Deep and overstood, Jesus Christ, Life, Love, The Teenage Years

Untitled 01:45h 19/12/2015


I: God

Take me back to a time.

When being good was as easy as breathing.

And my mama’s words resonated in me.

When her bidding was stronger than a belief.

Proud to be called clean, faithful, a follower of rules.

Take me back to Sunday school.

When I believed in forgiveness.

In King David after the transgressions.

Saul would become Paul.

And the past would be forgiven.

Early mornings, when I’d remove my  socks and shoes.

To be equal to the other village kids.

When my lullaby was the thoughts of heaven.

And not finances, planning on how to break even.

Take me back to being what they called a junior youth.

Looking forward to a life of serving not mastering.

Living for Him not aspiring to attain.

Take me back to the Bible not the blogs.

To learning rather than just reading.

 

II: Love

Take me back to the fairy tales.

To dreams grand and of sunsets.

When love was a gift and not an achievement.

And a source of never-ending happiness.

Not a path to probable pain.

Take me back to when today mattered.

To when the future was always bright.

Not a reflection of past mistakes.

Take me back to Celine.

To Luther Vandross and ᗅᗺᗷᗅ.

To staying alive and celebration time.

A fulfillment of the life that would be mine.

Take me back to hand sculpted gifts.

To names carved on trees and doodles on my books.

When the thought far outweighed the cost.

And the character way better than looks.

Take me back to primary school.

When affection made my heart skip not beat faster.

When I’d be transfixed in moments not lost in the next.

When what I felt was said and not lost in text.

Take me back to just being divine.

Before I let in the bandit and stole more hearts than one.

It’s been a while since I went out of line.

Lost the chance to enjoy the moment and ran after the fun.

 

III: Author

Take me back to senseless writing.

To holding a pen and trying my best at cursive.

To when the ink was the blood from whence poured my soul.

And truth riddled every sentence.

Take me back to basic lexicon.

When being deep was not the goal but a happy coincidence.

To when morphemes and synonyms did not matter.

And rhymes came out as staccato as a stutter.

Take me back to real poetry.

When  my life leaked with every phrase.

My thoughts and fantasies saturated every page.

This gift was not even recognised as one.

Take me back to grammatical errors.

To a period way before the nazi era.

So I can write away my troubles.

Let the paper fade away my pain.

Take me back to Wordsworth and Frost.

Before I end up on the road least taken like Poe.

Lost in my melancholic notes.

Of the writer I could have been but never became.

Take me back to Shakespeare.

From thence I can find my path again.

Still a poet by any other right or how I write.

Immortalized in my own song of La “Wino”.

 

IV: Life

Take me back to singing and dancing.

To India Arie and Maxwell on a sunny afternoon.

To ill-fitting earphones and cassette tapes.

To bitter lemons without a tequila shot.

Take me back to addition and subtraction.

Not regression and plans for my progression.

To learning how to draw, no matter how badly.

Rather than designing a dream house  in every reverie.

Take me back to freedom.

To aspiring to be President.

Proudly sitting at the head of the class.

Rather than murmuring at the back row.

Take me back to undefined genius.

Rejoicing in completion rather than competition.

To figuring things out not judging them.

To creating and not just utilising.

Take me back to long walks not quick rides.

To sun basking and making images from the clouds.

When I’d revel in heavenly splendour.

Not lost in thoughts of what tomorrow will bring.

Take me back to open spaces not closed walls.

To old friends not new acquaintances.

When I’d play in the rain rather than in its after-scent.

Enjoy every living minute, make it a lifetime moment.

Take me back, just take me back.

