Poetry

Who is the mad man?

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Who is the mad man?
Is he that eats from trash cans?
He that devours that which we refuse?
He that talks to self, and in doing so
does no strife cause?

Who is the mad man?
Is he that eats rivers and forests
He that devours that which we must use
He that talks to multitudes in platitudes
And in doing so, stirs hatred and bloodshed?

Who is the mad man?
Is he that places in the asylum
He that devours that which we refuse
And elects to high office
(while showering him with praise)
He that eats rivers and forests?

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Things that were

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Some nights when the moon speckles
And some nights when the stars sparkle
And thieves prowl, the owl hoots
And crickets chirp, cockroaches scuttle
I wake up with a fervour, or still in bed
Pining for things, things long gone
Pining for things that were.

Of Sandra’s love, young and naïve
A loving, for love’s sake
The baby names we chose
Her daughter – Imani – faith, steady
My son – Jabali – strong as a rock
A bad dream again? She asks
Yes, I lie; just as I lied to Sandra.

Some days when the morning is misty
And some days when I am but lazy
My mind drifts to a younger self
When all I had were beautiful dreams
And life had a purpose, riches a romance
Then I die a little, a little more on the inside
Pining for things that were.

Hungry nights, a hunger for glory
Hotblooded, dangerous living
Cocksure, ready to fight the world
Loved promised to many, yet each true
For there are many degrees to loving
And many ways of loving
Yet, I chose one.

So, I think of things that were
And things that might have been
Of a dozen chances not taken
And opportunities not pursued
Of a life that could have been lived
Lived another way
So I sigh, go back to bed
Else, tells the driver to pass today’s paper
Looking for things that might have been.

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My prayer for 2018

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My prayer for 2018 is to be small
Whether in adversity or in plenty
Knowing that I am but a speckle
Serving time on earth at His pleasure.

My prayer for 2018 is to be strong
May health and fortitude be mine
May I wear a smile day and night
For knowing how blessed I am.

My prayer for 2018 is a well of love
That I might shower stranger and neighbour
Loving abundantly, foes become fast friends
And Spring bursts forth in our hearts.

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Surviving hate

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The first rule of surviving hate
Is to be like hate, speaking like hate
Louder and longer
Own the hate and survive it.

To survive hate, you must be ready
To lose your conscious and your mind
Your desires and your will
Embrace hate as a brother.

And as the hate gnaws at your soul
Creeping into the essence that is the self
Mutating, a rebirth of darkness
Will you be at one with hate.

And dark thoughts will fill your skull
A scavenger, running away from light
A mannequin unacquainted with loving
For hate demands you lose humanity.

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The paper bag man

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With the paper bag ban
The paper is divorced from the man
And the man needs to bag another wife
For his wife has banned him from all things sweets
Sugar bags and pineapples and all things cookies.

The government tells him to go green
And this has put his mind on a loop
Green with envy at his job loss?
Methinks it means the colour of money
Making it rain- dollars and rain rain.

Now the paper bag man is conscious
He has discovered the kiondo and the eco-bag
And now his old wife has new love for him
He has paid school fees and rent
In her new container, he pours sweet things.

Meanwhile, the Supreme Court awaits him…

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She loves

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Her laughter, it disturbs
High pitched, creepy
Smacks of vice and lust
First impressions…

But when the heart stills
Listens, unclouded
There is pain in the laughing
Tears waiting to be shed.

She loves.

She loves, this feeling, she cannot understand
She loves his gaze, his way with words
His way with her, how comely, is his smile.

Oh, she loves!

How her heart quickens, at his sighting
Her mind fuzzy, his face comely
She builds castles, at his voice
She loves, that which shouldn’t be loved.

She knows she is to be broken
Mind and heart, body and spirit
Tomorrow, her life blues
But today, she loves
Safe and warm.




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The Wall

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For some
The wall is
Security
For others
The wall is
Oppression
Your pick is
An accident of birth.




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Peace to serenity

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Peace is, a feeling of security
But contentment is more
Knowing that one matters
And that all matters
Yet, none matters
That we are fleeting shadows
Gods of our miniverse
In that, is serenity borne.




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General erections

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Looming large, general erections
In this Kenya, our peculiar nation
The foreplay, nominations
For those in a hurry, eliminations
Elections and erections, the difference is the same.

The ultimate aphrodisiac, power
And to get there, they devour
For they are blinded, in their ivory tower
The voter remembered only, at the eleventh hour
Elections and erections, the difference is the same.

Flattery and seduction, the name of the game
Else their opponents, they maim, they defame
Violence and thuggery, their supporters, they inflame
And if all fails, a scandal, they frame
Elections and erections, the difference is the same.

This time around, the voter swears he has learnt
The politician’s selfishness, his fingers have burnt
Ever wily, the politician waves the tribal card
Wild and mad, the voter’s principles, he discards
Elections and erections, the difference is the same.




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Look and See

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Look at that thing
Dirty and smelly
Infectious with disease
Wretched of the earth…
See the brotherly love
The laughter and the banter
As they scrounge the city’s bins
And share the morsels, little as they are.

Look at the polished gentleman
His words, sweet as honey
Swaying crowds with rehearsed oratory
Leading lambs to their slaughter…
See his heart, black as ice, night as dark
He plots, he plunders, he murders
His conscience leased to the devil
His wealth-being, his one concern.

And so, I pray Lord
That when I look, your grace, amazing
Suffice, that I may not be blinded
And my eyes can see.

 




Photo credit: Pirotek via VisualHunt.com /  CC BY-NC-SA
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