Puffed paths pass through a rich man’s gut.
Starved stars strut in poetic poverty and sass.
Ni ngori kwa head man anayefanya kazi kupata head rest.
But the chief point remains the existence of a cozy nest.
May we borrow in unity but pay individual taxes.
Piecing together redials of liberty from missed texts.
Figurative language becoming reality to fit in boxes.
Ticks for the win as they suck through our losses.
Perfect pal pats the back that soon receives the kicks.
As past proverbs find the man at the mic through teary sums.
Bas bas bas… mwanaume tulia hakuna haja ya kutense.
Rebuilt bridges burn taking down those on the fence.
Liars are firm as they fill tills for they believe the words they say.
The victims perpetually disillusioned when they finally have their day.
A bite of the national dessert where everyone wants to pick a bone.
Few want to work for the home yet everyone wants the throne.
Puff puff pass the responsibility requires a dose of bluntness.
That’s why we intercede but never have the time to confess.
Wasi wasi ukipata utaambiwa uinue macho kwa clouds.
Building speed tracks in the air in search of a higher ground.
The snaking smoke gifts vivid dreams from night terrors.
Cursing the waking hours with the weight of a turn of errors
Entangled in a web of our choices that sometimes makes us sensitive.
Memory evaporating when reminded our voices are truly representative.
In the end we smash the mirror to avoid our reflections; forgetting we are all sinners under the tree of our selections.
Category: Politricks
THE ANTHEM, AND THEM.
Oh God of all creation, poor or rich, from the wet sands of the Coast to the dry sands of the North.
Bless this our land and nation with rains for our fruits and sun for our growth.
Justice be our shield and defender, even when judges won’t defend us.
May we dwell in unity of all tribes as one, recognizing the origin of the fuss.
Peace and liberty be truly felt than just words on paper.
Plenty be found within our borders, more than enough meat, for our newspaper.
Let one and all arise awakening the mind from its colonial slumber.
With hearts both strong and true finally punch our number.
Service be our earnest endeavour to our neighbours and strangers.
And our homeland of Kenya be protected from all dangers.
Heritage of splendour from our farms to our seas.
Firm may we stand to defend from the mountains, never again on our knees.
Let all with one accord to leave our country better than we find it.
In common bond united from the chosen to the misfit.
Build this our nation together without qualms or complaints.
And the glory of Kenya fly free of any restraints.
The fruit of our labour improve our standard of living.
And if we ever forget, fill every heart with thanksgiving.
Original parts of the Kenya National Anthem included written by: Graham Hyslop, G. W. Senoga-Zake, Thomas Kalume, Peter Kibukosya, Washington Omondi, 1963
MY GENGE NOTES
Nilianza kuandika nikiwa form 2.
Enzi za ESir but nikakosa visa ya kustudy past the studio hii story ni true.
Nikarusha dice, nikaangukia ofisi kama kamari.
Lakini usanii hatutawahi sare.
Nitacontinue kushoot shots kama Alehandro lakini nitabakia mkarimu kama Benzema.
Nilitunga mistari kabla nipate ID lakini jina nikajipa sikuwa nameless.
Live up to the banditry najipox kila time ndio niwapee presha.
Shash ikareplace gomba kwa lyrics, maneno yanapaa juu sio moshi wicked.
Nimeflex kwa jua kali najenga future, it’s not all for the ladies.
Narusha macho kwa manzi wa Nairobi nasema rest in peace Lady S.
Pilipili hainiwashi bali yanipa morale ya kuknow nini ndio next step.
Tones ziko na genge mpya limemuok sio warazi tu wanarep.
Msanii ni kioo cha jamii, sauti ya umati lakini fikra za wengi.
Ndio maana artistes hukaa manarcissist juu lazima waiinsist.
Kubadili perception inayoharibu reception na kutoana rangi.
Ningekua reckless na message ya wakiritho lakini wako ritho.
Wanaeza ita SWAT na sio time yangu ya kulambana na the law.
So nitazidi kusema mi ni divine, “I’m a miracle, baby.”
Nimechungulia family nikaona hatutabaki kukohoa kwa Corolla.
