Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts

Wednesday 25 January 2017

SHOULD I GET RICH

Should I get rich, and I feel it’s imminent
I will buy all the things I don’t need
So that others can also buy what they don’t need
Mind you, I will carry myself like a dignitary

When times of spending on a budget are over
I will traverse all the golf courses in the country
And overly indulge my soul in the boring game
Just because the rich can afford the swing

I will track down Vera Sidika, for heaven’s sake
Everybody thinks she has a million dollar vagina
I will make an attempt at it, not to hit it
But to turn over screenshots to desperate bloggers

Should get rich, and I feel it’s imminent
Judging from my unbridled love for sleep
I will vie for an elective post and steal form Kenyans
How they love people who steal from them

Should I get rich, just for fun and pleasure
I shall erect a giant middle finger statue
Next to my ex’s home, their front yard

To remind her of the zero fucks I give 

Friday 20 January 2017

I HAVE NO CHOICE, I DECLARE HER YOUR WIFE

Barely home from a night of bingeing
Hardly asleep yet someone’s knocking
With fury and intent of breaking it down
“Open the damn door you useless clown!!”

My mind is in disarray, fumble with the blankets
Look for clothes to wear among the water buckets
The intruder is quite now, he’s heard the noise
He can break the door, but he’s reserved that choice

As I struggle to adjust my pupils to bright light
With bloodshot eyes betraying my nocturnal delight
He pulls me by the collar of my shirt, furious
Like a short changed drug dealer, dead serious

“Son of nobody with brimstone down your loins
How dare you lure my daughter with coins
And cooled your burning down the coveted stream
Now it’s dry, with nothing to hold to, without a dream”

In tow is his daughter cowing with fright,
We’ve met before, in fact spent many a night
The inevitable had finally happened
Thought I ‘A rough ride here, seat belts must be fastened’
“Isn’t he the one?”  he turns to her once pretty daughter
I cursed her, she couldn’t tell me she was sired by a monster
Chit, my whip would have cowed with fright
May be I would enjoying the sleep I forewent last night

“You leave me no choice but to pronounce you
A husband and wife, find a way to get through
You can have her for the rest of your life

Should she set foot in my home, your neck will stop a knife”

Friday 13 January 2017

MY LOVE, I HAVE BOUGHT A TRANSISTOR RADIO

When you go to Ravine, dear reader
Or pass by the place
Please find my love Cheptoo, and tell her these
If she doesn’t a phone, that is,

Oh you are asking how you fill find her?
They live in a mud walled house before the stream
Or ask a renowned drunkard in the area
They’ll lead to her father, there you’ll find her

Now that you know where to find her
Please tell her I’ve bought a new transistor radio
And two bi speakers, 
So that she can tune in to her favourite station
Also, my small brother finished school
And left me his mattress, its more comfortable now
Tell her she won’t complain of back pains when she visits

Tell her, this is important, that my uncle promised me a job
Not a fancy one, but in the great city of Nairobi
I will a security guard, with my own uniform
Tell her I will come for her and take her with me
So that she can know what it means to miss mursik
And eat thin transparent chapati by the road side

Please don’t get jealous, please deliver this message
She’s is my light during the day and even the night
Tell her I think of her like Kiprono thinks of gold medal
Tell her I dream of her like Raila dreams of presidency
Tell her I will cling to her like Mugabe to presidency
Tell her I miss her and she must visit me soonest
Or else I find someone else, like I have done sometimes

Tell her none have been comparable to her, of course

Monday 9 January 2017

THE LAST OF BRANDY

When the world’s misery usurps my mind
And if a glance around me, walls I find
I promise I will rush the liquor store
And buy brandy just as I’ve done before

Should my love ever doubt my undying love
Even when it seems it just descended from above
Then, without a second thought, I shall buy brandy
For stupor shall make my dejection handy

Should I ever achiever the biggest milestone
After numerous forays into the hours of dawn
I shall have no choice but to pop brandy
And make merry as a kid would to candy

In times of happiness and unimaginable sorrow
Of uncertainties and nothing to hope for
Each of those moments I’ll take a sip

