Friday, October 13, 2017

By Default

There you are
in the back of my mind.
Though officially a write-off,
Disqualified, untouchable,
Unprofitable;
Yet you remain the constant:
the persistent standard,
Against which my consolation prizes
must be compared;
Against whom they unknowingly
compete.

Dishonorable Discharge

What do i tell you, how do I begin? My heart is heavy.

Much will be left unsaid, for this is neither the time nor the place.

Nor shall future occasion arise for sweet nothings, for this is the end.

Love was sweet madness. It swept me headlong into waves of excitement. The ragged cliff of sanity against which I have crashed has inflicted a wound that is impossible to withstand.

To what purpose did I draw solace from your arms, inspiration from your gaze, pleasure from your voice?

"Love" had nothing to do with it: for all its thrilling delusions the end of love is a kick in the jaws, a belly full of one's own teeth.

Was I not better off as I was, alone, a thing disregarded by all, quiet and unassuming, minding my business, secure in obscurity, before you appeared?

Sunday, October 1, 2017

Shall not the oppressor cease?

The provocations we see in Kenya today (they can not be otherwise characterized) bode ill for Kenyans. The powers that be have discarded any pretense of goodwill.  They dare their opponent to war, they have "horses, chariots, armed men" beyond number, and plenty of wrath with which to enforce their will.

As evidenced by the repressive brutality against university of Nairobi students on 28th September 2017, their manifest modus operandi is to stamp out all dissent whether legal or illegal, irrespective of whether the stamping itself is legal or illegal, proportional or not.

They will also sweep these black events under the carpet in their haste to proceed with business as usual. They expect, without explicitly stating it, that the message has been sent, and will stick in the memory, though the official record will not mention it, neither will any public official go on record to deny or affirm it. But their will be reiterations of the message as frequently and as emphatically as they will deem fit. Care will be taken only to ensure that it is not spelt out in crude words, but in blood and theft and molestation.

And thus in effect goes the message soon to be widely felt rather than heard:

Let all communities from now henceforth submit to a garrison in their midst.

The garrisons will clobber whom they will, seize property on whim and rape whomsoever their lusts can seize.

The garrisons will not cease until all faces are uniformly subdued in quiet desperation, and even then, they will not cease.

Many "heroes" will die.

Their grip on power will not slacken.

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Cringeworthy

Social media has left a digital trail behind each of its adherents, of their interactional footprints. Everything you ever liked, uploaded, posted or shared, whether or not it was thereafter unliked or deleted, left an electronic mark that ties you to it. It need not call for a forensic expert; any stalker will suffice. "The Internet never forgets!"

Therefore as I review my postings on the plethora of social media platforms I am subscribed to, I am compelled to cringe inwardly and outwardly. For if I were to be judged by mere mortals on some of the more frivolous content I have authored here and elsewhere, I myself would have to preemptively plead a loud shout of "GUILTY OF ALL CHARGES! PROCEED TO JUDGEMENT!" in order to abbreviate the agony of having all that foolishness scrutinized again.

But a more comprehensive record than our social media footprints is written in heaven's book of records. Every thought, every word, every deed, with their consequences good and bad, is written, with terrible exactness, by unseen angels. It is a depiction of our character more vivid than any high definition selfie.  How much more cringeworthy is that record!

LORD have mercy.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

My Pride and Joy

Gentle and earnest, queen uncrowned,
You adorn my presence.
Calm and quiet, words well measured,
your pleasant voice thrills my soul.
Wise and prudent, yet a humble student,
I would love to enter your mind:
to know the software of your heart,
that so seamlessly syncs with mine;
To examine your delicate voice box
which tenderly caresses my soul.
your Brown Eyes calm my fears,
you excite my passions,
You lift my spirits,
My pride and joy.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Traitors and their Fake Accents

Kenyan media have decided that all the black events surrounding Kenya's 2017 election mean nothing, whether viewed in isolation or as one big picture. For the most part they have reduced the few incidents they deem worthy of broadcast to absurd isolation. "Just some rotten luck for these guys." Fearful of repercussions, they are reduced to spineless fencesitters content to peddle the illusion of normalcy, to engage our thoughts with frivolous programming, shrouding our minds in noisy darkness and distraction, tiring our hearts while we look to them for illumination.

And they still find time to squeeze in soap operas, comedies and cartoons between newscasts. Live, love, laugh. As usual.

The verdict on the street is well known by all. But you won't hear it on the TV. That screen is hallowed ground;  it is the venerated temple of cowardly sellouts and eloquent traitors, the plain truth dare not tread where masters of spin can easily lay hold of it.

Friday, May 26, 2017

Brown Eyes

My predecessors came along and departed.

And then they left you in their wake for others.

To seek new conquests.

To let others conquer.

I thought me special, benevolent, different than the rest.

I thought to be The One for you.

My wise reign would never end.

Did I not give you my word?

Yet you held your tongue.

But belated enlightenment yielded unsolicited meaning.

Without which I almost became very special indeed:

The One that didn't get away from you.

What made me think I would endure the test of time?

Why should I have broken tradition?

Who did I think I was?

Lest I mistake myself for the fool you take me for

for I go mad grappling with the distinction.

Answer me this only, just this one thing.

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

The entitlement is STRONG

Your murky past lay quiet in the dark fog as I ravished you forgetting myself.

Suddenly out of erstwhile placid if dim mists burst forth furious fire breathing monsters, laying waste to my pride, scattering my focused ardour, interrupting my heedless lust, mauling my ego to shreds.

My manhood shrivelled amidst the fiery blast. I did reel dazed.

And you dare protest that my love for you should salve scalds thus recieved.

And you dare expect said love to blind me to the eyesore it inflicted.

"As you were," you dare order.

It's just one demand too many, a little bit too much.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

The Spice of Life

A little pepper livens up a recipe. Sure, the tongue is irritated and the sweat doth gush from the pores in my forehead and tip of my nose, but there is no chance to quietly sit absebtmindedly swallowing the food. Every spoonful matters when it burns.

At first I thought I wanted a strong woman who would be vocal about her grievances as she took no hostages on her trailblazing rocket-like ascent to scale the heights. Ailis came and went. And then I thought I wanted a quiet submissive woman who would carefully tiptoe around my brittle ego and mind the low glass ceiling. I got such a one exactly.

Human nature is impossible to satisfy for very long. While peace and harmony really jive with me, prolonged stability however revives the demoralizing spectre of boredom.

I am therefore resolved to introduce a little pepper to the ingredients of this very loving relationship.

Just a pinch, not a fistful.

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Wife Material

Despite her being a gentle soul, agreeable and generous, she remains unwed to this day. Not because she has any faults as such but because she insists on doing things right.

Do you desire to sleep with her, and she with you? Then marry her first.

Does her instinct tell her you two will not be happy together? Then forget about her.

She is pleasant to be around, warm and attentive; one to avoid loud confrontations. Her mind is an open book, for she speaks her mind graciously, ernestly, gently, with never a word out of place.

Her eyes gleam with an infectious and a pure happiness that bubbles up from inside her. Her smile is bright and her laugh genuine. Hers is the pure essence of a clear conscience, contentment undefiled by resentments, a quiet spirit, a beautiful thing.

A trustworthy lady, she keeps confidences and forgets slights quickly, her heart's door ever open to reconciliation and closed to grudges.

A brave warrior of truth, she stands up for what she believes. Although her gentle voice bears no menace, her sure words are usually wise or encouraging, yet she will never undermine her stance with compromise.

Her name is Joy, a delight indeed in store for whoever she so patiently waits for.