Merry Me

Delight is real,
Alive I feel,
Like a storm awesomely vicious, full of gusto, majestic zest.
Like the sand beneath the lake: hot; like the water above: cool.
I'm falling faster than a shooting star,
I'm hotter than boiling tar.
I'm alive baby,
Because of you I feel alive!

You have planted laughter in my soul,
A light bright that darkness cannot follow.
You have kissed me alive,
And suddenly I know what I have been missing,
I understand what I should be wanting,
What I should be seeking, needing and praying.

Delight is real,
A good man is the deal!
Just look at me; dazed like Gollum with the precious ring.
Grinning from ear to ear like a clown.
Delight is real,
Delight I feel.
I am perfectly smitten!

THE MAN-HIGH

Ever been on a man high?
A high so strong that leaves you reeling?
A high so wrong that keeps you wanting?
A high so right that you can't stop aching?
A high of needing, seething, searching, wondering, mourning....
A high of confusion, a high of hating one self,
A high from hell, a high deeper than the deepest well,
A high that is a curse,
A high experienced by a smitten lass.

I am that lass,
So star struck that-
That on this love I take a pass,
That on this string I choose not the bass,
That on men I quit the fuss,
That on looks I will hide the sass,
That on words I will be forever terse,
That on flower gifts I will keep no vase!
I am quitting on the man high,
The high that got me muddling in a sigh.

Ever been on a man high?
An awesome high when he is close by,
A hair-ripping high when he kisses his bye.
A high voluptuous and satiating when he calls,
A high deflating and cold when he ignores,
A high of dreams and goals when in his arms,
A high of loss and being stuck when he is being an ass.
It's the high that mends you only to tear you apart,
It's the high that consoles only to break you apart,
It's the high that defines you, then confuses you,
It's the high that warms you, then freezes you,
It's the high I hate, the high that's a mate,
It's the high that he gives and forgets to keep giving!

This high has:
Driven me mad,
Made me sad,
Turned me sour as curd,
Very much anti-lad.
This high got me wanting,
To roll up in mud,
To get on the bottle and sing kumbaya,
Yap,
I'm crazy!
Hazy and dazed,
Bitching every minute like an unpaid whore.

This high got me motivated to be bad,
Hike up my skirt,
Make my booty twerk,
Twerk, clap like thunder on a roll,
Twerk, clap till them honnies throw me a roll,
Get diced and sliced,
Hopefully till you call.

Once

I loved once.
Once when I was a fair young maiden,
Once when I was a restless young woman,
Once when I was a seasoned calmly woman.
Yes, I did love,
Men skilled with lance,
Men gentle and scarce,
Men careless and jerks.
Now,
Now all I do is pray.

Once,
Years passed, days lived, books read,
I could sleep like a babe,
Dream of years passed, days lived, books read.
Now,
Now shut eye comes short and light,
With thoughts of mates passed, days lived, chapters unwritten....sometimes.
Most times,
I pray through the night.

An appetite I once had,
Of succulent fruits, greasy foods, baked goods....
I often craved,
Flesh,
Hot and red.
I many a times drank,
From crystal glasses, beer glasses..
Now,
My hunger is embedded in prayer.

I was,
but now I ain't.
I needed,
Yet now I needn't.
There was,
There still is.
I could,
Now I can't.
Now,
All I do is pray.

CLOSET CLEANING

It was so like the typical horror movie scene: a hand reaching for a door that hides something sinister, something unknown.
The knowledge that whatever it is, it will get you.
No matter how swift you run,
how loud you scream for help,
you are a dead man.

The mental picture of such many scenes previously watched,
Gave me an exciting shudder,
Consequently brought me to wonder,
About the 'things' locked tightly yonder,
A place I had learned to forget,
A place I'm certain the term 'skeletons in the closet' described so perfectly,
"It was time," I thought, shuddering from pure fright!

I opened each door at a time,
With trembling hands, like a novice on a first crime.
Every opened door brought a cloud of dust to my face,
Behind it a sea of cobwebs and a swallowed case.
Within I had buried something,
And now I had to exhume it.
I hated it, but I had to keep the ring!

Clawing through the dirt,
I saw the grim past,
I trembled from a thousand feelings,
I ached from a dozen misgivings.
I was no longer a mature woman about to be wed,
Instead, I was a girl with lots of scars itching to be mend.

I had crawled under the bed,
Scared to death that this time he was surely going to kill her,
And true to his words, he finally did,
Taking himself with her.
Then there had been the cruel relatives,
The misguided believes:
I was a loony too, like father like daughter.
The scorning laughter,
The endless wishes of justice.....
I had had it rough, yet here I sat,
A woman whole, a woman survivor

At that instant it came to me,
As a woman goes to her wedding bed,
Yes I was scarred, but I had made it!
I was me because of my past,
I had faced the worst,
And now that I had faced it,
I needn't be afraid.
What had previously reeked of death,
Now brought unfathomable mirth,
It was like: a beautiful corpse, cold, calm...
It was so like a horror movie: the excitement and fright of something sinister, something perverse.

