There are two faces to any coin,
Silence fits perfectly in.
Sometimes it signifies the indifference one possesses,
Other times its love and care in large doses.
There are those who keep mum over bad events,
Others are silent when thinking of loved ones.
Silence might be anger blown through narrow vents,
Buts it’s also through silence that one learns.
Affection might be expressed through silence,
But quiet people might be thinking of violence.
I listen to good music without uttering a word,
But still react the same way to shocking news.
It’s not a matter of whether something is good or bad,
Rather it depends on different people’s views.
A beautiful car leaves my mouth gaping,
Yet a grisly accident has me instantly dumb.
Extreme pain lacks the expected groaning,
A heart break makes my lips become numb.
When I write all you expect is silence,
But to love you I don’t need a license.
Right now I’m lying silently on my bed,
I can almost hear the friction between pen and paper.
I can hear all the words in my head,
But I need my peace, I’ll say them later.
Later will be when I see you next,
Right now it’s a dumb system keeping us apart.
It’s not ink but my love that makes you part of this text,
You are the only one who warms my heart.
When you are silent, I get to say how I feel,
And when I’m quiet, it helps me listen.
You give me directions for climbing this hill,
At the peak I see you and my eyes moisten.
I can’t believe this is the third poem on one person,
The speed at which I’m writing is unbelievable.
I’m silently afraid of my heart being torn,
But I will keep walking as long as our love is viable.
I hold my breath and wait for that sunny morn,
When your kiss will make me see double.
Your silence now means you need your beauty sleep,
And who am I to interfere with that?
Something tells me you’ll always be mine to keep.
And hence for now, I will be silent.
Kiss me, Death.
In a deadly way that only you know how.
Feel the tremble of my lips.
I’m not afraid, I’m expectant.
The scars now have wounds.
And I bet my back hurts your knife.
Kiss me, Death.
So that you can feel the heat of my face.
It’s not fear.
It’s not rage either.
I’m ready for your cold hands.
The stringy web that covers your soulless eyes.
Kiss me, Death.
For only then will you be able to feel.
The ripples in my muscles.
As they tense up ready to push you away.
Your scythe will claw at my heartbeat.
And that’s when you’ll discover my impenetrable heart.
Kiss me, Death.
For then you will learn.
That love is forged with the ores of Nemea.
And I’m the Heracles of this fortress.
Kiss me, Death.
You’ll see the light of my Patronus.
You’ll realize your mistake only too soon.
Before your body dissipates into thin air.
Kiss me, Death.
I’ve got the courage of the people of the Shire.
Always worn my heart on the sleeve of my reefer.
Kiss me, Death.
For only then will you know what you can’t kill.
Kiss you back, Death.
I write to express how I feel
Other times it helps me to heal
Lovely emotions make me kneel
And hate tempts me to kill
Regardless of what I want to say
Poems seem to lead it away
My real feelings never see the light of day
And for all that my heart has to pay
I feel that writing does not cater
For all that I know, does matter.
People don’t know how what I’m about
Hence they tend to throw my love out
I can’t believe that it’s me they always doubt
So I have to control myself not to shout
Even though my affection I don’t always flaunt
At least a speck of care I always mount
My heartbreaks are so many that I’ve lost count
And wonder if my life, they will always haunt
May be one day they’ll flow like water
But I’m sure that it’ll be much later.
For now all I have to do is wait
And walk around with a confident, straight gait
There’s nothing I can do to increase the rate
Of finding my true and beloved mate
The day will come when I know my fate
How I hope it will not be too late
I wish your love would drop on me in its full weight
So that I can finally stand at my full height
Let’s hold hands and look at each other
From you I can’t stand no further
Let our love shine like polished leather
For there’s no one else I’d rather
I hope that I’m not being a bother
It’s just knowledge about you I’m trying to gather
Putting this down makes me feel like I’m degrading you
But if you let me, I can tell you what is in my heart
I only did this because I felt it was overdue
Hence it was tearing my inside apart
I hope I have said what I feel to the letter
For as you look at me, I know there’s nobody better.
In her past they sang a song of victory.
They won the war.
In my past they sang my dirge.
Yet I won the war too.
But my victory was short-lived.
For a bullet fired in victory found its target on my knee.
And as I fell down to the ground.
My bayonet had gone through my throat and then tongue.
To say I was dumbfounded is understating it.
But their victory songs did not stop but the dirges did.
Because I did not die. I crawled to safety.
