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?