Burn, Burn Holy Fire Burn


Burn all the flaws in my character

Burn all the doubt I have for the future

Burn all the questions I have for my Past

Burn all the hurt I hold in my heart

Burn all the unpleasant memories I hold

Burn all the lies I was told

Burn all the bridges to the devils haven

Burn all the barriers to my father’s palace

Burn, burn, burn Holy fire Burn




At 17, my daughter brought her boyfriend to the office – a lanky lad with scruffy hair, a tattoo peeping out of his tee’s sleeve and an air of delinquent adventure. He looked like a series of heartbreaks waiting to be activated.

His tea arrived before the water Naomi had gone to fetch me, but he was distracted by the bulldozers my drivers were parking outside the window.

“Do you like them?”

“I love them… Sir.” He replied.

I strode closer and sighed heavily.

“Imagine what one of those could do to the home of a young man who hurt your daughter.”

He stared on silently till his girlfriend came back 15 minutes later. Then they left – his tea still steaming untouched.

‘Pictory’ – A picture and a story speaking of and from each other.

Photography – Kimani Wandaka

Story – Ngartia

View original post

Mother’s Love

No woman loves like a mother

The only woman to whom you can never be a bother

The only woman you can only have one, even Casanovas can’t have two

She knows the cord is cut to free and not to detach

And so she stays, she saves, she prays that you may never lack

You may forget her when greens knock your door but she’ll not hesitate to carry you through the desert

Her love is like a flowing river, it never changes course

Her love is like wind you may stray but it will find you

You can’t lie to her, her look into your eyes pierces through your soul

She knows when to speak and when to just sigh

She knows when you’re honest and when you lie

She knows when your full and when you’re famished

By default she needs your respect

Let’s raise a toast to our mothers

Share and Care

I share each harvest of my fields
With folks in greater need
And share the labor in my hands
To pluck a neighbor’s weeds
And everyday in different ways
I try to do my best
To help my neighbors and my friends                                                                                                                             Through heartache of distress

But it is not without some pain
I do the things I do
For there are times I give too much
And times I suffer too
Yet at the end of everyday
I feel a joy of heart
That I have shared God’s gift to me
With those of lesser

This poem Isn’t mine, It was written by Michael Dubina

I found it powerful and worth sharing. I hope you loved it.

U-Tube Manometer Drama

U-tube manometer drama

Madam entered, I was asleep but the tik, tik, tik, that was the evidence of engagement between her high heels and the floor got me bolt upright. I was drooling, but I still don’t understand why everybody was looking at me, had I made any weird sound? Or was it a hiss or an aroma, a spice or whatever it was that changed the chemical air composition that made the whole class to turn their heads towards my direction? I am yet to know.

Everything still as hazy, I was told to clean the chalk board and I did, That was whom I was; a very obedient student but never be fooled my only defense was what I baptized ‘the reverse mechanism’, I was physically weak and so staging a physical fight would have placed me in the front line of a death row. I never blamed God for that because he knew how to make up for the absence of biceps, shindumbu, masgwembe and six packs that he never bequeathed me on the day of creation. Apparently, I was late he was already heading for the dining when he saw me coming for my share of the muddy touch, so he created with a tim piyo wadhi attitude. My defense was my tongue and the words were the weapons.

The lesson began, as she turned to begin writing, I caught a glimpse of what apparently was to be displayed before my naked eyes yet I was supposed to refuse to see! I was only 15 but I knew a good ass when I saw one, the problem wasn’t really in seeing but what followed; not only did my eyes get glued but they tried to see what laid way beyond the rears and that left my mind in sort of lustful frenzy, fantasies crept in and I began day dreaming. If this has ever happened to you, you will know that daydreaming about a woman who is supposed to be your physics teacher is not only detrimental to your cognitive functions but also for your genital health. Such fantasies have a tendency of creating a bulge, inflammation, a lump or whatever makes pants adopt shapes that can only be known be known by Pythagoras at the fly. Now my heart was beating faster, I was now melting in my own lava but my main concern was to do all that could be done to conceal the swell that was getting bigger with every second (puberty, I hate you), I pulled the locker closer in a bid to do just that but that only made matters worse, the sound was horrible, she turned to look at the back, my ecstasy slithered but the package was still sickly hard, I thought she was going to tell me to stand up.. I was lucky.

She held the u-tube manometer and filled it with water then she opened her mouth, shaped the lipstick stained lips and blew the device from one orifice, water came spluttering out in suppressed turbulence onto her shoes, the class burst out in laughter, I did laugh too, but my voice was the last to be heard, the walls echoed the mockery with which that laughter was maliciously served, All eyes on me.

“Stand up”, she ordered.

I obeyed,

“Don’t look at me like your village girlfriend”, she fumed

And just as the rule of ‘reverse mechanism’ dictates, I chewed her cud and spat it on her face

“I wish you could match my village girlfriend” I chortled.

And that was the last time I learnt physic. I am still convinced I was innocently evicted from the class. Was I to blame? I blame it on the u-tube manometer mellow drama that placed full-stop on my physics assignment before the sentence was due.

A friend of speed (REMIX)

A friend indeed is a friend of speed

Someone who gives a shoulder when you’re weak

He avails whatever in his reach whenever you seek

Someone who chose to be with you despite your inequities

And when you are at the verge of giving up he reminds you of your abilities

A Friend who will not sit back and watch you take poison

But will help you potentiate the concoction

And take it with you when suicide becomes the only option

Someone who will turn her long skirt into micro mini and give you the extra piece to patch your torn pants

Someone who interrupts your sleep just to say goodnight

Someone who will talk to you all night when you’re sick of insomnia

Someone who will reduce himself to a hankie when tears flow

Someone you can tell “let’s go to hell” and all he asks is “when?”


It’s quite a shame you never met any of the above criteria

I never knew you, but I opted to help

When you had nothing, mired in shame

Put a roof over you and before you a plate

You trashed my art and called it pursuit of cheap fame


And I gave you time hoping our friendship would blossom

But instead you became a deeply rooted weed harbored in the depths of my heart choking every illustrious sprouts of goodness I had been sprinkling for years

And now a mention of your name just makes me wanna throw up

For the rust you left on the walls of my heart has culminated into something different, I spend every day of my life scrubbing these walls and what’s more every particle of rust pitted crawls along with tiny peelings of trust and generosity I’ve got left…so how can I ever trust again


As the sun rises from the east

so will your troubles never cease

I thought I was your cure but you saw me as the disease

Never expected thanks but those words shouldn’t have escaped your lips

I read about it but you made me feel the pain of Judas’ Kiss


Just like fingers differ in length

So do we differ in strength

Even an elastic band can only stretch to a limit

No matter what I did in your world I couldn’t fit in


You came in as a victim of worldly torture

Enslaved in sort of mental stupor

I gave you a home

And shoes to cover your feet

Then you served me a taste of Judas’ kiss

Copyright ©George Agak 2014