Away from their trampling celebratory feet.
I crawled to her.
She had seen me while atop her kraal.
She spread her “shuka” on the ground for me.
We fell in love in silence.
Then we became blood lovers.
As her fingers got covered in mine. Hers became cold.
Under the golden African sun.
Her wails were a harmony to the rapping of the “victors”.
In her sobs I found my inspiration.
Covered in her tears, I accepted my expiration.
It’s been a while since I did some prose work. The most weird part is that I barely noticed. When you have someone making your poetic juices flow. You just let your world drown in them. When you wake up dead, you swim in them and end up at the World’s End. It is when she becomes your Calypso, forgives you despite your drunkenness in her. Your scales and tentacles fall off. You’re free to play the piano and music once again soothes your cold cold soul. Now that I have written some non nonsensical purple prose that some might ask for an explanation to. I can go ahead and write about what the title and the entire post is about.
Before we go too far in the conversation. I will need to state this: I AM A CHRISTIAN, I BELIEVE IN JESUS CHRIST AS MY PERSONAL LORD AND SAVIOUR TILL THE END OF MY DAYS. I guess that will calm atheists down, I am not stepping over to your side and never will. With that said, let me indulge you in a topical discussion that I have had with some of Sanaa people before. At a religious level, people (meaning InSanaaNites) are always ready to indulge, without so much judgement. I believe that’s the way it was meant to be. The inspiration for this post came from a friend’s status update, and comical as it was. It got me thinking on some level of knowledge acquisition that most of us have learnt to suppress for fear of reprimand, “blasphemy” or being judged harshly. I will post the relevant part of the conversation that was had in the comments section of that update.
Oh, if you wonder why the spaces up there, it is because when we (My friend and I) looked for the update on which we had this quite hilariously intellectual rather intellectually hilarious discussion, we couldn’t find it. It seemed someone had decided to report it and have it removed from his Timeline. Bollocks!! It’s his TL. Like really who does that?? *Calm down Bandit, calm down*
Anyway, the content and the questions therein that I can remember were:
God knew Peter’s life before he was formed in his mother’s womb. That means Jesus knew Peter would deny Him and He told him rightfully so. So question was, if Peter was really to exercise his “freewill”. Was he going to not deny Jesus and prove the Son of God wrong?
Of course with the line above that refers to mother’s womb brings up the discussion. Adam and Eve were not born of man. So they came from no womb. So might they actually have been the ones with the only freewill and they messed up? And is it possible, even God had not foreseen that?
Finally, of course the titular character. Judas Iscariot whom we called Judas “muici wa karati” while growing up which translates to Carrot Thief. Without him, someone else would have been chosen to betray Jesus, probably even Peter who clearly easily denied him. Not forgetting the doubting Thomas who even after all those miracles he had witnessed did not believe Jesus was alive again. Like dude, you were there when He raised Lazarus, why would you not believe He could raise himself? Or finally Matthew the tax collector who was more into money, the olden day KRA. 🙂 All I’m saying is, without Judas, there’d be probably be no salvation for us. We’d have had to live with the original sin. So what does one classify him as?
With the above said, it does give you something to think about. Just last Sunday I asked at a family gathering, why there are some verses of the Bible I’ve never heard read in church. Isn’t the whole book supposed to be His Word? I’ve read of rape in the Bible, concubines, Solomon was a modern day literoticist (my own word). And yet when I pen such poems I am labelled a….nah that’s a discussion for another day.
The answer I got was that these were rules that kind of disappeared with the first coming of Jesus. He became the intercessor and we are saved by believing in Him and asking him to become our Saviour. Of course one has to try to stay righteous. I use the word try because I am not sure whether any one person can achieve 100% righteousness being as the stain of the original sin is supposed to stay with all of us.
In the end, my belief in God supersedes the things that certain religions have tried to impose on human beings. The Catholic church still fights with the Protestants while they read from the same book. Ok, I understand there are some differing or additional books somewhere.
The God I serve is in my being, I feel His Love. And when it comes to His Love, 1 Corinthians 13: 4 -7 holds true. Otherwise quoted and applied in how well I know my God. He is patient, kind. He does not envy, He does not boast, He is not proud. He does not dishonor others, He is not self-seeking, He is not easily angered, He keeps no record of wrongs once you accept Him. He does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. He always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
And I will say this as I have said before. The day I lost my religion, is the day I felt closest to God.
