Tag Archives: life

Only Humans

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For the wounds we couldn’t heal
For the promises we didn’t keep
For the strangers we didn’t greet
For the pussies we didn’t hit
We are only humans;
bleeding,
cheated,
used,
broken.
We are just as human as the rest of you

Three Letters

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I remember her. Every day, I see her. The soft-spoken beauty who grabbed my hands when other beauties were still waiting for the opportune time. She reached out, in three words, a paper ironed and slipped in a perfumed envelope.
“Anto Iberna. Aduari”
(You’re beautiful to me. I want you)
I read the letter, the meaning too gross for my mind to process, so I studied her handwriting. Lord, it was a result of routine scribbling. It wasn’t calligraphy per se, but it was nothing ordinary.

Every word smiled at me.
Every word seduced me.

I think I saw her writing them with a ruler pressed on a page as a pen left bits of her soul on the page. She was the letter.
It was an art.
What was I to do? What did it mean when a class 6 pupil wrote a class 4 a letter?
“Anto Iberna. Aduari” this had to be a joke, because I knew ‘beautiful’ boys were not skinny and didn’t have big front teeth; they had round heads, and more meat, and were taller, and were fighters. But I was just a skinny boy. I wasn’t ‘ beautiful’. I was different, I was weak, but I could run, so I ran from her. Ran away from her.
She was the letter, remember? I ran away with her in my pocket, and when I couldn’t run anymore, I crushed her in my palms and chewed her. I killed her.
Fast forward, 15 or so years later. Nairobi homes ghosts. She is the most beautiful of them all. I, the murderer sips coffee that her ghost has paid for.
“I love your locs.” They are four words now, she talks more now. Her thighs fill her skirt. She is juicy. She is the words. I chewed them.

Epitaph

I’m here, I’m not.
She was here, She’s gone.
Rocks ground to pebbles,
Then dust,
Then nothing,
—Nothing—

I counted the spaces they left
Huge, huge, huge, gaps loom
So I spread their absences on the floor of my heart
Now this heart won’t dance right
But still, more gaps loom
—Irreplaceable—

Humans are humans
They come in different shades
Same fabric
That which make us animals
And butterflies
They hurt
They heal
The Yin, the Yang
The Push, the Pull
That keep our empires bleeding
In love and in war

Some still fresh, some worn by time
Headstones bearing sorry epitaphs
Of loved ones lost in the earth beneath
‘Lowo rach, lowo kwalo joherewa’
So we light candles, place new wreaths
Bitter-sweet memories we re-live;
A touch of mysticism they plastered on the cheeks of our existence
A generous love they spilt on pages of our destiny
And laughter,
And friendships,
And warmth of bellies on freezing nights.
Memories of breasts we suckled
and Twins we starved—
To death!

Still the hand of time swings
Back, forth
Wringing our souls off guilt
for transgressions against our own—
Sins we committed in absentia.
Still,
We cling,
to body parts we kept!

 

Broken Earthlings

If you took time to look, you’d see that artists are a very broken lot. We take a lot of shit from people who know nothing about being labelled misfits the minute they realize you’re differently endowed.

It is us (the misfits) they call when they can’t figure their lives out, and we sure know how to help them put their lives back on track.

Shoot! Isn’t there a poem for every problem? Doesn’t a song bandage sores in relationships?

We know how to put everything back on track, but our own lives.

We are safety valves for others. Always preaching optimism, love, and sacrifice, but we hold so much shit within. We hate the person in the mirror. we wrestle daily with our demons. We choke on our inequities everyday, but no! you are strong!

Yeah, you are strong, you will write a poem about it. Darkness is the mother of all creativity. You will overcome as you always do!

I’m learning courage to remind ’em that I am a human being. with broken dreams, failures, a dark past, and a hazy future. I also need help, sometimes just to find a missing pair of socks.
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