Deep and overstood, Love, Rock, The Teenage Years

My dying notes


Looking for healing…huff and puff..
Smooching this feeling…rough and tough.
Ruby ruby ruby red lips was what got him about Stacy’s mum.
He liked that she was still preoccupied with 1985.
And as he pulled off in his station wagon.
Alice just watched from her bedroom window.
He waved at Frankie by the YMCA.
Wondering whether he’d ever come back before the clocks stopped spinning.
All was yellow, autumn was creeping in and he knew it was no longer just his life.
He’d met a girl. Thought she was grand till he found out her love was just a lie.
And now as his heart was going under.
He’d pretend that the airplanes in the night sky were fireflies.
Lighting the perfect path to what she reminds him.
Someday he’ll be the hero who can save all.
But today he’ll just go somewhere only they know.
Soak up the sun just like animals do.
Smiling at these twisted turns of fate.
His small words now just a whisper.
Life just got too complicated for the skater boy.

Deep and overstood, Love

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy… and Mama


Happy Father’s Day, Daddy… and Mama.

One visiting friend recently asked Mama, “How in the world do you live without him?”

“It ain’t easy.” Mama answered, shaking her head.

Homeless of Nairobi, Kenya, Life, Love

They are not the “HOPELESS OF NAIROBI”


I know I have been off this site way too long. As I get closer to 30, time seems so scarce. Taken over by work, moments of football punditry etc. But let me be honest and say, a certain 6 month project at work that ends next week has had my hands quite full. Clearly also getting new titles comes with it’s “workaholism”. You are now looking at the new……enough about yourself Ed!! This  I feel is the first real post of 2015 as it is prose. Poetry as I have said before comes quite easily to me. This post is not meant to be heart rending. It is not meant to make you feel sorry. It is not meant to make you feel bad about your elevated echelon. It is just meant to get your attention, to have you realise what happens where your eyes don’t look..or avoid to look. To give you a fresh perspective. Something you don’t necessarily have to live with but know for just that single moment that others live with. Something that can change the way you think or have you want to make a change. I had been part of this endeavour before. On a previous month when I was assisting Kibali in his month’s pledge. Then, I was just letting my heart lead me. There was no logical questions about it. I had some extra money and was willing to help. However on this particular day in May. Something else led me there. During the day, due to the aforementioned work commitment I had failed to have something to eat for breakfast and lunch. By the time I left the office with rain clouds looming; the storm I was paying attention to most was in my tummy. I have acidity issues and that evening found me almost keeling over as the acid burnt through the lining I would assume is not as thick as it used to be B.C (before cocktails). I struggled to make the walk from Riverside to Westlands, I found my mind lost in another thought process. This is not quite an unusual thing. I’ve almost walked past the bus stop more than once, lost in thought. I was imagining how weak I must be to be in this much pain because I had not eaten in less than 24 hours. I was wondering about the person who has not had a meal for a week. If that was me, would I indulge in cheap drugs to get rid of the pain or to forget what kind of hell I was in? Did this seem familiar to the “one for the road” of the rest of the white collar society? If that was me, would I snatch a phone to sell it for a measly 500 to be assured of a meal for the next 2 weeks? Would they judge me then? Would I judge myself? Would I really view my life as that black and white? Would I so easily understand the law when I barely knew how to read? The above is not a justification of all the crime, violence and wrongdoers out there. It was something that got me back looking at my life. I am not ashamed about it. I work hard and have studied hard to be where I am. But what makes the difference is that I had the chance to. I get lost in thoughts of whether I would have survived past the age of 10 having been sick most of young life. Again, same tummy issues. What would my body have done to fend off illnesses when I could not afford antibiotics worth 100 shillings? What did you do to deserve the life you live? The family you have? Chance? Fate? You were good in your past life? This reminds of a case where I dropped a dollar in New Delhi as I fumbled with my wallet and walked away without noticing. Seconds later, a filthy street child would tap my arm and I almost leaped away from him (Nairobbery instinct) and was about to tell him I had nothing to give him when he handed me a dollar and walked away. I barely managed to speak to him before he disappeared into the crowds. Not waiting for a reward. Ok, this does make me want to weep. 😥 What I want to say is that I made it to that feeding program in Westlands with quite a change in attitude. I was not giving because I could, I was giving because I could manage to stay without. I could manage to live in a comfortable cheaper house if hard times hit. I could manage to live without eating beef. I could manage to not have milk. I could manage to live without a cocktail here and there. I could manage to walk part of the way to work and save 60 shillings per day, 2400 per month. Because you know what?It takes 2500 shillings to feed 65 to 70 street families/people at Clifford’s feeding program in collaboration with the Homeless of Nairobi. That made me vow to feed some 70 people a month for as long as I live and more as my life, effort and returns rise. As an African, we are very insistent on teaching how to fish and that is also what Clifford’s program is about. From finding shelter for these people, schools, rehabilitation and work. It does not stop at food. I had a talk with one young man who helps Mwalimu Cliff out in serving food every weekday night at 7.30 behind KFC Westlands and in front of Uchumi opp. The Mall. He came to Nairobi to find work. He previously had work installing air conditioners in Rwanda but that did not pan out. He would like to act in plays, he’s a comedian. What this people need is a chance.Remember the chance you got when you were born to able parents? Use that chance to make sure another kid does not have to be born on the streets. This story seems all gloomy right? No. I was welcomed with genuine smiles. More genuine smiles than I see in my side of society. Happiness from money is overrated. Really. These people are homeless, some jobless, others parent-less but most are not HOPELESS. You can read more about this program here: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-31359061 You can find Cliff here: https://www.facebook.com/clifford.c.oluoch?fref=ts and @OluochCliff Homeless of Nairobi: https://www.facebook.com/homelessofnairobi?fref=ts and @melessOfNai