Of my beloved brandy, it guarantees a peaceful sleep

Monday 2 January 2017

TELL JEPLETING TO STOP SEEING THAT BASTARD

Tell Jepleting to stop seeing that bastard
He is not worthy to make me a granddad
Tell her about women who drive cars
Tell Jepleting about women who are the stars
And rule the night with an iron fist
Tell her slowly, this I insist
What do they discuss with a chang’aa addict
A class seven dropout and a failed athlete
Lalang’ told me how she’s smiles with him
When he told her he wanted to take her downstream
What do they discuss if not about babies I’ll raise?
Tell her clearly, let her senses arise
And that bastard too, Jepleting might be stubborn
Tell him I’ll come for his balls at dawn
Before he deposits filthy things in my daughter
Tell him to look for daughters of chang’aa addicts thereafter
Tell that bastard I’ll gorge his eyes out
Tell him when he’s sober, at dawn before he’s out and about

UTAWEZA?

Fair maid posed, utaweza?
Complexing a simplicity.....

Got I feeling....

Like am about to take off to the moon unaided
Like am trying to dispute the law of gravity

Like am about to find the cure for ebola
Or better yet raise the dead from their graves

Like am about to come up with a mathematical formaulae
to explain how people fall in love

Like am trying to break down the Da Vinci code
Like am just about to think of inventing a new planet within earth

Like am harbouring intentions of hitting on Malia and Sasha
Or pee on the gates of White House

Keep calm and let me manufucture heaven right here
Am no God but For YOU imma be one

DEAR YOU

I think about you to a point I don't miss you 
Yours is one of the very few precious memories 
My little gem that defines my worth 
You take me places, most of which I rarely know 
Save for the want to be where you take me 
-it's exactly where I want to be 
Where the stars cease shining, dimmed by your smile 
Where the oceans touch 
And that's where I find the most of peace
Manage somehow a sleep of peace
You are my muse, dearie
Am glad you are 

Friday 23 September 2016

SOLITARY NIGHTS

As a solitary life beckons its blissful sorrows
The unwinding charts between hatred and love
And looking forward to such empty tomorrows
The dread of reckoning the contents of fate above
With pungent and repulsive thoughts I have
Yet with hope of finding and falling for someone
To whom fate has designed for me to crave
In every of the seconds of day and of night, every turn

To long that she longs as I that I am her man

DON’T LEAVE WITH SILENCE

When Hussein’s advances usurps my throne
And one chilly dawn
When married men haven’t the morning glory
And you find thus that we be just a story
Don’t leave in silence my love.

Shout at the top of your voice
So that the neighbor know you had no choice
But to leave me and my crooked penis
Shout that everything in my house is amiss
Shout but don’t kill me with your silence

Don’t leave without telling me why
For I will be tempted to look around and beseech the sky
Don’t make me search that which exists no more
Don’t leave without letting me know
Just don’t leave with silence

Tell me everything that bothers you
Before you finally start anew
I might have a chance to defend my love
Or find it fit to leave for the one above

Leave, but not in silence 

Monday 12 September 2016

Yet She'll She Is Okay

He could trace despair in the gleam of her face
Her voice gave much away
How she reaped pain where she sowed to gain
Yet, she’ll say she is okay

She sits silently alone, trying to undo the known
Her sweet smile a rainbow
Amid tears she thought wouldn’t fall in years
It should have snapped-cupid’s arrow

It takes vigor and courage to walk off the stage
A story scripted to match seven heavens
The inadequacy of verses; garden filled with roses
How so! When earth is filled with heathens

Sunday 24 July 2016

The Future Of The Past

And it’s not now,
Neither could it be yesterday
Its somewhere
Between tomorrow and infinity

Wednesday 20 July 2016

A Glimpse of Hope

From afar a glimpse of hope
Holding steadfast, like a knot on a rope
A dopey grin and a glint in the eye
A perfect disguise of the about to die

A sigh escapes with a wheeze
Bringing forth a doppelganger in the breeze
Breathtaking and choking all the same
Imperfection laid bare in the name

From afar echoes of laughter recede
Its motion the darkness vainly impedes
A lonely soul locked in an embrace

A phantom creatures’ humane gaze

Tuesday 19 July 2016

You and I could never be

Yours and mine weren’t ever meant to be
Hearts had similar incompatible destinies
Mine acts worse than thousand piccaninnies’
From the beginning I hoped you’d see

Against advice I fell head over heels for you
Looking for my worth now among the ruins
Among a myriad of should have beens
Pity engulfs me, but I hope to get through

No one knew the truth better than me
How I went home every evening hating me
I knew one day, not by luck, you’d see

You and I could never be

Sunday 17 July 2016

Grab Your Gun,Son!

