I ran from fate as my head throbbed.
I didn’t want to go but I had to follow the smoke.
Midnight fun never put a smile on my face.
Haiku Beast Day 28
I sip death as I let my will scream freedom.
I puff away my existence in isolation.
In each parallel depression I have found less meaning.
Haiku Beast Day 27
This Betty definitely likes her batter bitter.
She could have served cookies to her guests.
But the ganjabread man stole all her chocolate.
Haiku Beast Day 26
All my life is made of crates and cases.
Legoo, annihilate the vices.
Aim for for nine lives as I reach out to the clouds.
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.
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!
Haiku Beast Day 25
I’m quite over the hang of these mates.
Aged to perfection as I tumble over these weeds.
I hear my belt snap as I fall on the tracks.
Quietus
I start from the middle because this is the beginning to the end.
I’m tired.
Tired that you see my face but miss the smile.
See my smile but miss the glint in my eye.
I.. I miss the glint in my eye.
Now to balance this meniscus like I tried to do at the grave.
I don’t think the writing is even helping.
Words upon words that are not worthy of licking dust off the feeling.
I don’t know. I really don’t know.
Here lies my truths.
Give me one last look to see me turn the corner.
Give me one last listen so you don’t miss me here.
Give me one last taste so you can tell I’m no longer bitter.
Give me one last touch before I turn cold.
Give me one last breath to show that my flaws were perfect.
Haiku Beast Day 24
This cock a doodle don’t is crazy.
All the defences mastered crumble from the strength of this Jaeger.
A hash falls as the director screams “Khat!”.
Sun-days and French Toast
Introduction:
This is my first guest post on this blog. You might be seeing more of this from the lady who wrote this. If you need to follow her other type of work, kindly click here: https://muthonisheartmusic.wordpress.com/
She plays the violin, has worked with the Nairobi Orchestra and teaches/taught music.
That is all. Enjoy.
***
Sometimes you think you’ll have to leave your house to find inspiration to write. To tap into all that’s swimming in your head and try order it into a recognizable shape. But then other mornings, like this one, inspiration fills your room slowly, like the first rays of the morning sun (which this night owl – miraculously – has witnessed quite a few times in the recent past. This is thanks to a teaching schedule attempting to turn her into a morning person. Oh dear, I shudder at the thought of the “m” word…)
For at least 3 weeks now, I’ve wanted to make French toast for Sunday breakfast. With a dash of vanilla – the latest addition to my mild culinary experiments. But every Sunday morning, at least in the past month, has been a jump-out-of bed and rush-to-the-next-obligation typa morning. OK, sometimes it’s more like life pulling a reluctant me out of the cosy embrace of my bed in a battle that can last anywhere from a few minutes to an hour. So I cannot begin to describe my unadulterated joy at finally being able to have a French toast morning. Ever done a little dance at the first taste of something you’ve wanted to eat for so long? Then time stops for a bit. You almost can’t believe this is happening and every inch of you is jumping for joy. Who knew bread and eggs could bring so much joy? All this with a bright, cheerful sun outside to match, accompanied by beautiful bird songs that I believe everyone should wake up to. Perks of living in Muthiga Green 🙂
I’m a human who gets excited by the smallest of things. The opposite is also true. So if you meet me grinning sheepishly to myself today, it’s probably just French toast vibes bubbling underneath.
***
You know, nothing in my past life quite prepared me for the soul-angst that is adulting. Just yesterday evening, I was asking myself yet again whether I was damned to ‘wander’ forever. I chanced upon a panel discussion on climate change at the National Theatre and found them talking about the role of youth in climate discussions. A young woman talked about her involvement in the campaign to stop the Lamu coal plant – highlighting how, a big part of the opposition to the project was the lack of involvement of the locals. An unfortunately familiar narrative with many of these mega projects. Not to mention the shortsightedness of investing in a coal plant that would irreversibly damage the Lamu ecosystem, while options for clean energy abound in this country! Another participant talked about the complex politics surrounding Gibe Dam, a project that threatens the very survival of the Lake Turkana ecosystem. As I listened to them, the familiar question came floating over my head again – What have I done with my degree in Environmental Conservation? My life, so far, feels like one defined by starting out yet another new path while leaving the previous one not fully resolved. My soul relishes in possibility. Not always the actualization of all these wishes/dreams/desires. And so, inevitably, the anxiety of sticking with something versus starting out another new venture come to colour my existence in a beautifully muddled clash. My life is then spent in the grey, constantly wondering ‘Is this IT? Am I doing enough?’ and at the same time experiencing moments of pure contentment after a beautiful rehearsal/practice session or a memorable lesson with a student or even just a heart-satisfying conversation.
So I relish mornings like these. For their brightness. For their ability to melt all these worries and doubts from my soul. For the abandon with which the universe offers itself to me.
Invites me to drink giddily from its cup of being-here-now.
Listening to the birds outside and following the gentle sway of the trees.
Relishing this moment here and now.
Remembering to breathe.
And to just be.
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.
The Divine Bandit™ 