IMG_20150614_162344IMG_20150614_162242 IMG_20150614_161254 IMG_20150614_161810

Deep and overstood, Life, Love

Writer


Writer.

#IAmKenyan, Deep and overstood, Jesus Christ, Kenya, Life, Love, Politricks, War

147 REASONS TO LOVE


147 REASONS TO LOVE.

Deep and overstood, Life, Love

Kara El


It’s hard to do this.
I’ve always known that love and lust;
What I have and my thirst.
For one my pen free flows.
But for the other I lose words.
Yes I still don’t know how to spell love.
Yet the letters are born in me.
The words are my creation.
And the product a mistake piece.
Thinking of you.
My brain goes to overdrive.
Trying to harness my favourite things.
My life my dreams both rolling down a hill.
Gathering no moss and I’m still at a loss.
The foot drum of my hip hop tracks gets the rhythm.
Rudely interrupted by the acoustic violin.
And from afar I hear the soft keys of a grand piano.
Trying to calm down the blare of this rock guitar.
My oh so beautiful mind.
Full of cracks and fillings.
Goes mental trying to cohere the realities.
Of how you wrestle and pin my heart down for the three count.
With the acts of avenging your hurt.
Because I’m but a man.
You’ve played games with jokers.
Been led on by two faced icemen.
When you let them govern your young heart.
I’m an idiot.
You use that as a term of endearment.
Because you won’t just say I’m a geek.
And that’s why I still mention comic book characters as I try to describe this love.
I barely scratch the surface.
For the same reasons I want to sit the reader of this poem down.
And explain the meaning of each sentence.
The idea behind each phrase.
But time is never enough.
Life is short .
Yet it’s longer than a two hour calculus paper.
This is definitely relative.
And I, Edwin, will always be your Man Crush, squared.
I’ve differentiated you from other women.
Integrated you into my family.
And loving you to infinity has proved to have no limits.
In this heart you’ve found the perfect loci.
Made a poet lose his rhyme.
An insomniac run out of time.
Because you’re truly storm born.
You’ve gone through the fire.
An astrid that walks with divine strength.
That not only tried but managed to tame my dragon.
Most deserving to be by my side till I’m toothless.

Love

Untitled


Lyrically connecting, heart possessing.
Brain waves winding, hands clasping.
Lips parting, heads leaning.
End of reasoning, the thought of kissing.
Music playing, the beauty reading.
Pen moving, paper ruffling.
Eyes aching, brain storming.
Teeth clenching, thoughts whirling.
Toes wriggling, tongue rolling.
Effortlessly writing, emotions easing.
She finds it amazing.
Can’t notice my gazing.
Smiling, knowing I’m only teasing.

