Long

time move swiftly 
we watched, silently gazing 

at our little sacred dreams, 

saying nothing, wishing nothing 

but bidding time 

for when we'd never have to

dream again 

and that would be when all 

the dreams have come true 

Sitting By The Edge

I'll be sitting by edge, 

smiling, 

and never wish I stuck by

your side, 

not today, not tomorrow 

but someday, 

for now, I'll keep in touch 

and take note of your tone 

because I am idle like that 

there is no better way to waste time 

than to make you feel 

as if I am eternally and hopelessly 

infatuated by by 

as if there is no other being 

on earth that would deserve this 

that would love better 

One Drink Tonight

I will have a drink tonight 

and toast to the madness 

abundant in every nerve 

inside me 

I'll have a drink tonight 

that'll remind me I am alive 

I'll have a drink 

to take a brief break from all 

the hassle that abounds 

I'll have a guilt free drink 

just one drink 

Battle-Scarred

may be you are battle-scarred

from the constant need to define 

who you are 

in a world keen deeming a star 

and one day, you set yourself free 

from all the yokes 

and the never ending need to fit in 

and live life on your rules 

but then the constant pursuit of 

people seeking to rob you 

your hard earned happiness 

grate your already weary soul 

We'll Meet Again

we'll meet again 

in a positively hopeless place 

a place where we'll have 

forgotten 

what it means to dream 

and the past pains that clung to us 

like leeches they were 

will become a cherished part of 

our existence 

and the scars, both palpable 

and impalpable

will become emblems 

of who we are 

or who we never became 

The Angry Teacher

She was a nightmare. I do not know why, exactly, but she used to send shivers down my young spine. We were in class two. And every morning we secretly prayed she never showed up to teach. And of course, our relationship with god was at its infancy, therefore unanswered.

Every morning, whispers ‘she’s coming’ would rent the classroom and we’d all peep through the window to confirm. I guess seeing is believing. Mrs. Chirchir would be ambling across the field in pace that made us extra tense as we tried to welcome the impending doom.

The mere act of crossing the field taught us two things: that whatever is abominable for us was perfectly acceptable for adults. Taking a detour across the field was akin to insulting the king. I guess it was an early lesson, which we did not get, that adults can do whatever they want.  

I didn’t like Mrs. Chirchir at all. She had two children, a boy and a girl. They were two really annoying children. I think they intentionally chokozad others and if you lay a finger on them or even act like it, you’d encounter the rath of their mother. We kept our distance, leaving the kids to annoy themselves. And they often fought, with the boy, being younger, was more ferocious than an accosted lion.

Mrs. Chirchir did not do me anything to me of note. Except I lived in mortal fear of her. One day, she came to class surreptitiously and found me talking with my desk mate Edu. We were doing our assignments and Edu was apparently copying from me and I was letting him know about it.

“Ati unanionea hii!!” I said within Mrs. Chhirchir’s earshot.

“Kumbe unaongeanga ivo?” She asked. At the time, I knew hell had broken loose. I knew I would be turned into mince meat. But she didn’t. she let it slide but that simple act did not make me like her at all.

Fridays were hellish days for us. This was the day we’d be asked to fetch fresh cow dung from a neighbor to improve the aesthetics of our classroom floor. It wasn’t’ cemented. It was hellish for us boys because it was an indignifying chore. It was emasculating and the woman in Mrs. Chirchir used that opportunity to diminish our manhood – it wasn’t that advanced but it was manhood nevertheless.

Sore From Too Much Thinking

there will come a point 

you can't write anymore 

your head will be sore 

from thinking too much 

of life, and all the things 

foisted upon us 

and everything is akin to 

to living through a punishment.