He grabbed his gun and told his son
With a stiff and rough voice
'Stop playing with toys, you're not a boy'
The little man rose, having no choice

‘Here is your gun, keep vigil like the sun
Let’s protect our land
The whites ruined us and we must fight thus
Lest we lose where to stand’

The white man came and took our name
Our habits and land
He gave us guns, let us fight as he earns
And we kill each for a place to stand


Saturday 16 July 2016

Once I Wanted To Die

once i wanted to die 
i felt i'd lived long to ask why 
but dive into an abyss 
where nothing would be amiss 

once i wanted to die 
i'd believed one lie 
that no one would miss 
my breathing days, as this 

once i looked up the sky 
and let out a long sigh 
wondering what would be new 
for i no longer had any dues 

once i wondered about life 
self-consciousness brought about strife 
and i looked up the sky 
and wondered if it was really that high 

Thursday 14 July 2016

ENTANGLED



Entangled bodies
Oceans drifting beneath
Scents of love wafting
Groans and moans
Unimaginable pleasure
And bodies so desperate
With each and every thrust
To merge and be one for long
Awhile, heavens spring around

Wingless flights, high up the ground
Sighs rent the air
Ghettos,leafy suburbs
every place
is made of this

I LOAN YOU MY DREAMS

Beauty from far, from a tribe which to seek
One must set sail with an advance of a week
To content thyself with hers glowing smile
And lie on her bosom at least for a while
I loan you my dreams

Beauty from far I see you shine so bright
So alone are you- the sun mimics you, right?
So much beauty that fits you perfectly
To make you mine I must eventually
But before then I must loan you my dreams

Here, I loan you my dreams cutie pie
Let them generate interest as high
You belong to the stars and everything above
Take it to the bank-make me the one you love

Take all my dreams for you’ve taken my heart

He Won't Make It Home

Among the many things he was
The best of them all was and could be
He’s the man you’d love to see
The unyielding grasp of eternity

And tonight he won’t make it home
Looks like his usual self, huh?
Occasionally he dines with the star
In the morning, romance and glee

You won’t hear that ear splitting knock 
Or his course voice trying to sound
Like age old Kikuyu romance

You won’t sulk like you do when you open the door

He won't make it home tonight, not ever
He's gone-the police say he tried
To make your ends meet
And they made him stop a bullet

Wednesday 13 July 2016

BILLY BUYS A BENZ

PHOTO: Courtesy

He said he came from Wareng’
His parents name him Billy
His father owned a few acres
And he a couple of dreams
What would he do with fake dreams?
Gave up on them and staked on his son Billy
Took a loan coz he trusted in his son’s dreams
God fearing and everything a good son would be
He wouldn’t default-as the guarantor
Or better yet his dreams
Billy went to Nairobi to begin the chase

One day out of the blues he came home
Driving his own Mercedes Benz
Billy told his dad he came first in class

‘University is great
when you come they hand you pricey prices
tell Jepleting to stop seeing that bastard
tell her about university and cars
I think she likes other people’s cars
Maybe tell we have our own’
Mused the old man sipping his chang’aa

Billy has car- children scream as the Benz leaves dust behind
He told his ageing dad he was going to see Rachel
‘Whatever you want my son’ he said

He wanted to tell her his was the best box
Rachel’s idea of Billy is of a brother
Billy has enough sisters to call him brother
He wants more than being a brother
He wants love
Perhaps start a family, have kids
Beautiful kids….he muses as he reverses out of the petrol station

Rachel knows Billy well, he seems intelligent
A good man, a man of God
Good hearted, she tells him her plans
He tells her his, but it doesn’t seem to buy a car
So soon, maybe in the near future
Rumour has it that he has a godfather
Perhaps a prominent politician
Who charms university students with expensive gifts
To buy their loyalty


Tuesday 12 July 2016

THE MERCY OF FREEBIES

It’s Friday. No one recognizes it more or better than a jobless Nairobi lady, a hooker and university students. They all are of the same mettle, all with the some needs. It’s not an ordinary Friday. The month is approaching its final quarter and many wallets have been excessively worked out. Some are malnourished. Some are but a mere burden. It’s cold, a typical July weather. Tracy lay on the couch alone. Her boyfriend Geoffrey should have been around to cuddle had it not been for her niece‘s unprecedented visit. The last thing she wanted was to be a bad example……. no, an inconvenience to her niece−she was grown up. May be she even knew more than her aunt, she turned on the couch.

