My life, My words, My strife, My awards, My sins, My achievements, My love, My all….
Author: The Divine Bandit
I am who I am because of what I say with the words that I have, the time I’ve got and the talent I possess. I will myself to do this daily because not everyone can do it. I am blessed to have this ability. I make the shallow look, and sound deep and the deep sound deeper yet with a simple meaning. I want every poem I ever write to be my epitaph. Sometimes I am in my element, sometimes I'm not. There are pieces I don’t believe I wrote because I am not that person anymore. But the truth is; this is a reflection of who I am, who I’ve been and who I will be. I started doing this at age 14 so I guess my works will best be described as “14 going on to immortality”.
As she looks up at his hand
She pays no attention to the veins on his forearm
Or the sweat that drips down the flat nose
There are tears in his eyes
But the red colour is definitely from a drug
He screams incomprehensibly
Something about betrayal
And African values
But she does not hear him as the killer blow nears
In fact she does not see his hand anymore
She is looking past his silhouette
Past the clothes on the floor
She no longer sees the red bottomed heels
The aluminium foil packet glares at her but she ignores it
She looks at his still, still warm body
Face upturned, eyes closed
But the sinner’s smile comforts her as it had done earlier that night
They break down the door
Hit him and handcuff him before he can protest
The girl follows them in and nods her head
She avoids eye contact with him
The dad comforts her, but the hand on her shoulder is heavy
He has had his cake and has eaten it too.
She’s pregnant and they believe he’s the culprit
Statutory rape, incarceration pending
The judge barely listens to him
He fits the profile
The same attributes that have the girls in the jury blushing
Fallen victim to his own face
His grin has been his undoing
He possesses the gift and curse of the sinner’s smile.
A rap at the door
Then an envelope slips under it
He picks it up and reads the single note inside
“FOR THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE”
He shakes his head and he can guess who it is from
He remembers the night vividly
About a year ago
The interlocked limbs
How they fit like interlocked seams
Hey there Delilah on the radio
Talia cooing on the powerful system
His mouth starts to part to reveal that killer beam
He reminisces but his memory is cut short
There’s a wail outside his door
He opens it swiftly and hurriedly
A toothless grin looks up at him
But he barely sees it
All he can read is what is on the shawl
“AND YOUR SINNER’S SMILE”
The gazing, of the eyes.
The fluttering, of the eyelids.
The thickening, of the air.
The meeting, of the fingers.
The pulsing, of the veins.
The quickening, of the heartbeat,
The reddening of the ears.
The scratching, of the back.
The biting, of the neck.
The twisting of the toes.
The suppressing, of a scream.
The rising, of both of us.
The soaring, on this number nine cloud.
Describing your physique,
gives life to this black ink.
On this one thing, my mind is set.
As I watch your curvy silhouette.
Your meaning, my brain eludes.
Because of the sexuality, your pout exudes.
Phenomenal, more than I could have ever sought.
What you are, Maya Angelou never thought.
Because my girl doesn’t lack.
Her negligee is black too.
And I will be damned if my love isn’t true.
She takes me to places I ain’t ever been.
Because her beauty always leads the way.
I don’t want to ever lose this. Anybody feel me?
“You should never read just for “enjoyment.” Read to make yourself smarter! Less judgmental. More apt to understand your friends’ insane behavior, or better yet, your own. Pick “hard books.” Ones you have to concentrate on while reading. And for god’s sake, don’t let me ever hear you say, “I can’t read fiction. I only have time for the truth.” Fiction is the truth, fool! Ever hear of “literature”? That means fiction, too, stupid.” — John Waters
Golden snippets whispered in dark corridors
Torturous murmurs heard deep in the brain
Ominous winks causing brain trauma
Dark fingers walking in the stillest of nights
My eyes receding, my spirit giving in
My thoughts leap frogging on this velvety nothingness
My ears buzzing from the onomatopoeia of this word
The hissing, the calm sound before the strike
The jittery feeling before the pain comes
The hair rising at the back of my neck
Fingers curling, punching the thick air
I stamp hard, peering in the darkness
Succumbing to the daze of all this haze
Throat dry as I step through these doors
Wondering what do I stand to gain
First step inside and my scent gets warmer
Not only losing my religion but my rights
Avoiding these walls like original sin
Try and keep calm amid this craziness
Feeling the anger boil over to a disappointed sad
Block my thought banks with self control dykes
Take these walls and make an overt home
Fast and decide not to eat my cake
Give up on what’s frank, sleep with what’s fair
Yet again I’m lost in all the dizziness
This quagmire yet again ruins my gaze
There are two faces to any coin,
Silence fits perfectly in.
