AH, Deep and overstood, Love

No Doubt


Don’t speak.

I’ll pretend to know what I’m saying.

So that later on I can apologize for having full knowledge of nothing.

All I have known are sad songs despite the bitter pills I’ve swallowed.

I am accustomed to confused tangles like I was cursed in cursive.

I have found the hollow in me and accepted the emptiness it brings.

My time has been a dealer.

I’ve played at the corners where the heartless have been.

Whilst waking up to crusty tears that I nicknamed angel dust.

These sniffles do not end on a high.

The nines I have saved on these stitches just left me on cloud ten.

But no matter how high I have been, I have not felt heaven.

My feet just sizzled with the rage of hot hurt.

And no matter how fast and far I’ve ran.

The stampede is always hot on my heels and ignores the Ferdinand in me.

Maybe I was meant to be a fighter all my life.

A matador at love but that doesn’t matter though.

If I can’t hold up a cape, maybe in these words I can make my escape.

I won’t tell you if it hurts.

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My words transport me to your world.

Therein reality has taken up a position in my dream works.

I may be a vein of kindness inside a body of hearts wrapped in the scars of love.

But it is in your heart that I lay my worries.

It is in the reflection of your eyes that I see the person I could be.

As I grab a fistful of your hair, in it I weave tales of love in the future.

I rely on these specks of hope that fall on my soul as rarely as snowflakes in the African tropics.

There is no end to the beginning of my debut dreams of you; And I.

I can’t tell you I will never leave.

Because that’s a 2 sided coin of which I’m not the only one allowed to spend.

I’d rather say I’ll never do anything to make you leave.

Since you’re my world then we can safely assume that the flat world theorists are wrong.

The above were not meant to be flirt words.

It is also not how I would have approached the Big Bang.

I am riding the Milky Way as I choke out my past dark matter.

It is a fight I have endured and will keep at till your soul accepts me to its society.

I aspire for Tensa Zangetsu when the world wants me to stay in my shikai.

There’s beauty in darkness too; when I can rely on your everlasting light.

Mugetsu!

 

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Deep and overstood, Love

My Last Song


There used to be a time.

I would form poems in my mind, before I wrote them down.

Such a time now seems like a distant memory.

Now, the letters just fall off my fingers.

The words choke me on their way out.

They rap softly at my door.

Then hop all over, the moment I let them in.

Maybe it is because we are joined at the hip.

You are the tune that no longer kills me softly.

You watch me rolling up this hill like this heart is in need of Zion.

The rocks at my feet try to build a wall that stops my rhythm.

This song that claims the dust you shake off.

Your feet move to the whistling of the wind between the grasses that now beckon you to their roots.

My eyes remain fixated on your face.

Watching a teardrop of joy mark your left cheek.

The whispers of angels brush your eyebrows.

Carving a straight path to your mind where a classical ballet is in motion.

I’m conducting with all my soul to the beat of your heart.

Feelings are electric and in spirit we dance to this music.

We form our own country amidst the watchful eye of these folks.

Don’t they see that we form a shield against all their judgements?

They can try all they want but this house stands not on just rock but hard metal.

Their voices can try match our crescendo but we choose to ignore their innuendo.

I care nothing for their alternative sounds when I’m in awe of the soundtrack to my heart.

I am captivated and held in a trance so my wings can grow painlessly.

This is the new age and the alleged allegro of our love will not faze us.

They do not understand that I am ok with you becoming my blues.

The repression of my depression is no longer needed.

The melancholy of my notes now just makes for easy listening later on.

It is only in this pin drop silence that my drum and bassline can be heard as it approaches from afar.

It is only then that I can make out your words.

It is here and now that I can see you for who you are.

The only way you can leave me singing of the revelation of the gospel of pure and true love.

Your lips beat me out of the box so my mind can be open to the impossible.

This way I don’t have to ask for your hand in marriage but your heart with courage.

You have become my nonexistent path that I do not plan to leave on the trail I have created.

I drop more bombs on my burning bridges.

Because, I have arrived at the castle whose keep I have no plans of leaving.

I no longer put my emotions in check but place love under siege.

If I’ve broken so many hearts maybe this hitman finally needs a bodyguard.

After being tone deaf for so long I now have the right pitch.

Zigzag sidewalks try to make me lose my way to this opera.

Ready for the beat to drop so I can string my bow.

Advance swiftly to the front of the choir just before the instrumentals set the speakers ablaze.

I pluck a few notes to introduce her as my new melody.

You might need to stay seated for this orchestra.

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Image source: https://codenameparanormal.deviantart.com/art/Double-Infinity-403423269

 

Deep and overstood, Love

Seeking my hide


I apologize for any time I have not given a damn.