Tracy had her Samsung Galaxy S3 smart phone in her hands, both the television and home theatre remotes resting on her belly. Westlife music wafted through the room. She would occasionally sing along. It calmed her. It made her feel in control of her thoughts. She would imagine Geoffrey singing to her ear in his rough and rugged voice. She loved to hear his distorted rendition. Pleasant ripples went through her body at that very moment. She smiled to let the memory go away.

She checked her phone again and again. All she could see were messages her girlfriends inquiring if there was a party they would get crash or she’s been invited. She hated replying back with a negative. She has always been the girl they looked up to when it got to having fun−drinking and dancing till dawn without parting with a single cent. They would admit that it was dangerous but would brush it off with ‘we have only one life’ or ‘soon we will be married.’ The only had one chance and it was while they still studied. Tracy, like most of her friends, was post graduate students at the University of Nairobi. Her niece, Stacy was also a student at the same institution.

At the very instant of thinking about Stacy, she knocked on the door with a smile on her face. She couldn’t recall a day she wore a frown on her chubby face.

“What kept you that long?” Tracy asked, just to talk to her. She was not interested in her answer.

 “I met some friends who kept me long, regaling stories of what they’ve been up to…..by the way they invited me to a party that they’ve invited to………”

“Where?”  She cut her short.

“Renault Apartments, rumour has it that a prominent politician will be in attendance,” Stacy said with a blush.

“Can I…..”

“Will you accompany me?” Stacy jibed in with a giggle that revealed a dimple on her left cheek.

The process of making up their already good faces began. Tracy hated it. She hated staring at herself in the mirror applying chemicals on her face. She hated the rigour that accompanied choosing attire for a night out. But she had to look good, perhaps better than any lady in the house that night. It came with many goodies: spanks, stares, complements, cheers and the most coveted of all, drinks from the richest and handsome.

At the end of the evening she had settled on a tight fitting black polka dotted dress that went way above her knees. Her niece had settled for a pair of jeans and a purple top. They were all ready went a cab pulled into their apartments parking lot. It was deserted, silently proclaiming that the tenants were already out having fun.

“Good evening hookers?” The cab greeted them in a heavy Kikuyu accent.

“Were you sent to insult us?” Tracy fumed.

“That was not an insult. It’s a whole world of truth. Do I suppose you are the Mheshimiwa’s daughters, eh? Beauty will ruin you girls.” He said as they settled uneasily into the back seat. Tracy looked into the mirror and caught him staring may be her thighs.

“Shut up and drive!” a visibly agitated Stacy fumed.

Quite moments ensued as the black saloon car eased into the light Nairobi traffic−people had been forced by brokenness to take their cars off the road. Everybody seemed engrossed in their thoughts, desperately hoping that somebody will break the silence. Tracy stared at the tinted cars wheezing past them. She felt like asking the driver to press the gas pedal much harder but checked on herself when she recalled the sneers they had to contend. She seemed to be the only lady who loved speed. Her friends had joked about her being so early for her own funeral days before she died. Stacy sat silently. She was calm and seemed unbothered. She loved her life the way it was. She was busy on her phone, sexting perhaps as Tracy observed they way she would broadly smile periodically before hitting the send button.

The cab pulled up in an exquisite parking lot of the Renault Apartments. Everything spoke of affluence: a beautifully manicured lawn, expensive cars parked and a certain kind of fragrance that had a close affiliation with wealth. This is where sinners converge to multiply their transgressions. This is where married men sought solace in the ever open arms and legs of university students without worrying of cameras and their hawk eyed wives. This is where married men regained their masculinity among university lasses. It was secure too: there was no chance of being blown up by terrorists as had become the norm in this part of sub-Saharan Africa.

