, I have come to know, learn, think, say and try those things that have embedded in me a somewhat signature of nature. It could seem a little far fetched, whatever the attempts and their alarming likeness to absurdity. It is o.k. to feel a little thrown aback. The mere mention of genius is spurned puts plenty into perspective.
Hec! It is healthy to think such matters are not the affairs to meddle into. But curiosity gets the better of us, and soon some strange whim finds the unconscious self, bechance them with these enigmas, playing deftly amongst us without our keen conscience recognizing it.

I am glad for the most part, the life lived…though not the most eventful. The fact could be my country has little to offer when sensation comes to mind. However, it does not mean it is rendered to scarcity in whole, hardly!
There are affectations of nature which culminate the most outstanding of circumstances to ever befall time. It could be said that when such moments occur, for they are grave and rare, one cannot help marvel at the awesomeness, or magnamity of the inexplicable event taking place. To further on a random thought, it is acceptable to brush it off as some wishful thinking, the world does not let some things to slip away that easily, therefore genius when something slips.

One comment, a blessing in disguise. One hallo, a friend in disguise, one kiss, love in disguise and one strange moment, and magnificence need not disguise.
Inspiration is a wonderful thing, take the many times a story has been told of a legend, a hero of wondrous attributes and skills. They are dulled by their surroundings, gathering treasures in troves, the great and not so great personalities of their coming and goings. It is within the budding and flowering and finally the fruiting, that a strong and dependable character emerges out of they, that train the thoughts of men. Into tearing down their own fears, insecurities…bring hope, faith, love and courage to forge forward, ahead into the unsure, unknown depths of the tell-tale mesh of life.
I hear there's an inaguration of a man, equally magnificent as the one character described. He has for a while now, epitomized the ideals once so greatly yearned into the world scenes. For some, the world has collect some sanity at last, even if this be a minute one at that.
But a mighty one thing that no one can ignore. Therefore, without say...I am definitely finding me a TV set and watch as history writes another great man into its chapters.


It is then, we have lived the steps and prints nature is mostly in the detail of.

In This Mind...

Tic tac in my mouth,
fresh mint on this tongue
about to speak an unholy thought,
but held back,
for everyone to hold their constitutions,
almost made an oath...
that I shall speak my truth quietly

Enough ears around here,
virgins to the coarse things emanating
a disgruntled voice on a campus corridor
My generation is oft imagined,
naive and hot headed.
Until those self proclaimed,
clotting headlines sip slowly
into the sewer that is our media,
sugar coating the vast girths of a politician,
of my course administrator,
Paid a hefty sum,
for this education,
which teaches me how to get a job,
not how I can start one.

In this mind,
aging faster than I can trust my Calculus
heading to uncertainty,
bleak futures in this here young minds.
I supposed a few kids would do,
get a job to get through,
every year in blind passing.
Until someone said " 2030.....
who knows whom shall see that day,
super highways and super trains,
I can't help laugh,
my companion can't help himself either.

He lost his job yesterday,
and now am attending lectures with him,
something about him not having accounting experience.
The damned thing is,
this guy has talent...
He can sell anything,
I mean anything...
grabs a fresh pack of condoms
sells them 20 shillings,
chanting..."Tuji-pange slogans"

In this mind,
I saw a world where anyone could make it big,
live next door neighbors in affluent households,
have heirs that speak four different languages,
Especially my mother tongue,
or somewhat of culture.
In this mind,
I have grown tired of thinking it CAN'T happen here,
That being TWENTY is too young for anything,
that we could play golf at Muthaiga,
Own a business or worthy investments,
Be guests of honor...
in power meetings or church conventions,
or even an INTERCONTINENTAL arrangement like our student council
write poetry or novels...
make ours a revolutionary generation.

In this mind,
I have tattoos all over me,
They are the ancient symbols of civilizations passed,
They are the embers of my soul,
A dark and disturbed person,
wakes every morning inside of me,
writes things on my diary,
writes things in my phone,
In this mind,
I have worn and lost many wars,
I have ridden many enchanting and monstrous beasts,
I am both hero and villain.

In this mind,
I have stored songs and great images,
I have stolen many beautiful things from the world,
I call them mine now,
I have become selfish and very feisty
I choose mystery over many things,
In this mind we are all not equal,
we are lesser and greater than others,
we are mostly empty and needy,
we cave in like old ruins,
In this mind,
we are the great composers of tragedy,
we are Shakespeare and Macmillan Publishers,
we make it and judge it.