I provide a new excuse for every fourth quarter I have lost.

This sight is now yours only.

I gave up trying to spell love.

I have chosen to be loved and lost in your spell.

I remember when I used to be so high that my feet barely touched the ground.

You became my new drug.

I’m now walking away from Mars towards a new heaven.

I’m tired of my blood soaked pages.

It is time I wrote in new ink.

 

Maybe cracked hearts seep love more easily.

Maybe cracks hurt those who fight them.

Today, I embrace the results of my id.

I am no longer fighting the consequences of my ego.

I guess I am feeling super.

I am lost in dreams of you.

You only step in for some moments to hold my hand.

How then can it be that you are an angel in reality?

I choose not to exist but you give me a reason to live.

Learning lessons of my ludicrous and lackadaisical life.

Shedding scabs and letting the wounds show.

 

I’m tired of hard hearts feeding my feral nature.

I can’t see your smile because I’m lost in your eyes.

I can’t smell you because I’m embracing everything around you.

I can’t taste you because I’m devouring my old self.

Wisdom is of no use if I keep falling on the same path.

A man is more than his word, even when plural.

That is why what you perceive is greater than what I can say here.

You make me want to be selfless.

But even that feels self-serving when I try to walk in your steps.

 

I’d say I’m a prisoner of your soul.

But I searched for the keys and walked into this cell.

It’s not a mutiny when I want to take a swim within you.

Can’t you see me defending to the death your right to drown me?

Believe in my opposing and hidden nature coming out.

I no longer dumb down my words just because I’m scared of heights.

The fog feels like a past hangover fading off from my last drop of liquor.

Maybe my fingers getting stuck in your hair is a sign.

Maybe the sound of you saying my name is the new elixir.

What is for sure is that I’d want you to be mine.

But my battered old ghost is whispering in my ear.

It is better to be yours.

Dad, Deep and overstood, Life, Love, Prose

When the saints march out. Oh!


As I write this story, it is exactly 24 hours before the exact time I was born in 1987. If I do remember well, my mum told me I was born at 2AM, on a Sunday at the AIC Kijabe hospital. And since that day, my love for cold weather was born.

I say that because I showered with cold water since high school in Kikuyu, even in June, Kenya’s and especially Central Province’s coldest month. I would follow with the same routine in high school till I was diagnosed with pneumonia in the 3rd year of University and warm waters baths had to become my lifestyle after. It is safe to say that I never felt really clean for about a year after.

After university, I quickly moved from Buruburu, where I had had to mostly use just a bed-sheet to ward off the heat at night, to Kinoo. This was me following the cold and I would fall in love with it for the next 6 years. After the events of October 25th 2016, I had to move again in search of colder pastures. Because of exactly that I cannot feel safe revealing where I currently reside online but I can assure you that this new lover is the best of ice queens I have ever met. However this is not the reason we are all gathered here.

I am here writing because I feel I should write something as the elevator dings for me to get onto the third floor. I have been a poet all my life and hence misunderstood via grammar; misunderstood via my art. The stories of my life I have told in those words have been missed. Mostly by fans who don’t know me, disappointingly from other poets and expectedly by my family.

It is how then I found myself in Jackson Biko’s Master Class in writing last week. Yes he is also known as Bikozulu. That is like calling me edudivine but I digress. The classes were being held at the Nairobi Safari Club where I think I had a 3 day crush on our service staff manager for 3 days. Lucy (name changed to protect identity), if you are reading this, oh wait! How will she know it is her if I change her name? Dammit Edwin, you are such an idiot sometimes. Do I really call myself Edwin in my thoughts? No. I call myself nugu when I am doing or thinking something stupid. So please, take it affectionately when I call you nugu when you are being an idiot.

***

When you enter the Nairobi Safari Club, you feel like you just stepped back in time. Not in a bad way. The uniforms that the staff wears are immaculate and remind you of that greyish material that the once popular Kaunda suits were made of. There are antique wall hangings and paintings that line each wall including in the lifts as you would later find out. The rugged carpets on the floor bring on this sense of nostalgia, like you are at high tea with Tom Mboya discussing what next after the British ended their rule.

There are some sparsely thrown in parts of the decor that are very modern. I think they are inserted here so as to jolt you back to reality so your life can move on. But one thing is for sure. This hotel reminds me of my father.

***

On February 15th 2016, my father went to sleep after having had one last conversation about the cows and chickens. Some stuff about the weather was thrown in too. He never woke up. I still am yet to figure out whether it was a fortunate or sad thing that I might have talked to him last.

I wrote a tribute to him. In the best way I know how. I wrote a poem. One I could barely finish to read to the people gathered at his burial because yet again I was killing myself with my own words. However, that piece came nowhere close to saying how much I love/loved this man.

