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 

The Hiatus

the king went on a hiatus 

he needed a break from 

all his nagging subjects 

and came back in chains 

came back a slave 

of unrequited affection 

Meaningless Thoughts

these naked thoughts dance 

in my head, 

like strippers on a pole 

offering no meaningful purpose 

except loaf time, 

rob me the ability to think straight 

beguile me, 

keep me trapped in a meaningless 

trance, 

hooked on something 

both heaven and hell 

know do not belong to me 

and never will 

The Nightmare

 Last night, I was a person of interest in a murder case. The whole incident scared the wits out of me because I kill small insects for fun – people who know me wouldn’t even have the privilege of saying “we know him, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” And that, my good friends, would have thrown any lingering doubts of my innocence out of the window. It would further throw these lingering doubts down an abyss of oblivion if it were on a Monday or Thursday as they would meet manually propelled projectiles.

We (suspects) were filed into a room for interrogation. It wasn’t really an interrogation but to take a lie detector test. I knew it because I am a true crime enthusiast and I have watched numerous documentaries where suspects are strapped with those strange-looking objects that measure even the slightest change in your heartbeat, skin moisture and even your thoughts.

I knew I would fail the test even though I couldn’t identify the victim in a photo lineup. My heart would be beating like isukuti drums when asked whether I killed the victim. I knew the machine would scream ‘liar’ upon which I might have been executed on the spot. You know how our police work – kill suspects and find investigate later whether they were criminals or not. It takes guts to be a criminal who does not even have an ambition to vie for a political office. I don’t and the lie detector test would definitely pronounce my guilt in a crime I did not even know the victim.

But strange things happen, as they tend to happen in dreams. This was one of them. A mutura seller rescued me. He entered the room and spilled his merchandise, angering a couple of cops idling around the room. They clobbered him like nonsense, ignoring the fact that one of his legs were shorter than the other. He ran away in a pitifully comical way.

Instead of leaving him alone, the police decided to have fun by giving a discernible head start, hopped into their vehicle and gave chase. At this point, I stopped being a suspect and became an observer in the ensuing slow police chase.

The limping mutura guy popped into a chuom. One officer alighted and gave chase. Moments later, the officer emerged from the chuom running for his dear life, followed closely by the limping mutura guy had seemingly gained superhuman speed considering his locomotive impediment.

I stood there wondering what was inside the chuom. My curiosity was satisfied when I saw a monstrosity nibbling the behind of a white guy emerge from the chuom, which had then turned into a cave. Then I woke up from the nightmare.