Deep and overstood, Hip hop, Life

The rest are in pieces


“I woke up this morning and figured I’d call you
In case I’m not here tomorrow
I’m hoping that I can borrow a piece of mind
I’m behind on what’s really important
My mind is really distorted
I find nothing but trouble in my life
I’m fortunate you believe in a dream
This orphanage we call a ghetto is quite a routine
And last night was just another distraction
Or a reaction of what we consider madness”

Living in my mind
Questioning the queues of pain that we file ourselves in
The life we live, we compare
With others, tell ourselves we’re better because someone is worse
We are the devils we see in the mirror
We hope that we know ourselves
Better than we know our health
Going mental
Asking God for better cards
Sometimes in anguish wondering about his existence
Which we greatly applaud when better times arrive
Even for a second
Looking at the last time we were truly happy for 24 hours
With a smile that was not triggered by memes and sitcoms
Getting nostalgic because reality has hit you
It has become a nightmare you dream of each night
Cuddle your demons, let them snuggle closer
Then feel them massage your back as you kneel down for prayer each morning
Wondering why you’re looking through the window when He said you should knock
Out there hunting wondering whether that counts as seeking
It’s a sickness, a cancer hiding in your left ventricle
Playing poker with your newly formed clot
Your heart keeps skipping beats for the wrong reasons
Staring up hoping to see Him in the sky
But getting lost in the melting of your sunscreen by the glare of your sins
Trying to find the definition of success in your bank balance
That leads you to your payslip and injections of investments
Leaving tracks on your once strong arms that are now too weak to carry the weight of the world you have shouldered
Do the measly coins handed out to street kids add up to your tithe?
Is your soul as successful as the grated cheese falling off your abs?
Or are you the new Gluteus Maximus Meridius looking for revenge where Genghis left off?
Do you end up in this hell on earth because you’re not using your God given talents?
Would you be happier writing rhymes for a living and taking 4 vehicles to get to the only home you can afford?
Do the lies you tell yourself of how Cole and Kendrick are your inspiration make you breathe easier?
When you know you were still loving, living and lost in the alliteration of poetic injustice years before they put track on record?
Does it not hurt everytime you try to make sense of everything?
Try to have a happy and fitting ending to these thoughts that you call poems?
When you’re simply just:

“Tired of running
Tired of hunting
Answers to life
But retiring nothing
Your driver just veered of a cliff
Hands on the wheel, who said we wasn’t?
Dying of thirst
Dying of angst
Dying of lust”

The Divine Bandit ’17 ft. Excerpts from Kendrick Lamar

Dad, Life, Love

#MisimuZangu Hii Ngoma ni ya babangu


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 

HIMYM, Life, Love

How I met your Chuck


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??