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In this lost train of thoughts, maybe I will do a better job.

2016 was a bad year. No, seriously, it was a bad year. I know some people go through worse daily or have gone through worse before and are still here. But I still find that losing my father, being robbed twice and then carjacked at gunpoint (And a bullet shot next to my head that ends up destroying the car’s exhaust I might add) then losing the love of a woman I never had to try at all to love as the lowest point of my life to date, to 30.

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Most people might sink into depression about this as I did. I was however sooner out of it than I had expected. One week I was booking to see a psychiatrist, the next I was up and away and continuing with life. I don’t know why but I peg it to the fact that I am too used to being depressed. And it is not even the clinical depression that I had suffered from nervous condition drugs some years back. It is what I could not describe before but finally found the word for. Existential depression.

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Existential depression is a depression that arises when an individual confronts certain basic issues of existence. Yalom (1980) describes four such issues (or “ultimate concerns”)–death, freedom, isolation and meaninglessness.

Death is an inevitable occurrence.

Freedom, in an existential sense, refers to the absence of external structure. That is, humans do not enter a world which is inherently structured. We must give the world a structure which we ourselves create.

Isolation recognizes that no matter how close we become to another person, a gap always remains, and we are nonetheless alone.

Meaninglessness stems from the first three. If we must die, if we construct our own world, and if each of us is ultimately alone, then what meaning does life have?

I lie up sometimes and question everything about life. About whom I am and who I am supposed to be. I resent materialism. Consider it the evil that fuels capitalism and thus a world where one person can hoard millions while their “brethren” die of hunger and diseases. An earth where most people need to eat, drink, make merry, line their pockets before they consider throwing out a morsel to those in need. It is a strange place, this one. We are running out of good enough land to be inhabited but we have golf courses ranging into thousands of hectares of great fertile land while some are doomed to be born homeless and die as squatters.

As such it is not completely surprising that I would find myself wishing for a simpler life. A life well lived rather than a life over loved.

These tiny seeds that waft into my mind and germinate on many a cold and moonless night are watered by all sorts of things. But art takes precedence. Be it the connoted themes of movies where they try to clean the earth and make love the only thing that leads again. Or the music that carries me to seas uncharted almost every single day.  I can effortlessly say that these 2 men in Kendrick and J Cole easily trigger such thoughts even with just their song titles.

Is it wickedness?
Is it weakness?
You decide
Are we gonna live or die?

While we remain united as humans, we will never have to tell our history as A TALE OF 2 CITIEZ or remember many we have lost to the FIRE SQUAD. We might have grown up with NO ROLE MODELZ. But APPARENTLY, it is healing and heartwarming to LOVE YOURZ. This would all work if we all made such a NOTE TO SELF.

It is in our BLOOD and DNA to be better than we act currently. This will not be us stepping out of our ELEMENT. We may first need to FEEL other people’s LOYALTY. Forget all our ego and PRIDE. In other words be HUMBLE. We need to forget LUST and embrace LOVE. Most of all we need to FEAR GOD. Only then will we know our “duck” WORTH.

My mother was happy to hear that I stopped drinking alcohol. I did it because I needed more time with a clear mind to think on these things. I also no longer saw the sense in adding a depressant to this already low hanging rug that life was trying to walk all over. It is good she is happy. She is one of the few little lights remaining in my life.

Just with that thought, I am now far-away in the land of the Passengers taking photos as per The Script wishing if he could see me now. When I try to remember the last time I hugged my father. I am reminded of his phone call one day when I was 24, my father said: “Don’t you worry, child.”

I hope heaven’s got a plan for me.

For Gianna & Pietro – the stars that never got to shine

Deep and overstood, Life, Love

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.

Dad, Life, Love

#MisimuZangu Hii Ngoma ni ya babangu


When I wake up at 3 am and sit up to scribble a nightmare inspired poem,

The neighbours think I’m just a troubled person.

Like cravings, the need to put these words down floods my mind.

It is all I can think of at the moment.

It is 20 minutes to 5 pm, the time when I hurriedly leave the office.

Because I know, there’s a one hour workout session

That is quickly followed by a light meal, a look at the telly, some reading

And sometimes just directly take a 9 hour nap.

I am writing this as Eric Wainaina blares in my ears.

I have never really listened to music at low volumes.

I have to hear each instrument used

Whatever drum thump that everyone would choose to ignore.

Maybe that is why I am not a fan of music videos.

But here I am typing with  tears welling up in my eyes.

I keep breathing in and fluttering my eyelashes to keep the tears away.