When it rains it pours

In a grey world,
Whose bustle and hustle,
Once loud, Now muffled,
By the mid year chill, the mid year bill,
Both heavy, hefty and heartless,
Boasts scars of a seasonal evolution.

How sensational to watch the reaction:
More boots, more hoots,
A soil choked on drainage,
So much hassle to cover that mileage,
A booming business of warm-wear, hot beverages and umbrellas,
A flu epidemic,
Misty breath,
An infrastructure stunned by increased surface run off,
Puddles, muddling muddy streets,
A game of hop, skip and jump.
Sensational almost doesn't cover it!

Clearly, nothing makes Third World problems pop like the pouring rain -
Nay, nothing emphasizes poor decision-making structures as does the pouring rain,
Both gain and rain, go down the drain!

Think of the council man who gained at the expense of construction on a riparian area,
Plans to improve an efficient drainage system that were ignored,
Individuals who littered; litter that ended up in a river, in a drainage,
Developers who grabbed wayleaves......
Why,
Is this not simply beyond sensational?

A graduate's woes

I must have fancied these moments a million times before,
Yet the reality is a million miles away from the former.
I couldn't have been prepared for what I now face,
I couldn't have imagined that dreams could unfold at such a painfully slow pace.
Still,
The fact that this is just a foreword,
Leaves me quite speechless.

How reckless of me,
To think that one moment's hard work,
Could justify another moment in the future?
I have been clueless!
I was born to toil,
A labourer,
And such I will meet my death.

Youth's glasses saw life as eternal,
Now,
I see life through a grown up's eyes.
How could there be so much to do yet so little time?
So many plans to be made?
Quite an amount of regrets and no redo button.
Surely,
Two hundred years seem hardly enough!

I believe my educators humoured me,
For why else do I feel lost in a world I thought myself prepared for?
Why else do I feel that my armor of certificates and degree is hardly a shield enough for this fast world?
Did I spend twenty one years doing it all wrong?

Clearly,
My first chapter has nothing but questions, blank spaces and so much sadness...
I am simply stuck.
How this story unravels is beyond my vision!

For you....

I perceive you oblivious,
To my unfastidious declarations of approval,
Perhaps my words have been a tad frugal,
My actions with no chance at all,
To charm you into a perfect scenario.

I seek metaphors in your favour: you are a sight to my sore eyes,
You are a balm to my aching sores;
A simile may hap will appear less exaggerated: you are like a rainbow on a stormy day,
Just enough shades to turn me gay;
Nay,
Plenty of shades each with a lifelong meaning.
I fancy red as the "like" matured to "love"
Orange the warmth that sparks,
Yellow the sun you sow in me,
Green your ability to always be bountiful,
Blue the height of agreeable feelings,
Indigo the mystery in your eyes,
And violet the gentility your masculinity overshadows.

Still,
My words seem to have fallen short,
For they sure are brief!

What of music?
Your voice is a song,
So moving that I lose myself,
So enchanting like a witch's spell;
Your words,
Rising and falling as a tuned fret board,
Elaborate and distinct,
As a sharp C against E flat....
(Sigh!)
You are more musical than music itself,
Oh song of my life!

Such sculptured features,
I dare not overlook!
My eyes have painted a greater painting of your physique
than the Mona Lisa,
My hands have molded your image a million times!
My fingers could do you no justice,
Neither could any man,
Living or dead.
Such perfection is beyond me,
For no megapixel can capture your features,
As do my eyes!

Try as I may,
I have hardly hit the nail on the head,
You are certainly what no words can express!

HUMBLED

I,
Who is fair in manners and looks,
Gifted with sense, senses and quick reprieve;
I,
Who is soft and strong,
And forever recalls,
Trifling and high impact aspects alike;
I am extremely humbled,
In every aspect,
Subtle and explicit.

I see clearer than I ever did,
I feel gratified towards every evil deed,
Done upon me,
Thought in my regard.
To think that something cold could warm my heart so,
Must be in every way unimaginable!
I am humbled for this very reason.

Nothing gives me greater pleasure,
Fair madam,
Than to make your acquittance.
You are a reflection of the strength I always envied,
Of the gift I felt almost denied.
You have made me find purpose in a polluted world.
I am but considerably humbled.

I look forward to every evil,
Previously feared!
I wish that every word against me be said two fold.
Cast thy stone upon me
Oh dear foe,
So that my blessings may come by the triple!