Sometimes it signifies the indifference one possesses,
Other times its love and care in large doses.
There are those who keep mum over bad events,
Others are silent when thinking of loved ones.
Silence might be anger blown through narrow vents,
Buts it’s also through silence that one learns.
Affection might be expressed through silence,
But quiet people might be thinking of violence.
I listen to good music without uttering a word,
But still react the same way to shocking news.
It’s not a matter of whether something is good or bad,
Rather it depends on different people’s views.
A beautiful car leaves my mouth gaping,
Yet a grisly accident has me instantly dumb.
Extreme pain lacks the expected groaning,
A heart break makes my lips become numb.
When I write all you expect is silence,
But to love you I don’t need a license.
Right now I’m lying silently on my bed,
I can almost hear the friction between pen and paper.
I can hear all the words in my head,
But I need my peace, I’ll say them later.
Later will be when I see you next,
Right now it’s a dumb system keeping us apart.
It’s not ink but my love that makes you part of this text,
You are the only one who warms my heart.
When you are silent, I get to say how I feel,
And when I’m quiet, it helps me listen.
You give me directions for climbing this hill,
At the peak I see you and my eyes moisten.
I can’t believe this is the third poem on one person,
The speed at which I’m writing is unbelievable.
I’m silently afraid of my heart being torn,
But I will keep walking as long as our love is viable.
I hold my breath and wait for that sunny morn,
When your kiss will make me see double.
Your silence now means you need your beauty sleep,
And who am I to interfere with that?
Something tells me you’ll always be mine to keep.
And hence for now, I will be silent.
Kiss me, Death.
In a deadly way that only you know how.
Feel the tremble of my lips.
I’m not afraid, I’m expectant.
The scars now have wounds.
And I bet my back hurts your knife.
Kiss me, Death.
So that you can feel the heat of my face.
It’s not fear.
It’s not rage either.
I’m ready for your cold hands.
The stringy web that covers your soulless eyes.
Kiss me, Death.
For only then will you be able to feel.
The ripples in my muscles.
As they tense up ready to push you away.
Your scythe will claw at my heartbeat.
And that’s when you’ll discover my impenetrable heart.
Kiss me, Death.
For then you will learn.
That love is forged with the ores of Nemea.
And I’m the Heracles of this fortress.
Kiss me, Death.
You’ll see the light of my Patronus.
You’ll realize your mistake only too soon.
Before your body dissipates into thin air.
Kiss me, Death.
I’ve got the courage of the people of the Shire.
Always worn my heart on the sleeve of my reefer.
Kiss me, Death.
For only then will you know what you can’t kill.
When I……
Kiss you back, Death.
I write to express how I feel
Other times it helps me to heal
Lovely emotions make me kneel
And hate tempts me to kill
Regardless of what I want to say
Poems seem to lead it away
My real feelings never see the light of day
And for all that my heart has to pay
I feel that writing does not cater
For all that I know, does matter.
People don’t know how what I’m about
Hence they tend to throw my love out
I can’t believe that it’s me they always doubt
So I have to control myself not to shout
Even though my affection I don’t always flaunt
At least a speck of care I always mount
My heartbreaks are so many that I’ve lost count
And wonder if my life, they will always haunt
May be one day they’ll flow like water
But I’m sure that it’ll be much later.
For now all I have to do is wait
And walk around with a confident, straight gait
There’s nothing I can do to increase the rate
Of finding my true and beloved mate
The day will come when I know my fate
How I hope it will not be too late
I wish your love would drop on me in its full weight
So that I can finally stand at my full height
Let’s hold hands and look at each other
From you I can’t stand no further
Let our love shine like polished leather
For there’s no one else I’d rather
I hope that I’m not being a bother
It’s just knowledge about you I’m trying to gather
Putting this down makes me feel like I’m degrading you
But if you let me, I can tell you what is in my heart
I only did this because I felt it was overdue
Hence it was tearing my inside apart
I hope I have said what I feel to the letter
For as you look at me, I know there’s nobody better.