Slowly but surely this poem takes shape.
Her mouth drops, she is all agape.
Hair rises on her nape.
And I wish I could save this on tape.
Now cussing because I can’t get more rhymes.
But at least with this one I can recount the times.
When is silent language we talked like mimes.
Realizing that even this one ain’t easy as it seems.
Knowing I got to change to one that has her name.
In this society of words I bring her to fame.
I call her a lady but in olden days she’d be a dame.
She’s pretty lucky because she got a poem first time she came.
Thus here I decide to tame my words and let her look at the same.

Kimemia ’09

Life, Love

SHE TALKS IN HER SLEEP


I watch her sleep.
She starts to murmur and licks her lips.
She has found herself in a dream so deep.
And gently my hand up her arm creeps.
Her mental storm proves to be steep.
For she suddenly shudders and on her back flips.
I smile because I know she is mine to keep.
But suddenly she speaks and my heart skips.
She talks about a guy and I hear a warning beep.
Describe his virtues and my heart dips.
I roll over and lie alone in a heap.
She continues and the cup of jealousy my heart sips.
Oh unlucky day, she talks in her sleep.
With words so sweet to another, my soul she rips.

I wake up the next day and go to work.
Convince myself that I was mistaken.
Maybe I lost my hearing in the dark.
This I do while my eyes misten.
I spend the day feeling like a jerk.
Feeling all low and down beaten.
In the light, doubt creates a crack.
And I become as curious as a lost kitten.
The devils urges me on with songs sweet as a lark.
And I follow his path already beaten.
This is the day I will find out all her murk.
And towards home my legs I hasten.
What awful news she talks in her sleep.
The movement of her lips no longer leaves me smitten.

I get home ready for a divorce.
But asleep she is and already speaking.
I hear the soft sound of her voice.
That just yesterday made me want to sing.
She talks of how he is her only boss.
And how she is a queen to this king.
At the door I take a pause.
Take five more minutes before I end this thing.
To all other things my ears I close.
And with hate I hear about this being.
She recalls of how in his arms she likes to doze.
And how he gives her a heavenly feeling.
Her clothes out the door I am ready to toss.
For no more do I find her appealing.
She describes his body and I’m at a loss.
My short temper quickly hits the ceiling.
She talks of his house and lack of flaws.
I give a smirk and move in for the killing.
She suddenly screams his first name and I lower my claws.
For I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
I move closer thinking it a coincidence.
She stops talking as if she’s listening.
My heart thumps in my chest as I am dying from suspense.
Expectantly waiting for her to continue naming.
She says the last two names and I almost weep.
I double check the name on my passport.
I feel love into my heart seep.
As I remember she’s all I’ve got.
I sink down to the floor, bending at the hip.
She sleeps soundly on the bed I bought
Dead to the world as my ring I grip.
I smile and thank God, she talks in her sleep.

Kimemia ’10

Life, Love, The Teenage Years

Lost Art, Incomplete posts – A step back into history


I am a hoarder. Of plastic containers from Chicken Inn and those from the Juice and Smoothie corner at Sarit’s food court. But worst or rather best of all, I am a hoarder of books, writing pads etc. This is how as I cleaned my bedroom from an OCD hit, I found some long lost poems I wrote in another lifetime, some a bit too erotic, others incomplete and others just plain old boring.

Messed up handwriting and some pieces written in IT class, others in B.A classes. :)
Messed up handwriting and some pieces written in IT class, others in B.A classes. 🙂

For the next few days, I shall post one of the poems I found and try bring a new ending to the incomplete ones. Take the journey with me. Before I tasted beer, when I was an IT geek and most importantly, when I was an idealist. Untainted by the harsh realities of love and life. The tag will be YoungCrow.