They alighted. Tracy adjusted her dress. A uniformed guard rushed to their side and asked them to register before proceeding to where they’d be hosted. Tracy tried to protest but her niece exhorted her to comply with the directive. They strutted to the miniature shelter that housed the watchman. Tracy was visibly annoyed by the idea and she didn’t hide her anger.

“We are not about to blow this place or make away with anything. Kwani where do you have to register to have fun?”

The guard entered their names and identification numbers in a register. It was new and their names appeared third and fourth in the register. Tracy peered and noticed that all the names were feminine. It still safe now, she thought as Stacy took directions from the watchman as she texted. Tracy was all of sudden bored and she seemed to contemplate why she had hoped into a party which she wouldn’t even explain without arousing suspicion. She fell low on the list. She even failed to understand how they would be chauffeured into a party where a friend invited a friend who invited a friend and that friend asked her to come along. Now they were are in Renault Apartments, earlier than those who asked them to come along.

Aunt and niece took the steps one at a time. Their stilettos struck the marbled stair case in unison. Tracy kept quite. She seemed she hadn’t gotten over the altercation between her and the watchman. Stacy on the other hand looked more composed than her aunt. She seemed older and more mature, from the dressing to the facial expression. On the first floor they met a young woman out to hang clothes. She looked at them with spiteful eyes. It wasn’t anything new. Both of them had gotten used to such stares from the fairer sex –their fellows. Those who perceived themselves in the higher class looked down upon those who were the lowly and the lowly despised those in the higher class. A woman is an enemy of her own. Gender parity is a thing that should start with the women appreciating themselves first and working together to tame the men, or at least have the remotest ability to.

They reached the third floor and turned right as they had been instructed. Slow music welcomed them from afar. House number three hundred and four was the destination. A slim young woman in her mid twenties ushered them in. She was clad in a cheap black skirt that went slightly above her knees and a floral filled purple top. She shopped in deplorable places such as Gikomba or Muthurwa, Tracy thought as they settled on white leather couch. Tracy pulled her dress. It showed too much of her thighs and they were no men around to admire them. There were only four ladies in the spacious living room; two others and them. Stacy sat on her right. Everything spoke of opulence: diamond encrusted chandeliers, thirty two inch plasma television, a home theatre (the origin of the music), leather seats and artifacts that hung on the wall−they were souvenirs from around the world. A picture and a calendar hang conspicuously at one end, dwarfed by the artifacts. The decoration would surely make a lady to go on one knee and beg the owner of the house (not the landlord but the tenant) to marry her. It was awe inspiring and breathtaking.

The lady who welcomed them came back. It seemed she was satisfied that they had made themselves at home. Or had had the opulence exhibited by the owner of the house sink into them. She came with a request that had become too familiar to them.

“Whisky or wine?” She asked with a contempt filled voice.

“Wine,” Tracy answered. She didn’t bother to know what Stacy preferred. It wasn’t her who had the same problem. Many have always assumed collective preference for drinks wherever two people sit. Stacy would have loved to complain had it not been her choice too. And they being strangers invited by third parties.

Minutes later she appeared with a tray. She carefully placed two glasses on glass table. They looked at the drink, each waiting for another to pick it first. The silence that ensued, save for the Michael Bolton sounds coming from speakers placed at the corners of the room, was disturbing. Tracy took a sip from the glass. Her niece followed suit before her glass embraced the table. They sipped slowly at long intervals. They didn’t want to get tipsy before the party started. 

As the clock chimed at nine, people started streaming in. Majority of them were girls. Slim. Fat. Light. Dark. Happy and sad. All trooped in bubbling with contagious excitement.  Tracy would spot only two men glad in black suits. Their eyes darted from girl to girl desperately longing to frisk them. May be they were part of the security detail belonging to the dignitary they were to entertain. How would ten of them or more entertain one man? There sure were his friends and psychos who hang around him like a moth to source of light. Most of the girls were half clad. They dresses desperately clung to their bodies in an attempt to conceal the areas around the loins. The furrow on their breasts ran until it disappeared in their stomachs. Their faces were heavily made up. It outshone the bulbs that hung on the roof. Tracy and Stacy looked like they were headed to church. Judging by the precedence set by the other girls; theirs was decent by astronomical proportions.