All this because Eric dares start his Twisty song with:

“Hii ngoma ni ya babangu”

Because to date the words dad, father, baba, papa cause the deepest of emotions to come crawling to the surface.

And sometimes I hate myself for it.

Sometimes I just let the tears flow.

Because it really is cathartic.

It does not really heal but I feel more able to deal once that bitter bubble is burst.

It is the  most childish of ways, but my hair to me is the legacy of what he was in his youth.

And how when I live my dream I can still see myself in him.

Funny thought is that I really wanted to play football professionally and did not.

But he did.

Talk of your parent living your dream on your behalf.

But the best part is how much more protected I feel.

He is watching every single day.

I feel shame when what I do does not make him smile.

But it does not beat the sense of achievement when you manage to do something he really wanted you to do.

I just type away without even editing.

That will come later.

And truly I have no idea why this piece is in a poetic kind of stanza.

Maybe it is because I am used to writing like this.

My friends say I type texts in a staccato manner.

That is mostly because the thoughts run over each other sometimes.

Like a bunch of seeds looking for the one egg to fertilize

I can feel my breath becoming lighter now.

As the clock strikes 4:55, I find myself asking why I even started typing this.

Maybe it was just because of that one song

Maybe because I can hear his song

Maybe because I am his song

As he has been mine before

I don’t know.

All I know is this tune keeps playing.

And I am yet to find my harmony.

Why all these feels today you dare ask?

Because of the below:

Life as it is, comes in phases.
The good, bad, ugly and beautiful keep recurring in different forms.

Misimu-Swahili for seasons – is everything making up the season’s in the life of Gufy as a Performance Poet.

A collection of 5 spoken word poems cutting through basic scopes of life. From politics, love, religion, childhood dreams, death and God.

This collection aims to re-live the thoughts and beliefs of a young man in search of an end game.

Misimu is Gufy,
Misimu is Us,
Misimu is Poetry we relate to.

#MisimuZangu

https://www.facebook.com/events/579418178897716/notif_t=plan_user_invited&notif_id=1469625780162119 

HIMYM, Life, Love

How I met your Chuck


This week started on a very weird, confused and sad note. And no, despite the G.R.R.M kind of year and especially July, nobody died. At least not in real life. The cause of all this grief and anguish is because 2 years later, I finally watched the last 4 episodes of HIMYM. And being the eccentric person I am. I keep replaying the scenes in my mind, the times that this program took me out of the doldrums promised me something fresh, something real does happen in life etc.

I know I’m so very late to be commenting on this. But I feel lost. And I probably will for a while. You don’t rip my emotions apart like this and then expect me to recover. Of course this makes a good point on how good the program was. But still….

  • You made me root for Robin and Ted to be together at first. We all love Robin and man is that woman beautiful. It also did not help that my best friend insists on calling me Tedward. Yeah, I know, my name is not even Edward.
  • Then you made me understand the love between 2 scarred people. Barney and Robin were perfect for each other. Notwithstanding that, you still made me watch a whole season based on their wedding. And 10 minutes later they were divorced?? I don’t care if you had a caption reading 3 years later!! That hurt my freaking aorta!
  • Finally! Finally! You show us the mother. How the gang meets the mother. How awesome she is. The yellow umbrella, the ankle,the bass guitar, the lighthouse, the Farhampton inn and that cute dracula smile..chaiiii!! Sob. And then what do you do?? Wait for it…..
  • You kill her!! Murdering writers! And you kill her via Ted’s words. No awesome last minutes shown. No grieving by Ted. Shake your damn heads dammit!
  • Then 52 year old Ted who can’t actually run from a waiter steals the Blue French horn. For the 3rd time? And we are to believe now that Robin is free and done travelling and Ted got his dream wife and kids and is now again “free”, all’s well that ends well?

It does not. If I wasn’t so old. I’d say you ruined my childhood. 🙂 But hey, I had good enough practice. This happened in another warped mentality ending on Season 5 of Chuck. Where the writers chose to rob Sarah of her memories with Chuck. In essence saying Sarah could not remember what we had watched since Season 1. There’s the little suggestion that she will remember. But in a world where I have to watch Game of Thrones, Gotham and Daredevil. Give me a happy ending! Errm, I mean give me an ending with a bit of jolly good positive vibes in it. The world already has too much darkness in it and I need a little bit of the most rare of sparks I can find to light it up every morning.

The writers tried to calm the fans down by redoing an alternate ending but hey no take backs for what has already become imprinted in my mind. Teddy Westside got the raw end of that deal. Or did he? I don’t know. And now I feel a slight need to continue with the Haikus coming on. See what you have done?!!

Vengeance shall not be mine! Haaaaaaaavvvvveeeeee you met Ed??