Charred.

Of what good is life when pain is all it brings?
Do you move out when agony knows your address?
When the heart beats in defiance,
And your feet steps with uncertainty,
Will the embers spark a fire?
That life might find a new vigor?
or
Will you bask in the pain of your realities
and hit nails on your casket as worry chars your faith?

War zone

I’m still stuck between yesterday’s tragedies and tomorrow’s promises
Embers of life dying with every passing day
Love life. Live life. Easy isn’t it?
Living in a war zone.
After the battles,
Some clean
Some don’t
So heaving chests breathe brutal bruises
A grenade exploded here
Bullet husks carpet my belly
Been sweeping too long
But years wage more wars against my sanity
God, make me numb, I’m paying the price.

Three Letters

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!

 

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As a poet, your work is to write about love–not to find it.
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Bereft

I would have loved to lie
That I miss your company
But insomnia took your place
and we’re doing just fine.

Of Poets and Whores

She’s a girl who’ll be known for her balls
Whoever she encounters she hardens or breaks
She shines with the moon
Arresting the glory of goddesses
My chest heaves at her expectations
Sure, to get laid is a given
But to satisfy a woman is an art
She isn’t your everyday whore
She’s a liberated woman
feigning arrest by hormones
Everything takes shape in her wake
She gobbles my man like a hungry tigress
Yeah she is hungry
She hunts and thrills at her kill
Tonight I’m her prey
She takes her time
A sinister smile spreads on her lips
“This way”
I obey
She rides at top speed then slows down
Then accelerates
Then I die
She’s gone like smoke that leaves no trail
Somebody find her
I swear I would trade my mansion in heaven for the thrill of her ride

Slaves of Self

I’m still finding myself
Discovering what exists
missing what’s gone
To know is to be bare
To scrutiny
fingers gliding over my body
My skin shivers
An enemy traversing
Isn’t it heartbreaking
Losing trust in self
Gather what you scattered
It’s self-destruction
And indulgent spirit
And the cycle continues
Indulge, regret
regret, self-loathe
When desires enslave you
A puppet
remote-controlled by rage
What you stand for tumbles
When ego upsurges

You’re Me

A day will come
when you’ll lose yourself
Trying to find me.
Just slit my veins, you’ll come spilling out

Present

When you’re present
Your presence is so absent
When you’re absent
Your absence is evidently present
My dear, where are you, body and soul?