I trust people, but I trust my pen more
For nobody sticks when palatable turns sour
It’s only my pen that drips in sorrow
A friend I can count on for tomorrow
These smiling faces
Are just painted vases
Homing dead roses
Bro, BFF but they depart
When your world is torn apart
I’ve got your back so they say
But they laugh when life strips it bare
Their talks barricades your every way
As they hide beneath ‘because we care’
You walk barefoot in bonfires they’ve lit
They backbite of your wounded smelly feet
With empty goodbyes they leave
To tell of how stuck you’re in deep shit
They’ll have you for their convenience
Your naivety, their greed; a perfect blend
Selfies, for what? Reminiscence?
When all they did is watch as you bled!
It takes two to tangle. I read this phrase somewhere but it only surfaced as I sat on the opposite side of the table licking my bottle of sprite that I wasn’t enjoying anymore. Everything was in place and the party was about to be enlisted as one of the few house parties I have ever enjoyed. This was a graduation party, need I say I didn’t even know the graduate? I was here exploiting the few privileges of being a friend of Alal. I had left my place to visit him. He had just jetted in Nairobi from Kitui. After sharing pleasantries and a plate of beef stew he unleashed our next move which was to attend this party, what was I to do? Push aside my only ticket to enjoying free sumptuous meals and drinks…and music? I stood up my phone in my right palm and left for the door, he followed closely behind; talk of the shepherd being taken to the fields by the very sheep he intends to feed.
The house was already full by the time we got in but no worry there was lots to be eaten and to be drank and the way they pamper you with karibu karibu, chasing these kids to leave the seats empty for guests (I was a guest?) not really. I was more of a stranger. Impatiently waiting for them to pass me some warm water, clean my sweaty palms and stick my robust fingers into the mouth-watering delicacies that filled the dining table. I didn’t have to be told to come to the realization that the cook must have been hired from Utalii College. The dishes spoke on her behalf. The way they fry red meat until it turns brown and what spices do they add to it to make it that tender? Yawa jamaneni this cook was the only genuine graduate here! I bet the day my wife learns to cook half as delicious meals as she does, I will buy very heavy curtains and have them tied to my windows so that not a speck of aroma would escape to my neighbors failure to which my house will become an eatery generating no profits. Mother Teresa is my heroine but I betray her on this.
Guys what is damn lethal in washing your socks and keeping them clean? How could this guy come to a party knowing all too well that 80% of houses in Nairobi are carpeted and you’ve got to remove your shoes to get in? This is Nairobi, the capital city of this country why the hell are torn socks suffocating your feet? This guy just stepped in and the air composition changed completely for the worst, you would think some reptile was rotting under the table. I felt an urgent need to leave the party and save my breath…mfffffff…Guys a pair of socks goes for as little as Sh.20 in Gikomba buy 8 pairs and save our parties. Shame! Wait, who still ails from athletes feet? Here is a free medical advice; wash your feet with HOT water (no pain no gain) and then apply GENEROUSLY a cream of CLOZOLE B…problem solved.