Tag: life

Deep and overstood, Life

Defend us

The Divine Bandit

Life seeps from the annual annals of this anarchy full year.
Walking dark paths trodden by the voices in the shadows.
The soul sucking dementia of the valleys of death where dry bones rise to meet the gnashing teeth of humour-less mongrels.
Lost in the strange world where black lives don’t matter even to the black brothers.
The natives are walking hand in hand with the grim reaper.
They have no reservations to take away what does not belong to them.
Old age comes for our fathers, bullets for our brothers and corruption for our children.
Depression is the new elixir for the mothers and sisters because alcohol loses it’s hold in the morning.
Blood flows thin down the superhighways of unmarked speed bumps.
And we smile.
That smile when the joke is too morbid and the tear-wells are dry.
Emerge from the smoke rising from the smog on that darn hill.
Happiness is Rosberg and it has chosen to retire from you.
Your mind..minds are having a battle.
All claustrophobic in the hope that a panacea will be able to drill down through the firewalls of loneliness.
Emerge with immortal thoughts of times that were, joy unbridled.
But you know it won’t come to pass.
Because from the outside.
Everyone can see you look caged because you dared the devil of your government and they now rule with an iron fist.
The universe has crushed your ego and your purported heroism is now a memory in the mind of a villain.
You don’t believe in defenders anymore and your avengers are either dead or on vacation.
The year has pushed a shaft through your core and you are the next course at Hell’s kitchen.
Your rhymes have taken a walk to the dark side and now they walk back with the onomatopoeic footsteps of a mindless punisher.
You count down the days.
To what could be the end or the first taste of blood on your lips from the first blow.
You hope against hope.
That all will be well.
But the killers are marking your grave because Hope just committed suicide.

TheDivineBandit™ – Hoping 2016 ends soon

Dad, Life, Love, Prose

#MisimuZangu

The Divine Bandit

I don’t know whether I was nominated for this. But seeing as Veon Ngugi tagged me in her post, I had the inkling that I should say something. I still felt that a lot about my personal life has been written down in poems but reading Ivan Irakoze’s post brought about the fact that there is only so much that we share in those rhyme schemes gets understood at the level we would love it to be.

#MisimuZangu is about sharing something personal. Sharing something about dreams. Sharing about ups and downs. So essentially sharing about life.

I am 29 and of course to some of the toddlers whom are part of this challenge. Not looking at you Ngartia J Bryan. 🙂 I might seem to have everything in order. I told a story to the members of the possibly defunct Sanaa Book Club and they were all insistent on the fact that I should share about that life. And maybe that would give someone going through the same some bit of hope or last push that they need.

In a nutshell because as brave as I have become since, I still do not like telling this story in its long form. In 2011, I was diagnosed clinically depressed. It was a shock to not only my family, my workmates but also my friends. Because if you’ve met me, you probably do know that rarely anything gets me down. Probably never did have anything till my dad passed away earlier this year. But the feelings about that are not something I am yet capable to write about. You can only bypass so many grammatical mistakes with another set of clear meniscus on your eyes.

The worst part about the depression was that it was caused by medicine. Medicine I had finally decided to take to cure the migraines I had lived with for the last 10 or so years. Migraines that had been the first reason why I had to start wearing spectacles. So the cure had brought up a side effect that you will never wish on your worst enemy. I remember that morning when I woke up and switched off my phone and said F my job, F what people think, F life! Because from a point where I had become unable to wash a cup or rinse a glass. I now could not get out of bed, nor turn in it. The effort was too much to my mental.

I’d like to tell so much about what happened between 2011 and before the treatment started working. But I can only remember so much. I still have blanks about the year. But I came to finally, having spent 600k, with no recollection of where or on what but a bank statement that proves I did make the withdrawals. Imagine an 8 month hangover or amnesia. And the worst part about it is I was well to the outside world. I won awards at work. Got the best of recommendations for my projects. But in the end I managed to turn that around. Healed, I am now here. That money is a thing of the past. I have love in my life, and a car, oh yes aptly nicknamed Lagertha. It is rare to be debt free. And neither am I. But I am here to tell all people who read this and those tagged too. There does come a better time. It is hard work but the struggle is beautiful.

The more current personal fear that follows me to date? It is that once you have been depressed. You fear being sad, you fear expressing sorrow. Because you are afraid that the sorrow might stay. Again. And that is how I missed the funeral of the uncle I am named after. Rest in Peace Daudi Kimemia. Yes that is my name. Mukabi is my father. R.I.P.

But we trudge on. About to hit the 3rd Floor, I can look back at my life and say I am ok with having lived it. Because it made me the person I am. And I love this person. My self love has enabled me to have a larger heart to love others.

I will leave you with one quote I wrote when I was 14 and started writing poetry. As this life smashes you against currents and rocks, as you wait for the tide to rise and lay you on higher ground.

“A wise man does not test the sharpness of his sword on butter”

Dad, Life, Love

#MisimuZangu Hii Ngoma ni ya babangu

The Divine Bandit

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 

Deep and overstood, Dionysus, Haiku

Haiku Beast Day 16

The Divine Bandit

It’s 4:21, blazed it and got got.

Enjoying the ecstasy at Newport.

Puff, puff, passed out.

HIMYM, Life, Love

How I met your Chuck

The Divine Bandit

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??

#IAmKenyan, Kenya, Life, Politricks

John is a legend – A Kenyan Pledge

The Divine Bandit

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….

 

 

 

 

#IAmKenyan, Deep and overstood, Kenya

Wenyenchi’s theory

The Divine Bandit

I don’t believe that by this time I need an intro.

I am the voice of the people. The dead, the broken, the ones who have left us.