The party started immediately. The girls chatted animatedly, giggling and clapping, toasting and ordering more. Tracy and Stacy were joined by another girl, a friend of Stacy. She was the one who asked Stacy to come along. They were the silent ones. They watched the lone waiter struggled to cope with their unruly behavior. Drinks flowed swiftly from where they were stored. It became apparent that soon men would have a good time without effort. They hadn’t even arrived except the two men in black suits who were already trying to resist erotic glances from the drunken girls.

Tracy and her company were busy discussing the latest trend in the fashion world that they hardly noticed a man join them. He was clad in a loosely fitting pair of blue jeans and a white shirt. He was clean shaven. He enchanted them with compliments before asking to share the table with them. They obliged. He then called the waiter who hurried to their table. Judging from her posture this was ‘the’ man. He called the shots. The lady went back as the drunk girls escorted her with slutty insults. Obeying the master was worth all the insults. She came back with a bottle of whisky and four glasses. She wanted to pour it into the glasses but the man excused her. He poured into the four glasses and requested a toast. All the girls lifted their glasses and then took a sip simultaneously. Tracy noticed more men in the room. All were busy groping the drunken girl’s breasts some even their loins. They didn’t show any act of resistance. All forms of it had been drained by one too many drinks. She knew it would escalate and soon they would strip and quench their concupiscent thirsts right under their glare.

One more toast….and another. She tried to resist and the man gave her that ‘I said so’ look. All of them obliged begrudgingly, before stupor gave away their inhibitions. Tracy began shouting for more alcohol. She rose, staggered around breaking glasses and hurling expletives at any one that tried to stop her. She was very unruly and had extraordinary strength. Stacy tried to calm her to no avail. The man that they had been drinking with (they didn’t even ask his name) was visibly angry. He mumbled something into the ears of one of the men in black suits then disappeared. No one saw where he went to.

The men in black swiftly approached Tracy. They grabbed her and forced her out. She screamed as kicked but her resistance was no match to the muscular men. They shoved her out of the door and came back. They sighed having executed their master’s orders successfully. Tracy and her friend rose and headed for the door. They were aware of the dangers Nairobi posed especially at that hour of the night. The men in black told them point blank that the boss had said they were not leaving. Stacy begged tears welling in her eyes. It met a resolute no from one of the men. Stacy asked them to consider the safety of their friend at those wee hours of the morning. One of the men told whispered into the ear of his colleague.

“The boss wants one of you. We are going to bring her here and the remaining two of you belongs to us for the night.”

They quickly agreed. They opened the door and locked from outside Stacy wanted to ask why but the thought of her aunt restrained her lips from parting. They hurriedly descended down the stairs. In no time they were done. The watchman at the gate told them that Tracy turned right and went retreated into his shelter. There was no figure or even a silhouette of a woman in the flood lit road. They ran a few metres before the men asked them to stop.

“She isn’t around and the boss will be furious if he finds us missing. We can’t go any further,” one of them said in a deep solemn voice.

“Please lets go just a little distance, she might be around,” Stacy pleaded.

“NO! Let her be a meal to starved Nairobi savages. You must honor our deal,”

“But…”

“Shut up young girl!” she was cut short. One grabbed her and the other her friend. Both were similar in appearance, from the mode of dressing and their facial features. They well built with muscular arms and broad chest. They grabbed them and dragged them into the ditch which wasn’t well lit and had their way into them. It was more of a quickie and the men buckled up their trousers and zipped them and asked them to rise. Tracy had a difficult time pulling her tight fitting trouser up her thighs. Her thoughts were on her aunt and not on their rape. At least they were safe in their arms or so she thought. At last it made through and she zipped as they made their way back into the den.

They stepped back into the room to a cigar stained air. It was smelly when they left. A furious ‘boss‘greeted them at the door. He demanded to know why he was deprived his status as a very important person to a deplorable prisoner and worse still in his own house. The security aide cowered under his breath. Though they were more muscular than he was they dared not challenge him and suddenly one blurted:

“These sluts tried to escape…we….we captured these two but one managed to escape…..”

“What!!!??? You mean after taking my expensive liquor you try to run away? What’s your name?”

“Stacy.”

“That’s not a name. Your second name,” he thundered.

“Jeptum,” Stacy cowardly replied. He pointed at her friend by elongating his lips.

“Chebet,” she barely whispered.