ACCOUNTS FROM THE WEEKEND THAT PASSED

You,

The guy with a personality of sorts,

Riding your posh Range Rover Sports,

Feeling high,

Like Saul.

Me,

David,

And I am not playing a harp,

Instead,

I am playing your words in my mind.

It is clear,

To me and the motorist at your rear,

That you are a King,

With blinding gold bling,

And a leather throne to match.

I feel numb,

I have turned dumb.

I feel like a lamb,

Comfortably seated in the lion’s den

Too caught up in the powerful allure to run.

I sit on the fence,

While he goes on and on about his feelings for me, what he does, who he knows……

“Men!”

I sigh inwardly while holding back.

Truly, the man sounds shallow,

But for his deep pockets.

Still, the latter makes up for his deficiencies,

The reason that I tolerate his babblings.

With the help of stiff whiskey,

I gather some peace letting myself go.

Now that we are both high,

I find his jokes quite appealing,

I find him less intimidating,

He begins to sound kinda real,

Again, I let myself go some more

Time crawls by,

Each moment more fun than the previous.

Time mocks me,

Time is sly,

“Have as much fun as you can for this will not last,” I hear it say.

I know this too, so I go ahead and call him boo.

He is as generous as he is mysterious,

He praises me yet I wonder if he will call back.

I put my gifts in a rather large sack,

My heart and my expectations as well.

I kiss him goodbye,

He whispers his lies,

I smile back knowingly.

I hear him speed away.

There goes my luck!

Loony on the loose

It was not so much the stink that made them run away,
But rather the grave calm written on his face, as plain as day.
This face, though calm bore no grace,
It was neither right nor bright,
It triggered fear in many a mans' hearts,
A fear fierce and firm.
"No man could be this calm," they whispered, "and not be about to cause great harm."

The dread in their eyes triggered the madness in his,
Those once walking scurried for their lives,
And like a magician revealing a bouquet of flowers from his sleeve,
The mad man revealed a machete that shone from the sun's light.
The air previously fresh and full of mirth,
Now stank with fear and a grisly blood bath.

Now,
This mad man, dressed in rags, drenched in blood,
Let out a hollow cry so chilling that the dead people stirred in their deep sleep.
The madness in his eyes was lost,
The strength in his arm,  numb. 
He sat down on the red street to weep,
Barely aware of the crowd staring from the street side confused.

Police sirens shook him from his self pity,
While he stood, the crowd backed away,
And he saw them, for the first time, not as people who had what he lacked,
But as human beings with their varying problems that troubled.
"What have I done?" He asked himself.
He dropped his weapon,
Suddenly panicking, whispering maddeningly.
Stumbling drunkeningly towards moving traffic,
He cried his apologies.

As swiftly as he had put the innocent to sleep,
This man met his fate the same way,
Carrying with him guilt heavier than his penury.

Late night beep

Silence gripped her like a vice,
But for the soft breathing of one greatly beloved and the debate playing out on her disturbed mind.
"Sleep woman" one voice said. "Your man is still your man. "
"No! You surely saw a rather suspicious text. You need to find out what it is, " the devil countered.
She almost said shut up before catching herself.
How crazy she must look, she thought.

A sudden chill brought goosepimples to her skin,
Yet, she was more scared than cold.
Her denial kept her from being bold.
Oh how she wished she were blind,
Wished she had just seen it all wrong.

Time ticked away soothingly beside her bed,
Making her restless.
"This is utter foolishness, " the sensible voice whispered.
She looked at him,
Lying there harmless
as would an infant,
And guilt flooded her bridging the previous distant.
In this dark dreaming night,
It seemed that he could do no wrong.

Still,
The suspicion lingered,
The voices whispered.
What good would it do she wondered,
To go snooping about the phone of her beloved?

What once seemed like a sober mission,
Now looked silly and her years surpassed it,
Certain on the deserving decision,
She closed her eyes letting go of her suspicion.

Memories etched deep
were spinning into dreams,
When a beeping sound startled her awake.
Led by pure guts,
She walked around and grabbed the phone,
Trembling that her heart almost broke at the seams.
In her hands was something distinct,
As curvaceous as it had been suspicious.
"The devil be damned!" She cursed aloud.
The truth could not have been more naked.

ANGRY GUY ON A BUS

Now,
I was on a bus the other day,  Listening to an angry passenger say, Rather condemn,
The amazing levels of graft,
In the judiciary, national assembly, the executive, the counties....
Really,
The guy was angry
Infuriated,
Pissed off!
Honestly,
I couldn't help but chuckle. 

Have you ever been in a situation,
So crappy and lousy,
That you laughed, laughed, laughed.....

See,
I could have joined the man in his angry discussion,
As had a few other passengers,
But I had been there,
I had cared,
Then disappointed,
Eventually,
I got injured.
Why go crazy over something I had such little control over?
I wondered.

