Life

(d)ivine musings #2


I always love having nostalgic moments about the past, my past. Of course nostalgia has a way of always highlighting what was “greener” then, what made for amazing experiences etc. In fact even something we were worried about at the time like dealing with a cop, recovering from a hangover is always remembered amidst laughter and talk of the “good ol’ days”.

When I think of my past, I do remember various things in my life that by definition maybe should have affected me negatively but they didn’t. And sometimes I wonder why not? I recall stages in my life.

I checked into Alliance High school, straight outta the countryside, round as a pumpkin and without a clue the sound of the letter “L” existed. As expected having the same waist size as my pants length was good fodder for disses in high school. Of course this did not last long because Kenyan high schools’ (I need to qualify this by saying public schools) food and sports somehow make you drop your weight like it is hot (it might be, what with all the adipose tissue). But while it lasted, I was the butt (I wanna say my butt but I’m trynna edutain right now) of most jokes. Added to the fact that I was spitting them RRRRRRRhymes so hard that dreadlocked Busta must have been jealous.

Then comes life after high school. Love for long hair means old school cornrows while living in Buru and having to deal with the teasing by the conductors. (Seems so ordinary for a man to have long hair nowadays doesn’t it?) But that was still not as bad as when visiting the Kenyan coastal region and I had to learn that msenge has nothing to do with being a billy goat. Baddddummmm beattttingsssss by Redsan.

In retrospect, I realize I went through all that with a smile on my face. I never even got angry at anyone. I have no idea why because right now my temper flares up from 0 to 100 real quick. What is of importance is the fact that I don’t seem to have got any recurrent mental or emotional scarring from it.

What has been my conclusion about how I handled all that? Parenting. Since I was a tiny tot, I was taught that nothing someone said about me could hurt me. I took the stick and stones rhyme too literally. And that was good, great even. There were so many confidence building moments I can recall that made me the person I was then and that I am now.

I am not a parent, as to my knowledge, so I am not trying to teach how to be one. But being the product of good parenting, I believe I do have the right to reflect on the experiences I notice in my life. As a grown man now, I can make the choices on whom I would like to be as a future father. I have very many experiences that differ from what my parents went through. But, if I could do half the parenting my parents did, I will count it as a success.

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Life

(d)ivine musings #1


Have you ever thought about music and the “best” musicians of the world? It is not crazy to say that the recognition and “success” that one finds is usually quite dependent on chances that one gets. This could be due to a country one is born in, the state (social and financial) of family one is from amongst many other factors. Nicki was found on a MySpace page (yes that was a thing youngins), Eminem might not have been without his persistence and Dre’s faith in him. Sadly these chances don’t happen for everyone. For we all lead such different lives.

It would not be surprising to find out that the singer with a higher octave range than Mariah or more versatile than Beyonce will never be renown. And such is the same with so many other talents we all have. But one must remember, past the riches and glory of “making it”, there is a truer calling for your talent; your audience.

The message you pass onto them, the lives you inspire, the hands you figuratively hold and the people you bring together. So it just might be that the best singer’s message was not meant for all the world, but just a few thousand people. This could be why they never got signed. The role of your talent might mean more to ten of the few thousands than it might for millions more. Does that mean your talent has lost its meaning? Has no place in the world? No. Work at it, fight for it, hone it and share it. Your chance might be coming or could already be here.

Never stop singing.

AH, Dad, Deep and overstood, Life, Love

Counting Pills


Blink once, blink twice.

Waits for purported papi’s arrival.

Gate no longer slams, my new hell.

Conversations lately found in my hair.

Our little talks forever lost in my kinky knots.

I use death ropes to hang onto my survival.

For the story is only mine to tell.

Abba, in my goblet, I sip your tears.

Comprehending your pain more than most.

 

Blink once, blink twice

I lost a friend without going wrong.

Rewrote the present into a curse.

Ducking uglies and swooning over never lays.

Tough decisions found in spicy contempt.

I slew dragons and kept their memory in song.

A nostalgia killing arrow should’ve felt worse.

Learnt that soft hands have torturous ways.

They’ll strangle the neck they lovingly crept.

 

Blink once, blink twice.

All’s fair in life and its end.

Crosses smash into the wizard’s cape.

Moons and stars tumble down the temple.

And on it I release the last time I led.

Smiles come cheaper than you can spend.

I lose them; she’s on the other side of the tape.

I find a hard sword and the fall is that simple.

Dying in the fiasco of words I actually said.

 

 

#IAmKenyan, Deep and overstood, Kenya, Life, Politricks

John Paul’s Satire


Be still, my sorrow.

Stay asleep, my soul.

Flatter these sheep, show their dry coats.

Flutter lids in my sleep, dreams of dry jokes.

Endless jars of my transformation oil.

Door ajar and whispers of this son of the soil.

I lost my right to be wrong.

But still got this long con in my sights.

Red eyes are better than red thoughts.

I’m making a killing casting your lots.

I slit my throat to spite my tongue.

But all you see is the price of air exiting my lungs.

I set my foundation using your alms.

The ceiling of my impunity will be laid down by your arms.

 

I care, I promise you I care.

 

I care less of your pain and struggle.

As long as you caress my stains and sweep up my rubble.

I’m Marx and you just failed my class.

I lie in your confused conflict as you run out of gas.

I slay you at the same altar you worshiped your queen.

For you chose to care more about Keke than your teens.

By the rivers of this new Babylon is where I shall bury your capital.

Instantly highlighting these failures deemed societal.

Communal consumerism makes up the new deadly sins.

A gambler’s addiction yet only the house wins.

I wash the blood off my hands from this planned accident.

My promises like Pontiacs pirated off the silver coast.

At your crossroads with the train bearing down on you sets the precedent.

That your existence was only narrated by my ghost.

 

I wish I cared, really cared, because I don’t.