You may try your best to get rid of me but I shall live on.

Will what I tell you be disseminated for free?

Or will you bottle it and try to sell it to the next investor who is willing to pay a kickback?

May 16th; is this the day you would like etched in our annals as the day winter fell?

Changed our love, our hospitality to some cold-hearted, demonic hatred?

Just because I weep in my sleep does not qualify as a wet dream.

Oh my King can’t I just have your ear for these few minutes?

Maybe I can help change the mindset of our institutionalized people.

Maybe we could finally grow past the emotional whims of our ’08 adolescence?

I have been to Nyayo house, and if these walls could talk they would spew out quite the horror stories.

A tale of two citizens with the power to make the best of my beloved country.

Are you really listening?

Because whether God got us but you cost us are we really gonna be alright?

We have changed slavery and colonialism, packed it in more palatable chains.

The Fire squad carries batons and they aim way before we are even ready to run.

Just like our votes, has our peace and freedom really become for sale?

Has it really been that long since I checked in as righteous as a saint in Tropez?

Before my momma knew that I would ever find myself in the middle of this blood politics?

How much does a life cost? I dare ask you.

If you start by explaining which tribe or which faction the soul is from, I strongly urge you to:

Get off my…..

Definition, because you are no role model and have no right to advise me on matters humanity, complexion, religion and culture.

Hello.

Are you still on the line?

Have you decided to make the blacker the berry, the bitter the truths I tell you?

You ain’t gotta lie, I have heard that apparently it is inherently in you to only love yours.

In this regard as I hear you drop the call. I seek to remind you.

You are a mortal man. So are we all.

Mortal men.

Cole, Deep and overstood, Jesus Christ, Life

2016 CALVARY HILL DRIVE

The Divine Bandit

I: THE COME UP

Oh be careful little eyes what you see.

I’m rooted in rocks.
Smell the scent of what’s cooking.
I’ve crossed the desert.
And sands are no longer sinking.
I remember the peace in my liver.
When I never walked alone.

II: THE WARM UP

Watch your actions for they become habits.

My voice is a lyre
My truth tugs at her strings.
My life is a hymn but I feel alone
You know like solo-ish
I can see the darkness at the start of my tunnel.
Lights, please!

III: FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS

C’est la vie

Got friends from Cana having a party in my tummy.
Vices abound and I think Roy has the spirit.
Following stars that are Westbound.
But not a wiseman amongst us.
I’m wasting my youth on the young.
I need something over 21.

IV: THE SIDELINE STORY

Yea though I walk…

I’m missing His presence.
Trudging over bits and pieces of my essence.
Her lies taste sweet like ice cream.
Her wake rouses me and I scream.
I’m flashing a full house.
At the chess table.

V: BORN SINNER

For God so loved the world….

I had a million dollar dream and a pyramid scheme.
Emerged from the battle but with a crooked smile.
No longer picture perfect but worth the picture still.
In the beginning was The Word.
It said: “Seek and ye shall find”
But I’m the one who knocks.

Dad, Love

Peter Mukabi Njoroge 1943 – 2016: THE ROCK THAT MADE OUR HEARTS BLEED

The Divine Bandit

The day our father died.

There was no thunder or lightning.

No previous night’s rain to bless the world he was leaving behind.

The day our father said goodbye to this world;

There was no group of friends and family around his bed.

No last kiss on his forehead or a hand to offer one last comforting squeeze.

The night our dad went to sleep for the last time;

He did not inform anyone that this would be the last goodnight.

That he would not wake up from one last dream.

 

Because you see, before our father died;

His smile had been the lightning to many a sad heart.

He always had a way to shock you out of your cocoon

His voice thundered with a hearty laugh;

That always followed one of his sly jokes.

He was a blessing to his children.

And he had a way of raining goodwill on the rest of those who knew him.

Our father did not need to say goodbye to the world.

Deep down he lives in each one of us.

We can still see his smile, feel his calloused hands.

And in both of them, we get the strength to know;

That he intended for us to live on and achieve our dreams like he did his.

 

Our father.

Your husband.

Your brother.

Your uncle.

Your grandfather.

Your late son.

Your friend.

 

He was but a man.

But he managed to be more than that to each of us.

He was a helping hand.

He was the joker in the crowd.

He had aged wisdom.

He was a force to reckon with.

This man had careworn palms.

Yet he held kids and showed his gentle heart.

He had a quiet simmering temper.

With which he stood up for friends and family.

He could discipline with one look.

And love with one phrase.

He fought wars with himself.

Won battles for each one of us.

He was the calm to our storm.

He was the gentle breeze in our sails.

He made ways for all of us with his will.

Taught us that it was allowed to dream beyond our means

 

Our father was in no way perfect.

But each of his flaws made him unique.

In being the man he was.

He mirrored the attributes of his children

Orphans will sing the whole-hearted giving nature of Virginiah.

We found your silent wisdom and maturity in Jane and Carol.

The sounds of clashing hammers lead us to the workaholic bee in Dave.

We shall gather on warm nights for advice from the boy you made a man’s man.

Who deserves the name Kelvin for always striking when the iron is hot.

And when this family needs to smile again;

Irene and I will be at our wit’s end to make sure of that.

 

I am sad.

As most of the people here are

But I stand here to celebrate you.

For giving us the best of your years

For being the best of dads

I know you can hear us.

Let not these cries dampen your soul.

Let that crooked smile never leave your face.

And when the skies light up with stars tonight

I will remember that twinkle in your eyes.

That always spelled mischief.

That twinkle that said,

There was something you hadn’t revealed fully.

I hope you can finish the story for me one day.

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

Untitled 01:45h 19/12/2015

The Divine Bandit

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.