The Spider

the spider dexterously spins its web

its gangly feet hold it midair 

a slight touch of its web 

and the spider bungee jumps 

and when the danger passes 

it hoists itself up, like a crane 

but the question remains - 

why doesn't it get stuck in its own web?

The Writer and His Excuses

I will not write today, 

the wind blows in a sinister manner 

and has misaligned my creativity stars

I will not write today 

the table creaks in a way 

that grates my soul 

I will not write today 

I am yet to discover 

one chore I haven't done yet 

I will not write today 

something somewhere is just not right 

I can't point it out, so I will not write 

I will not write today 

for I am not anybody's favorite poet 

except I have the illusion 

that I was born with a gift of the gab 

I will not write today 

my mouse is not working 

I had never thought - to my dismay 

how much a mouse meant to my creativity 

The Songs

the songs that you both loved listening to,

echo in a distant with haunting clarity 

and the chaos that you once embraced 

becomes entangled with reality, 

muddying it, destroying all illusions 

and creates storms that you never, 

in a million years, anticipated, 

you become limp 

unaware, 

unsure, 

of what to do 

You Will Get Used To It

one day, just one day, 

you will get used to the cold embrace 

of loneliness 

you will cherish how numb you are 

when you think of them, 

how they hurt you 

how they took you for granted 

how they often forgot you are human 

 - a feeling human 

one day you will unfurl all the memories 

and scatter them like chaff 

and watch them disappear 

and feel nothing about it 

one day you will get used to not 

missing them 

and on that day, you will live as 

though they never existed 

and you will be free 

alone, but free 

The World

the world is a fiery ball of madness 

dizzyingly spinning in its orbit 

churning, relentlessly, days and nights 

some that happen, and plenty that don't 

the world is a fitting arena 

for both the wise and fools alike 

each dances to their tunes 

and leave their own distinct legacies 

when breath becomes air 

the world offers an equal chance 

it has always been fair like that 

but it never guarantees equal outcomes 

for none deserves more than they should 

none more than they are willing to give 

 

The Insane Man

there are no doubts about his insanity 

it doesn't even require a psychologist's intervention 

for no man has ever been apt 

to find excuses 

and where to lay blame 

for his impeccable inability 

to chase his dreams 

and, so, he does his things 

the old-versioned way

expecting different results 

Odd Humans

It’s approaching seven in the evening. You are taking a walk to clear your head. You could use some form of unfamiliarity. You take an unfamiliar street. Amid the hustle and bustle, it is difficult to mind your own business. Children shriek and hurl vulgar (adult-rated) insults at one another. You mutter watoto wa siukuizi under your breath, because you are now too old.

Then you spot an oddity, a peculiar sight. You know what that sight means – it means the grim reaper visited a family. How do you know it? The bereaved family takes out a speaker, plays some sombre gospel songs, and places the picture of the deceased close by. The family wants you to know that death has visited them, and that they may (or may not, that’s the way things are done) need some financial assistance.

As you walk by, you look at the deceased’s picture and the family that has gathered around. Your only concern is how the deceased met his death. Was it a long illness bravely born? Was it an accident? Was it thugs? Did he die suddenly? Then you begin thinking about your own mortality.

But one of the deceased family members confronts you. She forcefully wants you to be empathetic and respond in kind by parting with your hard-earned cash. It is nauseating, that level of entitlement. You ignore her and walk on. She is not done with you and shouts:

“Ata wewe utakufa!!!” where did that come from? Really? Was it even necessary? She says it as though she is never used to being rejected or ignored. Or she had signed a pact with God that whoever she talks to parts with something. The nerve!! Benevolence is not compulsory.

In anger at her statement, you respond in kind ‘pia wewe utakufa!’She adds more insults that put to question whether she was actually bereaved or not. You walk on.