I knew I had the story to write about way before I had the title. The events of the past weekend but one will remain etched in my memory. There was fun, pain (caused by old age and other organisms), fear, hope, desperation and prayer. At the end of the less than 24 hour ordeal. We were all a bit stronger than we went in. We were tired but we (most of us that is) made a promise to face the demon again. All tools required for the exorcism at hand this time. I have an inclination to melodrama and hence the introduction might read like we were the cast of a real great movie. But no, this happened. and I will try to narrate the events to as much accuracy as I can remember.
That Saturday started in a very different way than most. Saturday 6 AM does not normally find me awake, dressed and calling people to plan for meeting points, items of clothing and wake other people up. I sleep at around 4 AM on Saturday mornings, wake up after midday and spend most of the day in boxers and a vest. So you see the difference, oh and we all know how much I hate phone calls. Yet I spend hours on calls with her. (We are not going to discuss this. I have spiked your interest I hope.)
About 3 hours later, having fought the Limuru mist where the 50KPH speed limit in Nairobi seems like Need For Speed kind of movement. We arrived at the foot of the Aberdares. We got lost..twice. Our rental van driver is not the best at directions but he’s a real good human being. You’ll know why later in the story or in the next one. We had only 7 hours to go up and back down Aberdares Elephant Hill. 4 hours to go up, 3 hours to go down.
We started at a slow pace, waiting for each other at certain points. But with time elapsing and with the Central province clouds gathering. We realised some people were here for a stroll, others for sight-seeing and then there was us who were here to conquer the hill, nature and some of our demons if possible. When you have a brain that keeps you awake for 48 hours sometimes without a wink of sleep. You’ll understand why, I needed the body to be fatigued in all kinds of ways. Just to get some beauty sleep that night. We gradually left the others behind and with the first ranger (There were 2, one at the front, the other at the back.) we set our sights on being at the peak before 6PM.
Soon after, hell’s fiery gates were becoming a bit loose at the hinges. We just didn’t know it. We laughed on the way. I was feeling the sweat on my brow and enjoying it. I love sweating for the right stuff, not like the current Nairobi sun in which you yawn and your palms become damp and have to take another liter of water. We had been walking for about an hour now. I could feel no fatigue. My lungs were working exceptionally well. I must be good at this cardio stuff. 😛 What I hadn’t counted on was the silly legs giving in.
I play football when I can, I walk to town almost everyday from Riverside and do squats with dumbbells every week day. So it was a complete surprise when passing through some bamboos, my right calf locked in a painful muscle cramp that had me on the ground in seconds. I was hurling cusses that would make milk curdle. 30 seconds later, the peeping hole in hell’s gates was open now. I was covered in Safari ants. Something tells me laughing at Wanja’s ordeal the week before or is it after? (My Karma might be a real mean b**** to see into the future) warranted this punishment. Yes she was attacked by Safari ants. 😀
This time, the cussing took an almost medieval turn. I think I was insulting those ants in Ogiek and high Neanderthalish. And these were not small ants, the ants in the Aberdares are either GymRats or Ninjas. With the bamboo cover, for an instance I felt like I was in Crouching Stupid Hidden Stubborn. My woes did not end there. As I stood up to run from them, mind you my other foot was still cramping so I was half walking, half crawling away. The left foot got the same cramp at the calf. I know, this is starting to seem far fetched. But nothing could be closer to the truth. At this time I let out a universal and forest wide “F***************************************************K!!”. It’s when I heard the echo and no person answering that I realised I was alone. Bollocks!!
In my struggle, I had been left too far behind by the pacesetters and was too far in front of the the second group. So here I was under cover of the bamboo trees closely knit together. No one in sight. Barely able to stand and slowly removing ants from hair. (Where’s a nice grooming monkey when you need one?) It’s at this particular moment that my aforementioned overactive brain decides to think of any eccentric wild animal that doesn’t follow rules and is not nocturnal like it should be. Like a leopard maybe. I grabbed a broken bamboo (seen below, we were to be companions for longer than I ever imagined) and now limping with both feet, (How possible that is only remains to be seen) trudged uphill, my cusses now reduced to whispers and whimpers with every step and now suffering from pain induced perspiration.