Kama Femi tutawezana na wale wana vitambi Major?
Nani atatoa gang kwa boondocks and sail us kwa hao iko in a better state?
Juu maKartelo wamekuwa millionaire na pandemik, sealing our fate.
Nimenyongwa na ethics ndio nasimama kuchachisha.
Nitainama tena, haja ya haya maneno thao ikiisha.
#KenyanMusic #Genge #Gengetone #GengeNotes
BURN US OR BANNERS?
I write from the roots that hold me firm to my faith.
The seeds that germinate inside my cranium like the tree that I don’t cross.
I’ve been awake, my ALARM CLOCK rang a decade ago.
Eyes have been dead set on the living evolving colony.
Alone, didn’t want a loan but now everyone’s blowing up their phone.
The gaps from scraps to burps getting WAY TOO BIG.
Metal trucks drive away with the earth’s vibration.
Though “wenyenchi” and their actions are NAUGHTY BY NATURE.
I still find the rhythm in my lack of naughty despite their nurture.
Before TIME FLIES away from us and we never get to speak the Sauti of our soul.
Let me tell you a SECRET as we follow the FLAME to enlightenment.
The same one that burned within Wangari and scorches when ONYEKA speaks.
Your parents are strong but your ancestors were AFRICAN GIANTs.
Read the wrong books and now look at the MONSTERS YOU MADE.
You were meant to be huge, a big man oga.
In cracked mirrors you created the illusion of an ogre.
Walked down your throne and yet you’re royalty in REAL LIFE.
Take this journey I will tell you WETIN DEY SUP.
At 23, looking out to the universe from OluwaBandit’s lap.
How beautiful and WONDERFUL because with love came laughs.
The past is the past, wisdom says I should walk TWICE AS TALL.
The most important part is that I answered His call.
There’s memory in my forgiveness, I NO FIT VEX.
There’s also strength in my mind than what you see in pecs.
I can already see the ladder, my feet are already stepping up.
I choose to walk for the scenery, I fly when I LEVEL UP.
I see we are walking the same journey now that everyone has come out.
About to rouse the entire galaxy from its coma.
I am not done learning but this knowledge you can BANK ON IT.
It’s why I choose to end this monologue with a COMMA,
THE ABYSS
In the abyss we snuggle with our demons then send them out for coffee in the morning.
In the abyss we need no serenity.
Because you accept what is and what isn’t. Then throw change on the difference.
In the abyss, there is no reality or dreams. Just calming nightmares.
In the abyss, we strangle hope with our heart chords.
In the abyss, we never open our eyes.
In the abyss we don’t look for the light.
For only in the darkness does our skin glow.
In the abyss there are no reflections.
Just deflections of positive thoughts.
In the abyss there is no heartbreak.
Just the slow cranky hum of rusty pacemakers.
In the abyss there are no strings to hold us back.
In the abyss, the limit is every human.
In the abyss we write but never read.
For in the nuclear storm, we will be red all over.
In the abyss, we already survived WWIII.
In the abyss, we didn’t die, because we were never alive.
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.
John is a legend – A Kenyan Pledge
IF YOU HEAR THIS MESSAGE
I will not start this with an introduction about how long I have been away. I will not even refer to the fact that my poems seems to fall on really shallow eardrums. I will not even admit how much of my fault that is. I am normally thinking of a movie I watched when I was 7, referencing an event that happened in 1992 whilst using words of songs produced in 2015. I am the anti type of Ken Saro Wiwa. Asking questions about the government while fearing for the lives of those I care about. Cowering behind rhymes and ambivalent statements. Hoping that some people will get it. A perfect example is this one. Wenyenchi’s theory
Today, that is not the case. I will be honest, I might be brutal, I might even shed some tears on this canvas. But believe you me, today, you will not leave this page trying to figure out what I was on about.
WHEREVER YOU STAND
This message is not being directed to a certain clique of people. I am not speaking to the Kikuyus, the Luos, the government, the voters, the apathetic or the believers.I am speaking to humans. I am asking you to pay heed. To grow, from whence you are. Be a better you. Stop looking at others. The vibes you project onto others reverberate across boundaries, religions and generations. If there is a problem around you. You are either the problem or you are fixing it.
