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The Divine Bandit™

My life, My words, My strife, My awards, My sins, My achievements, My love, My all….

Haiku Beast Day 23


I received no vinegar for my gall.

Who do you think Joseph missed more?

Jesus the Son or God who was their Father?

Haiku Beast Day 22


I turned my cheek for her 4th slap.

That interfered with my 20-20 vision.

30 will either be dark or non-existent.

Just another Viking myth


Ragnar:

My dear little but dangerous dragon.
I am not in envy of your power.
I would just want to be allowed to love you.
Power was given only to those prepared to lower themselves to pick it up.
And my back is arthritic.
In your big eyes I see a reflection of my pain in your emotions.
What are you hiding?
Why does it seem like you carry the colds of the long winter in your heart?
Has summer not thawed you even a little bit?
Born in blood but living as an icebox.
You have decided to feed the wrong jaw.
Your work out just makes you lopsided.
Your leaning is not cool but just a show of an illegitimate scale.
Why don’t you fly?
Why have you grounded yourself?
Surely the sky offers more than the greener grass that you now lie on.

Toothless:

My dear Ragnar, what happens when my toothless smile can no longer hide the tears for my lost tail wing?
I did not choose not to fly but my heavy heart can no longer soar.
I am clumsy at love because someone did not put back the broken pieces of my last flight properly.
I am not feeding the wrong jaw.
I’m just being fed the wrong hearts.
Black and sooty blood is not like the red I was born in.
Creeping around me and trying to make me one of their cousins.
The sky is indeed the best place to be.
But the fall is as hard as jumping from this heart’s ego to the mind’s IQ.
I am not despondent.
I just have no up to give and so I choose to down the next lay.
I hear the Earl has gathered his cohorts for one last hunt for me.
Why are they trying so hard when I’m already lying in wait?
Could you go get them for me?
I long for that last stab so they can be as surprised as I am when they can’t penetrate my rock of a heart.

Ragnar:

I’m blind to your suicide letters.
I see in you via a spiritual channel.
Where there be no licking of hands to soften the reality that I need to tell you.
Count yourself lucky that these shoulders still have the strength for two.
I will never let them find you.
In the eternity I shall create.
You shall take off from the fear of lacking flight.
But when the air catches your new wings.
I will make sure that the wind blows just right so you never have to fall again.
When I push you over the precipice in your final everlasting flight.
Consider that your last fall because I shall join you soon after.
Your real pain has not been the fear of flying but the fear of flying alone.
I cut off my wings once but now watch them regrow.
They only do when I am helping those deemed as worthy as you are.
I don’t need to hammer these truths into you.
Though I have to say an iron will is needed.
This hulking mountain we still have to climb.
I will be the captain of this merry car now.

Toothless:

I am lost in your energy and the power you possess to see past my black window.
I eye the hawks as they screech in disbelief at how far I’ve fallen.
I did believe that on this occasion the silver band on my finger was slit.
I have been drinking from too many broken goblets.
And I become pale considering adding a new spring to my past smashing look.
This hope you carry will one day be the end of you.
Why try to put off the inevitable?
The gods no longer listen to you but you still believe in yourself.
You say that your existence and those you can see is what drives you.
What will you do then Ragnar?
When I jump from this cliff and my makeshift wings do not catch the wind?
Who will be there for you Ragnar?
Here, hop on my back.
Let us find out together.

The rest are in pieces


“I woke up this morning and figured I’d call you
In case I’m not here tomorrow
I’m hoping that I can borrow a piece of mind
I’m behind on what’s really important
My mind is really distorted
I find nothing but trouble in my life
I’m fortunate you believe in a dream
This orphanage we call a ghetto is quite a routine
And last night was just another distraction
Or a reaction of what we consider madness”