All Moses jokes aside. See my staff. 🙂
I did finally catch up with the team. They decided to wait for me. And boy was I happy to see them. I made grinning from ear to ear very literal.
How little I knew, the day would be getting worse. Because of the guy in red next to me.And here they waited for me. The Ranger having abandoned them and headed to the top.
My moods revived and a drink of water after. I was once again at the front. Leading the team to this goal that we were so intent on achieving. Do not ask me why they agreed to be led by a foul mouthed, injured and still ant infested Moses look alike. Oh the Moses part could have been it. Or maybe I just looked the most edible and of course the least capable of running away on the chance encounter with a wild animal. They’d take home a scapecoat of many colours to my mum if that happened. (Please, please tell me you got the genius of that statement 😛 )
If I fully describe the things we had to endure later on in the journey. These events might dilute the sincerity of the story. All I know is this. When the calves could no longer pain. Or my central nervous system just decided to ignore the pain. It was then that the cramps moved to my quadriceps (I can’t say thighs because for some reason that sounds lady-like. Worse in Swahili “Mapaja” Not a negative thing though). In the same order. My right quad then the left. At least no more ants then. But we would take a break every 1 minute, there was more rock than vegetation. Now with no more ability to lift my legs. I was wading through mud and water. The below is testament. Check the pants.
The thinking man pose was just to convince ourselves that we weren’t idiots for having come this far.
I was the willpower despite the lack of the ability to walk normally anymore. And my friends had the strength to keep me up when I was almost falling down. And at 6.30PM, I stepped at that peak, as the first of 2 people in our group. The other being Cesar who had made sure I wasn’t left behind to be some animal’s dinner or an elephant’s rag doll.
We made it to the top. And with our perseverance as inspiration many more than we had expected made it too. We smiled and laughed and lay on the grass exhausted. But a really cold fog covered us and we knew we had to get back down and soon. It would be a 2 hour descent. With heavy rain probably coming, animals waking up for the hunt and of course darkness and a very expansive bamboo forest to cross.
It got cold quickly at the peak. Gloves came out fast.The A – TeamPeople holding each other up for a photo.. This is a perfectly balanced symbiotic relationship. 😀Doesn’t this remind you of Munyao on that Independence Day moment?This photo has no filter, no flash was used and no it wasn’t sunny. We were surrounded by white, cold fog.
It is a great thing to see through generations. This here is my sister and a decade plus apart, she kind of almost lived the same life like I did. I loved this.
TheSix Million Dollar Man, we called him. He waltzed (more like kung fu-ed) into our lives on a nondescript day as we played kati and branda and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. You see, it was break time. Break time, when pupils as young as five years or some old enough to be their parents, were all out in different corners of the school compound taking a breather from the harsh reality of books and teachers. Break time, when gossip and rumors took the blink of an eye to reach even the ears of the truants smoking behind the ablution blocks. Break time, when most teachers congregated in the staff room to sip tea from huge thermos flasks that mysteriously emerged from the female teachers’ large baskets. Break time, the twenty minutes in between lessons that the often corporal punishment-inclined teachers let children be children.
It didn’t help that he came in a car, a rare spectacle at this village school tucked in the midst of a piggery and the largest…
In her past they sang a song of victory.
They won the war.
In my past they sang my dirge.
Yet I won the war too.
But my victory was short-lived.
For a bullet fired in victory found its target on my knee.
And as I fell down to the ground.
My bayonet had gone through my throat and then tongue.
To say I was dumbfounded is understating it.
But their victory songs did not stop but the dirges did.
Because I did not die. I crawled to safety.
Away from their trampling celebratory feet.
I crawled to her.
She had seen me while atop her kraal.
She spread her “shuka” on the ground for me.
We fell in love in silence.
Then we became blood lovers.
As her fingers got covered in mine. Hers became cold.
Under the golden African sun.
Her wails were a harmony to the rapping of the “victors”.
In her sobs I found my inspiration.
Covered in her tears, I accepted my expiration.
The Divine Bandit™ 