I’M CALLING EVERY WOMAN, CALLING EVERY MAN
We have been part of years of women coming into literacy and power. Still miles away from the dream but women have been shaping and changing the world long before they could vote. Long before women were allowed to get an education. Long before they were allowed to lead. For isn’t every man who has led before, the son of a woman? Did not the same woman not teach him how to wipe his nose and tie his shoe laces? Does he not look up to her more than he can admit? Isn’t a man who believes in “genuine” feminism the proponent of the change the world needs? Isn’t he the guide other growing boys will need as a mentor?
WE’RE THE GENERATION
I have probably heard these 2 statements more than I would care to count.
“This next generation of teenagers will be the worst adults ever.”
“Our generation was messed up by our parents.”
These statements come from the same group of double tapping, G.O.T loving, keyboard smacking 25 to 35 year old millennials.
They have relinquished their responsibilities in actually making sure they change themselves or mentor the younger generation not to follow into their what they call misplaced and misguided footsteps. The politician who is 30 has no difference from the one who is 60. Most of them are after power, money and fame. The pursuit of who will make the best sponsor.
WHO CAN’T AFFORD TO WAIT
“I will one day open a children’s home. I will one day give like 10% of my money to the poor”. I hear this every month from friends and colleagues. Meanwhile a girl who is 23 has been saving her pocket money by walking part of her distance to college. Keeping fit while at the same time giving others a chance at a well fed life if not a good life. I am in no way chastising you. You mostly choose how you live your life. You should not feel bad about what luck and hard work has borne you. But a bottle of Tusker and a fancy phone cover could buy 20 homeless kids lunch for the day. I am not suggesting that I am any better. I am just giving you an idea. A better way to see the world, a better way to see yourself.
“If you have done well in whatever business you are in, it is your duty to send the elevator back down” –Kevin Spacey
THE FUTURE STARTED YESTERDAY
I was watching the comedy Blackish. In Season 2, Episode title “Hope”, Anthony Anderson goes into a monologue that opens and rips your heart apart. It smashes your skull in as your mind blows all over your already stained carpet. And you go like: “You talking to me? You talking to me?”
“Oh, so you wanna talk about hope, ‘Bow? Obama ran on hope. Remember when he got elected? And we felt like maybe, just maybe, we got out of that bad place and made it to a good place. That the whole country was really ready to turn the corner. You remember that amazing feeling we had during the inauguration? I was sitting right next to you. We were so proud. And we saw him, get out of that limo, and walk alongside of it, and wave to that crowd. Tell me you weren’t terrified when you saw that. Tell me you weren’t worried that someone was gonna snatch that hope away from us like they always do. That is the real world, ‘Bow. And our children need to know that that’s the world they live in.”
In 1992/1993, I cannot be sure as I was very young. While my sister had taken me to Hospital in Limuru at a place we called “Kwa B/Fateri” (I would find out it was Patel years later). Clashes erupted between cops and people who were having a multi-party “Kamukunji”. My sister and I ran and had to plead with a shopkeeper to let us in. And then stay locked in that shop for the next 2 hours before the coast was clear. It has now been 23 years since then. We have enjoyed freedom of speech to a certain extent, we have enjoyed good leadership, again to a certain extent. But in the same years we have seen what complacency can yield. We are comfortable with watching other people’s fathers and sons protest injustice for our sake from the comfort of our homes. We have decided to use the word “reality” vs “idealism” as the reason for our inaction. Can you imagine how many people once thought slavery was a reality? How many people believed colonialism was a reality? Why do you choose to believe that impunity, corruption and injustice is?
AND WE’RE ALREADY LATE
We have seen that the quiet overlooking of laws and the constitution comes for your enemies, your opponents and then for you. We support laws only when they work for us. When the cops inhumanely beat up protesters, hawkers and looters. We nod and agree. Sometimes we even smile and make memes and then laugh some more. When the cops under the same training and disillusioned justice come for one of your own. You are up in arms. You will make noise and tell your friends about how you did not get a government tender because they needed a bribe. The truth is that is not the problem. You could not afford the size of the bribe. Otherwise you would be in jail every week for over-speeding and running red lights. How soon do you decide to change? How soon do you decide not to give up?