I’ll probably get some backlash for this but I always find it so weird. How harshly we as Christians judge. We judge the gay people, the alcoholics, the smokers etc yet commit the very engraved sins on the 10 commandments on a weekly or daily basis. And isn’t judging also a sin? Isn’t there a part in the Bible that alludes to one being judged as harshly as they judge others?
In the words of Mahatma Gandhi: “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”
I am a Christian via Jesus Christ not the worldwide conflicting definition of who Christians are.
And to the person who reported our discussion, a brief word from my friend:
The donkey pointed him out.
But I was busy paying attention to the dry bones.
In the valley I became one with the shadow of death.
And the book I chewed was all vinegar.
With a slow hint of brandy.
But the pungent smell of stale beer emanated from it.
They must have served me the bad wine first.
I followed the star.
But she was more into undressing.
And David was not her role model.
She was not dancing to hymns.
But for the notes from the hims.
The notes she could hit.
Covered up his hits.
She ended up underground.
And not that she wasn’t discovered.
She knew many a producer.
Many had produced her.
Pimps were her brethren.
Though not twelve, they found her more apostles.
But this is not her story.
This is my truth. Not a legend nor a myth.
It’s the test of my faith.
The struggle that brought us here.
Where we rise with each trip.
We shine with each limp.
These lions don’t recognise me.
They tear at my flesh.
And what remains, they roast on a warm fire.
With their band of wise men.
The politician, the banker and the lawyer.
The test of my love, the test of my kindness.
The loss of my patience that has me recording all evils.
Revenge that brought us here.
My heart wants its due.
But vengeance is His.
My brothers sold me out.
I’m a slave in her house.
She looked back and now I’m the one who’s all salty.
Her husband has the concubines.
Yet I’m the one paying alimony.
I don’t even qualify to be dead beat.
Like Uriah, the boy isn’t mine.
But this third day, the sun shines.
He’s risen they say but I knew it before I saw it.
Because I felt His hand on my shoulder.
I felt it tug me away from that wrecking ball.
And now on His shoulders.
I won’t even ask my shoe.
I was hurt and I was bad.
I could feel my spent harmony coming back.
And with time my soul’s voice also found a place.
Because I rise like Maya Angelou
He lives in me.
No shame no guilt.
I won’t blame him, for me; He built.
And I’m his child, no longer a Gentile.
For on that wooden stick.
The one they make fun of when they speak.
He witnessed my fall, how short I was from grace.
And as the garment tore apart, he qualified me for the race.
Have I told you I like you?
Have I mentioned the grass that grew after my luna madness dissipated?
Have I said I’m willing to leave the slow club and just go?
Have I described the nostalgia of the fresh rain on this scorched earth?
Are my guns pointed at these roses? Did I slash a hedge just to get ahead?
Is your voice such a melody that now I’m on this sound cloud?
Is your voice so husky and mine so deep that we are the new reverbnation?
Did I say I’m coming home to you? Even if you’re not white trash just beautiful, will this ever last?
Shall we go on and leave each other breathless? Shall you join this course?
Have I promised to change who I am? Probably give my friend his nickel back?
Have I confessed the biting of fingers? The biting that lingers?
Is it just the sun that won’t go down or is it the starry eyes of Andromeda that have me in constant warmth?
Am I writing or have I taken the road less traveled and now I’m just addled by the frost?
Is that maybe why my lips are purple? Hibiscus words collate at the meniscus of those tears they say we should discuss.
Do the scenes that play in my mind remind me of you two?
Does this seem vaguely familiar to the loss of my space?
Should I move to a sports car and just let this van go and play it by ear?
Should I chase my music and just let myself glide into your beat heaven?
Is it time to figure it out and just have more of that?
Is my new canvas well stretched out? Should I just pawn off my easel just so I can boast that I make some more notes?
Is it time I taught? Is it time I gave you my current notes?
Should I take the leap, come up with a riff that will give off some new notes?
Have I told you I like you?
I need to explain that this piece is not fully my original work. I translated it from pidgin from a very old tattered book when I was in high school. I found said book in a dark musty corner of the Alliance High School Junior/Grieve Library. I edited it and also changed words to get a rhyme scheme. I have spent years Googling some of its sentences hoping to find the original piece. But finally I have given up on it having a soft-copy version. So for now I will give credits to anonymous. It has been a long time coming for this piece to be sent out to the world. Words are like seeds, and from them, knowledge grows at whose foot wisdom sits to restart the process all over again.