Living in my mind
Questioning the queues of pain that we file ourselves in
The life we live, we compare
With others, tell ourselves we’re better because someone is worse
We are the devils we see in the mirror
We hope that we know ourselves
Better than we know our health
Going mental
Asking God for better cards
Sometimes in anguish wondering about his existence
Which we greatly applaud when better times arrive
Even for a second
Looking at the last time we were truly happy for 24 hours
With a smile that was not triggered by memes and sitcoms
Getting nostalgic because reality has hit you
It has become a nightmare you dream of each night
Cuddle your demons, let them snuggle closer
Then feel them massage your back as you kneel down for prayer each morning
Wondering why you’re looking through the window when He said you should knock
Out there hunting wondering whether that counts as seeking
It’s a sickness, a cancer hiding in your left ventricle
Playing poker with your newly formed clot
Your heart keeps skipping beats for the wrong reasons
Staring up hoping to see Him in the sky
But getting lost in the melting of your sunscreen by the glare of your sins
Trying to find the definition of success in your bank balance
That leads you to your payslip and injections of investments
Leaving tracks on your once strong arms that are now too weak to carry the weight of the world you have shouldered
Do the measly coins handed out to street kids add up to your tithe?
Is your soul as successful as the grated cheese falling off your abs?
Or are you the new Gluteus Maximus Meridius looking for revenge where Genghis left off?
Do you end up in this hell on earth because you’re not using your God given talents?
Would you be happier writing rhymes for a living and taking 4 vehicles to get to the only home you can afford?
Do the lies you tell yourself of how Cole and Kendrick are your inspiration make you breathe easier?
When you know you were still loving, living and lost in the alliteration of poetic injustice years before they put track on record?
Does it not hurt everytime you try to make sense of everything?
Try to have a happy and fitting ending to these thoughts that you call poems?
When you’re simply just:

“Tired of running
Tired of hunting
Answers to life
But retiring nothing
Your driver just veered of a cliff
Hands on the wheel, who said we wasn’t?
Dying of thirst
Dying of angst
Dying of lust”

The Divine Bandit ’17 ft. Excerpts from Kendrick Lamar

Revelations


Can you hear the gnawing in the dark?
You’re no longer all knowing in the murk.
Screeching of raised souls.
Sounds like music for your sorrows.
Do you welcome the grim grief of past memories?
Dance with your demons and so nostalgic are the stories?
You’re stepping down this flight of stairs.
Where you once buried all your cares.
Heavy are your footsteps.
You can almost hear the helplessness but nothing helps.
See you standing at the altars of slain hearts.
Screaming pardon my French but you know it hurts.
Torn between your values and vices.
Peeling off each of your disguises.
Your thoughts sting like your tears used to.
But now dehydrated, your eyes can’t see what your pains do.
You’ve become the embodiment of lethargy.
Tired of living through this fantasy.
They call it life but you just find strife.
Your back welcomes the stabbing knife.
Cyanide pills for your bad breath.
Dark roses for your wreath.
This is where they lay you.
You forgot to write an epitaph of what they knew.
You’re Beethoven.
Composing dirges as you lay your heart to rest.
You’re Van Gogh.
Listening but painting what you can no longer hear.
You’re V, playing orchestra to each grenade you add to your being.
You’re Edgar Allan Poe.
Lost in goodbye letters of the life you lived in your mind.
You’re Kurt Cobain.
Strumming teen spirit as you hum to “If I Die Young”.
You can feel Nirvana.
You’re transcendent.
You’re looking forward to life on Mars.
Because Venus last choked the life out of you.
You don’t gasp for breath when the past drowns you.
You’re ready to lay to rest.
If you don’t reincarnate.
You will lie there in your new found peace.
You’re Cole, and your death by the mirror is for your eyes only.
You’re Lamar, you realized there’s no justice in the mad city.
You’re Macklemore, and the dream of your ten thousand hours has ended at the feet of the same love.
Lost in your non existent rhymes.
Divine is how you see the Heavenly splendour that welcomes you.
You just hope you won’t be judged a bandit.

A Litmus for Love


Just Sham It

I breathe in the dust of your dead skin. My lungs turn into lanterns that hold your light.
I hold your emotions prisoner inside my ribcage.
I get tangled in your rebellious, beautiful strands of hair left on my bed. The smell of you lingers there and sends colourful, nostalgic electricity through the layers of my skin.
There are holes in my heart; wounds from wars of words fought from the trench at the edge of my bed that we never wanted to fall into.
We were to watch our dog grow old together.
But now we just fight because we speak different dialects of love.
Our relationship became a litmus for love.
And minds shouldn’t be hurt when hearts beat.
Granted, I took you for granted.

There’s an old tree in Nairobi that I want to show you and talk to you about because only you’d appreciate the language…

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Haiku Beast Day 21


Pain, pain, pass?

She will not put a ring on his ashen filter.

Pass, pass, Johnny walked by her.

Haiku Beast Day 20


I’m leaving now.

Losing pages of my heat scorched passport.

I remember the worst of times, the Ballantines.

Haiku Beast Day 19


Words of an old wise monk.
Be wary of the man who rides a white horse.
He hits harder than the law, son.

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