 

Do Not Plead

everything has been spoken 

and I am here to leave a token 

maybe of appreciation or not 

for I am glad you told me I came short 

I am not bitter, though I should be 

It can be hard sometimes to see 

how far down you have fallen 

not especially with pride and ego swollen 

I'd love to be here again tomorrow 

but I am gonna leave my heart to fallow 

let it grow some weeds 

because I believe it's what it needs 

do not plead, do not ask me to stay 

it took all my strength to walk away 

I'll be watching you at a distance 

celebrating your success at every chance 

Perfect Solitude

One early morning, 
I sat alone sipping my vodka, 
the pervasive silence that engulfed 

the room

spoke of perfect solitude 

I was at peace

with myself, and the world, 

and there, I resolved that 

going against the grain 

against norms 

against everything 

would lead me to happiness 

I didn't 

yet I have no regrets 

Mornings

Some mornings carry with them
hapless cold
some mornings come earlier than
they are expected.
Unwelcome.
Some mornings needlessly arouse you
from your deep slumber
blissfully unaware that you would rather
dream than face the harsh
reality of having to live
Because chasing after dreams, while awake
is too much a hassle. Unwelcome
and it is much easier to lie in bed
and blame unforeseen circumstances
for why you are still broke, poor,
Unwanted

Floating Boats

I have reached a point in life 

where I won't belittle, 

or deem it less, inferior 

whatever floats one's boats 

Life is already too difficult 

plenty of us are glad just to get by 

often applauding themselves 

when they wake in the morning 

and find that they did not find 

courage to kill themselves last night 

I won't judge the crappy music 

one listens to 

I won't judge the wicked people they go out 

with 

I won't judge the drugs they ingest 

because that would be the only things 

keeping them happy 

and what's more important than being happy? 

Not Anymore

I won't hold your hand anymore 

I won't scale mountains 

as I did before 

for I have earned nothing but pains 

I'll watch you trip and fall 

but I won't extend my hand 

I know I won't mean nothing at all

when you get a few grand

I won't jump over a mole hill 

Neither will I cross a puddle 

I won't care how you feel 

for you are nothing but trouble 

I have fixed my eyes on the horizon 

Sadly, I do not catch a glimpse of your picture 

Gladly, I have escaped a prison 

Of fake and pretentious love 

The Real Church

 It has been a sacred ambition of mine to start a church. The thought that I wouldn't find irrevocably gullible and easy-to-convince followers has held me back.

In light of the recent events - Shakahola and what not - I think I might have been held back by something miniscule. Small. Minute.

The truth is, I do not want go to heaven. I would find it hard to convince people to go to a place I have no intention of going.

And this begs the question: how do you believe someone who tells you to starve so that you can go to heaven yet they themselves partake 7 meals a single day?

Well, for me, even when I have taken six cups of keg, I will ask the simple question;

"Sir, with all due respect, I'd like you to starve here with me."

Same with that religion that encourages people to blow themselves into a million tiny pieces for them to acquire 70 virgins. I'd say, respectfully:

"Sir, I'd like my virgins brought to me before I exit this world."

Or,

"Sir, if these virgins truly exist in the next world, what the hell are you still doing here? Show some leadership and go first."

Even if heaven is such a beautiful place, I wouldn't want to suffer to go get there. I do not think Jesus wanted it that way.

My church would solely be based on making the here-and-now a kind of heaven. Your dead self will deal with what will happen when the time comes.

I would focus on ensuring that my followers live happy lives, can easily fulfill their needs (food, shelter, clothing, na wapige sherehe kila siku if possible) and be kind to one another.

The motto of my church would be "Be wary of the overly religious, there are more skeletons on their closets than will ever be exhumed in Shakahola."

Halfway

Henceforth, I'll meet you halfway
lately it seems you haven't got much to say
and it has always been me
trying to keep the embers burning
trying to keep 'us' going

Lately, you've stopped putting efforts
every conversation seems you are putting a lot
I know it is over between us
I am just counting down to the day
You'll summon the guts and say
It's over between us

In the meantime, I'll do you a favor
I'll meet you halfway
because I know you stopped trying
and my silence will be a formidable excuse

for us to part ways 

Aloofness

She's aloof 

distant like the sky, 

impalpable like the stars

she's aloof 

wandering as if alone, lost 

beckoning help, 

but she knows she needs 

it not 

she's aloof, 

yet beckons at a distance, 

she needs a lighthouse 

for she feels lost 

yet afraid to seek help

You Assumed

 You assumed we had similar dreams 
you assumed they kept both of us awake 
many a night 
You assumed the cold embrace of the night 
or the occasional cuddle from a hired lover 
made me long for you 
I once longed for you every night 
but you pushed me away