In this mind,
we seem to come in price tags,
some worthier and prettier than others,
as if making us all deserving,
demanding the awe that is my mind's prerogative,
demanding from me,
with such audacitymy nod of approval.
In this mind,
I am defiant,
I will continue to be unconventional,
I will admire a corpse,
and think of my vulnerability
think of how foolish I must feel to be mortal,
How silly it is for me,
to go cursing another being.

In this mind,
I am a rock star,
I have stars glistening in my eyes,
I am the dark hue,
coming off some haunted house,
I am the foggy windows of a car,
wipe me off to see the world a little clearer,
because like it or not,
I cannot be ignored,
I live,
I breathe,
Bloody fingers playing on the lead guitar,
The bodies of adoring fans,
loathsome and likable
gyrating to this tunes,
unraveling my dark and disturbed soul.

In this mind,
come see the chaos tearing apart,
a manuscript of how I should live life,
shredding the conventions of my time,
shudder at the attempts of my crippled heart,
to dare scribble another ingredient into the menu,
" I want to live my life like me!"
and watch hell cook my life,
congratulate the chef for the wonderful display,
for I shall have lived,
what here is,
In this mind.

Campus morning..........

Haven't known any new person's into my new year's life arena, but I bet its going to happen soon. Hopefully sooner than later, this player got to play. Anyway, another one of my uneventful weeks continues to unfold, I don't know why it is this way though. Especially with the Gaza thing still going on, and by going on I mean, taking away 700 plus lives.

I think it is just selfish among other things that Israel gets to do this. Someone with some might should be condemning this. However righteous their pursuits are. It is no excuse to go hunting for a dog, while obliterating every cat that's residing in the pound. However apparent the cats don't belong in a pound, it gives no one any right to take nine lives just because a dog *%$#@ on your front yard.

Just to show how global this thing is, I was headed for class at my campus some Monday morning, the Opus Dei types but who have shown a lot of tolerance on the variations of religious and non-religious students storming on its corridors. When the same restraint was however far to be seen, when a class mate of mine was denied entrance to the premises over a 'Kanzu'(read Arafat and Muslim robes) he had worn.
It is one thing to discriminate against someone's attire when that attire proves offensive. But it is down right uncalled for, to discriminate against religion. Sure my good fellow, had track pants, sandals and a t-shirt behind the religious apparel, which are clearly offenses on our campus' dress code. But the point is, some of us should be a little sympathetic if not tolerant with a brother expressing his distaste over Israel's bombardment of the Gaza strip with civilians in it.

I could have done something, but the world is a cruel b*#$% and I surely do not want to go down that road. More so, I would rather do it the easy way, just like the world's doing it. Look away like I can't hear or read the signs of danger, if we let this go by.

So, like my agitated self through most of my lecture, I will fester and froth at the mouth if someone steps on my religious rights, and I will definitely speak about it.

Year 2009

what a great year, sincerely so because I think am going to have me some very interesting things to reveal. So far, five days passed have not been so bad not to speak of. I believe there is a thing called get behind me Satan, sort of song I used to sing back at kindergarten. I think most of all I am going to love being me. I sort of made a resolution to keep myself as sensationally intrigued with my surrounding as possible. You suddenly realize you are capable of things. Good things and bad alike. I imagined the power I could harness from this, an' bam!
New Year's resolution.

Besides with the Gaza thing at the Gaza strip, the Israeli are not earning any fans this new year. I was for a moment compelled to turn Islam. See, feel and want the hatred it is they must share. An international unrest, what torment of mind would I be in. I imagine there are those who now, languish in misery...Pity, the world as always takes this as another passing. Another sallied passing where responsibility slips off those that preach the sovereignty of our creator with unmatched zeal.

Point to note, the world was a lot quieter place before Israel decided to bomb people's homes and alleys. It don't matter if there are sirens warning residents of incoming rockets, It matters when that rocket hits homes and shatters livelihoods.

How does humanity escape the faithful, the laureates of human rights, the champions of humanity? What is this chariot that bellows with a menacing beast? Who is this that leads a great vessel into destruction and ruin of earth's people? Where are the human beings within the tanks and missile stations? Where is the human in the leader?