I'm sure most of us,
Concerned citizens of a drowning nation,
Have very often been through this cycle:
Cursing and anger,
A don't care attitude,
Then you went back to caring,
Decided you would be involved in more keen voting,
Then 'mheshimiwa' still disappoints, Anger results....
Seriously,
We might all end up in a psychotic breakdown!

We are all in a dilemma,
Finding ways to fight this graft that has become an enigma.
We have a cultural trend people,
So deep are it's roots,
That we might have to go back to the 60's to solve it!
It is the enemy,
The two-faced devil,
That can get to you rags,
Or fly you to the top of the social class.
I know we all want to board that flight,
But can we do it through sticking to what is right?

Anger is good,
It fuels change.
We need people so much like the guy on the bus,
Confident in voicing their frustration,
Not afraid to be on the opposition. 

Dear citizens,
Can we have a trending  #saynotocorruption?
Can we all play a part,
In fighting graft?

HERE WE GO AGAIN

Alas!
What have we here?
A whisper too faint to hear?
Wait!
I think now it's much clear;
You love me, did you say?
Good heavens!
(Laughing) Oh what a day!
Such a glorious day that the Lord has made.

What was that darling?
A declaration of love was it?
Oh how endearing!
Surreal,
Yet, endearing.
Give me a sec,
To process this bizarre turn of events.

Let's see,
You have been a busy bee,
For the past few months,
That there was hardly a We.
I tried calling,
Texting, poking,
But you were busy busy,
Busy bee,
Making money, seeing another honey,
I simply could not tell.
I could only let you be.

Now,
Here you are saying you love me,
How?
When you have snubbed me for three months long?

Tell me,
My once sweet lover,
Do I hit back with rash words,
a ruthless fist or should I merely acquaint you with my new mate?

THE HOPELESS HOPEFUL

Fantasy and reality have failed to meet,
Up at the crossroads where  the lamp of destiny is lit.
Boundless dreams have shrivelled in size,
Despite the opportunities I endlessly seize.
What then am I to do,
When I have become too weak to reach the peak?

I believe,
In a mind so littered with doubt,
That the lamp ahead is my trophy to bear.
And though now I transit a world bare,
I will wait,
Turn away my stare,
From the lamp I pretend to not care!

SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING

I'm searching for something,
Deep down,
I'm searching for something,
The thing that wipes away my frown,
The thing that will keep you from being down.
Yes,
I'm searching for something,
Some inspiration,
A bit of motivation,
A basis for dedication.
Yeah,
I'm searching for something, Something awesomely real,
Something with zeal,
Something that can pay for a meal.
Yeah, yeah,
Give me something,
With a beat and some rhythm,
Something I can synchronise with a cello.
Give me something with punches,
Words strong that can send a message.
Hello,
Do you hear me?
I'm searching for something.
Plenty of creativity,
With disregard to relativity.
I'm searching for something, Something with zero negativity,
Something with unlimited durability,
Something ageless,
Flawless and classy.
I'm searching for something, Something that will keep me alive,
Before I cease to exist,
From lack of relevant vibe.

THE ILLUSIONIST

I didn't realise it was a trick then,
Lying gratified on his messy bed.
I watched him stride graciously from the misty bathroom,
Wet and bold,
Like an ancient sea god.
I was overwhelmed by his beauty,
A creation so humble,
Yet very attractively smug.
Behold, he was royalty,
My King,
I swore to be submissive to the end.

He was very much real,
Yet,
Now as I type these words away,
I doubt my sanity.
I recall his musk, his warmth, his voice,
I hold on to the plans we made.
However, a piece of his face escapes my mind each day,
Like dead gods,
Mythical and forgotten.

One moment I was on his bed,
The next,
All things living went boom,
Swallowed in a foggy smoke.
My King was gone,
As so were memories I thought once existed.

He tricked me good,
The master of all things real,
He had defied the rules of nature.
My King was Judas.
My King was Yakutsk.
My King was an illusionist,
And I was clearly a piece of his trick!

THE REVELATION

A personality split in a three dimensional view,
Was crystal clear for all to see,
It's paradoxical nature intoxicating,
It's revelation surprising,
Who is she?
They wanted to know,
She who had so many shades to show.

The personality flaunted without fear,
It was finally free and wanted all to hear,
The tale of a long struggle,
Dulled by a life of trouble.

It was a complex personality,
So much like a rainbow on a rainy day,
Coloured in mystery,
Built with  immense intrigue.

This personality smelt greatness in the air,
The world was at it's feet for the taking,
With talents in hand for unlimited molding.

Who was she they had wanted to know,
Well, she was the next great thing that would happen to mankind,
With a personality bright and kind.