Namaste bi…Wait that’s Kevin Mutua’s greeting on the Sanaa Whatsapp group. It’s been a cold 2 months and now we are on the 3rd one. Heed Eddard Starks words : “Winter is coming” and Ebola might be the Whitewalkers. Just thinking out loud.
I found it fun when I found this template. Seems people have direct answers for most of this stuff. But as usual my brain always reads too much into simple words so this is my version.
Making: Love? No? Ok, making time count. I am trying to get loads of things I have procrastinated on before done. Like editing my poetry script and hopefully publish the best 30.
Cooking: Way too many eggs!! I have them in everything. Rice, Toast, Spaghetti etc. But I am craving that protein and energy due to my new workout regime. Twice a day at 7 AM and 10 PM is hard work especially after a long day’s at work.
Drinking: Tusker. But that’s too common. So the new thing I’m drinking is Kate’s Organics Green Tea. I have had it in my work locker for a while now. It’s a great stress reliever, antioxidant and yes, that secret weight loss method I have used before. Dropped 5 kgs in a month. Now dropped 15 to date. Oh but don’t think that is the only thing you gotta do. I don’t take sugar at all and remember working out mentioned above.
Reading: Game of Thrones. Been at it on my phone for 3 months now. Had to find something to do once the series was done for the moment.
Wanting: To find a football pitch with a real organised team close to work. I am tired of my own where the pitch has so much gravel that every time I fall, I’m ruled out for 2 months. How will I ever manage to impress Wenger’s scouts??
Playing: I wanna say her but I am single so mmmhh let’s say Candy Crush but I got stuck at level 86 four months ago and I kind of gave up. I have therefore for the moment joined the bandwagon of hating on those who send requests on Facebook.
Wasting: Sleeping hours. I sleep for about 4 hours daily. Except on weekends when I overdo it. I need to sleep more. But that means I need to slow down my brain without using any drugs. Proving to be quite a feat.
Sewing: My vests?? I think I should just buy new ones or just stop working out. Or both. My biceps are 12 inches now. I think. I know brag brag brag…so my sleeved vests suffer.
Enjoying: Watching arsenal’s pre-season games. Sanogo is coming of age but that kid Bellerin is who I want to see more of. Damn that pace!!
Liking: My renewed OCD to clean up for myself. No more washing ladies and I have managed to do my washing and general cleaning 5 times now.
Loving: The fact that I found these bunch of misfits we met while in high school. All of them. There was Ann, Tracy and Nyambura. And all of us finally, all of us reconnected on Facebook. It has been a long 10 years.
Dreaming: Of Premier League glory. So close and possible I can almost taste it.
Hoping: That she understands my French. My words, my poetry, my only mastered language. 😀 Who is she? I have no idea.
Marveling: At these Dubai water fountains that dance to “I will always love you” in tribute to Whitney Houston. The science and the art that went into this is amazing.
Needing: 3 table spoons of codeine filled cough syrup so I can get some sleep. These coughing is making me lose so much sleep.
Smelling: Absolutely nothing. The almost 3 month cold spell has done well to work against my flu immunity and I get like a bout every 2 weeks. So now my nose is blocked. Food tastes like cardboard. (Don’t ask when I ever tasted it but I did.) But worst of all, I hate the coughing that makes girls shun you just at the moment when you need warmth and hugs. 😦 😛
Wearing: This awesome blazer. Well worth the price. Even the camera guys at the Heineken Desperado Launch could not stop taking photos of it. 😀 Thanks B.A.K.E for the invite again.
Noticing: Despite my initial criticism of Instagram, 2 weeks without an android phone is killing me. I also miss Instant Twitter. Follow me at @TheDivineBandit and http://instagram.com/thedivinebandit I won’t follow back today or this week either but I will when I come back to a 100+ notifications.
Knowing: I’m like 3 years away before the nudges at family events to “get married” become full on body charges followed by a scrum down and a neighbour’s daughter as a try. That sounded mean but I had to clear the sports analogy.
Feeling: Happy despite the blocked nose, inflamed throat and erratic coughing. I am alive and so is all of my nuclear family and my best friends and friends. Most that I know of are in good health. Feeling a bit sad when I think of Robin Williams. A little is an understatement.
Eating: P….Pus…It’s spelled Pistachios damnit!! I like indulging in some exotic nuts..Ok this keeps sounding wrong. So I guess I’m done. 😀