You have to let the fear go. We all die in the end. Death comes for us and we can only choose how to face it when it comes.
I don’t want this to be a write up that ignites a spark in one man that he uses to light up the world and burn all our hypocritical iniquities. I want this message to ignite just a big enough flame in every human. I don’t want this to be shared just so we can discuss how many likes it got and whether my blog stats are on the up. Thereafter the message will be lost and the point will one day be found in some deep rusty annals of the wreckage that would have become Kenya.
I am looking for that person who will read this and internalize it. Use it to change a friend or two, a generation or a family. Make sure that even if we don’t get to benefit from the fruits of our actions, our children or their children do; for we do not inherit the Earth from our ancestors but borrow it from our children.
There is nothing as strong as an idea. It gives more will for action than the reality can. The reality is scary but an idea, a probable future is full of hope. I am looking for the person who shall keep this idea burning. If you’re out there….
Meciria
Wakaratha ngûkûratha na nyama ciaku îkûheo Njaû ûrîa wateire mûka.
Ngûcoka ngûhûrithie ihiga ta nguo cikîhurûo nî njûka.
Ndigiri cia Warubaga ti njirû ta cia Rîmuru.
No mîrigo cikuaga oroûmwe cia mwega na mûru.
Ûkîjûî ndî mbia ta mbîa ya kanitha îhong’okete îkagûa casino.
Îgaikia mîthirimo mbere ta taratari cia kariko.
Mwomboko ti witû thikû tûrî.
Nyîmbo maraina ta kîmero maranengererio bure.
Gûkû nîkuo ûkwenda gûikara?
Ndûreke ngûhûre kibiriti ûcure ta ikara?
Thuthaini nîmegûgwakîra mwîcûhio.
Merage ciana cia ciana ciaku ûrîa warî mûhiû.
Kîguoya kîanûkîire nyina.
Norîû we tiga ngui îno yaku ndûrî kîna.
Ndikuona ukîhonoka haha.
Thoguo athie kûrûa, nyûkwa ombirwo nî ngati.
Narîu megwîtharîkîire nginya ni matarûra cati.
Marakwîra ûritîte ta gîthana.
Na mareciria nî guoya nîkîo ûrathithina.
Irimû nîo tondû matirona kîrîa ubangîte.
Gîkuû gîaku gîgûciara mbara ona ûtanungîte.
Warî gîko matanakunîka maniûrû maku na bamba.
Narîu wariûka ûrî njamba.
147 REASONS TO LOVE
Jury has seized her
Friends, Kenyans, tourists, lend me your ears.
I come to bury the media, not to praise it.
The evil that men do lives after them.
The good is oft interred with their bonuses.
So let it be with the media.
The noble government.
Hath told you that the media was ambitious.
If it were so, it was a grievous fault.
And grievously hath the media answered it.
Here, under leave of the cabinet and the rest…
For the Cabinet is an honourable faction.
So are they all, all honourable men.
Come I to speak in the media’s funeral.
It was my friend, faithful and just to me.
But the Cabinet says, it was ambitious.
And the Cabinet is an honourable faction.
It has brought many captives to Parliament from Nyayo House.
Who wise words did the voters mind fill.
Did this in the media seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, the media has wept.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
Yet the Cabinet says it was ambitious.
And the Cabinet is an honourable faction.
You all did see, that on Kenya’s Ground Zero.
I did offer her a handkerchief as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Which she did thrice refuse.
Was this ambition?
Yet the Cabinet says it was ambitious.
And the Cabinet is an honourable faction.
I speak not to disprove what the government signed.
But I am here to speak for what i do know.
You all did love it once, not without a cause.
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for it?
O judgement! Thou art fled to brutish beasts.
And men have lost their reason.
Bear with me; my heart is in the coffin there with the media.
And I must pause till it come back to me.
Kimemia ’09
The Divine Bandit™ 