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A decade later we cry of times faults. .


Upon the proscenium strobe lights I descend down the rostrum in full knowledge of the expectations of the audience. 

It feels like am at the edge of a universal podium and the inhabitants of the world await a life giving address at the commencement of their life journey.
I thus hold on to my breath and slow my steps to revive the anxiety hailing in the atmospheres.
I speak out the words ,  the drama in them flowing out almost instinctively as the breath in my lungs.
The adlib voices sing out my prelude and I open my mind for the audience to read. 
A round of applause follows the second I take a pause and I listen to the sound of my appreciation ,then     to the voice in my heart beat and its louder enough to render voiceless the swelling high pitch of the claps. 

its been a decade later since we cried for our nation.

At the vintage height of a peace so incredible as we rise Into the weight of a bright future , the memories of those dark days still ensnare our shared brotherhood and I wonder how a nation full of life plunged into such ravage and bloodbath and we still carry on.

The Kenyan story as told by a ten year old is like a melodramatic lamentation with a sad full soul as the background and yelling asides behind the backdrops. 
It’s more of an unrealistic ,undercast theatrical production with a lovely ending that is always hijacked when the last laugh almost approaches its optimum pitch. 
Am singing now ,holding back my memories at the back and letting them out in droplet torrents that confine the audience into my sad full account of a mid -strangled he goat that is my mother Kenya. 
The script says they is such a world as ideal and I swear to the crowd that they is no such word as ideal because we are forced to laugh when tears are flooding in our eyes.

The lad at the  saxophone that accompanies my words with some musical taste once told me that the saxophone drives the mouth and not the mouth that drives the saxophone.

So I get the point eventually but at a balance of assumptions. ..
We should be instruments that drive change and not for change to drive us.
The Supreme Court has rendered its verdict against the verdict of a population of no less than Ten million  Kenyans who voted in the 2017 presidential election bid and now that only six people carried on the decision against a bench of very rightful minds as the first and second respondent lawyers ,we hear of how no one is above the law and how the court ruling is hailed above by the opposition but what’s the use of not being above the law than watching The  decision of millions of Kenyans brought to judgment.
what’s the use of democracy if our own accord and value is killed by six people in the name of law and our day to day activities are savaged into a hiatus ,all because of democracy that bids a loser to petition over and over again,yet we know its not the first time and still we prophesy of the same complaints in the incoming two on two election.
In Kenya we don’t speak 
we just watch and tweet 
Or share the images on trending Facebook posts.
Thus our education is summoned into a deathless hiatus that hijacks our peaceful semesters. 
And the gleeful self proclaimed leader assures those as well cut into his reforms to leave away their errands and join in a demonstration.
and for what use I may ask?
our once beautiful profitable businesses are confined into a Loss making machine and wrapped into heaps of garbage because supporters of the self proclaimed Joshua are not willing to work but to protest for their journey to canaan. 
The memories now of the last decade’s close shine bright and dark at the tunnels end .
victims and casualties
fearful kids watching unfolding newstories at the comfort of their homes. Afraid that their ethnicity is not brought to question over allegation of not supporting those who share less of their typical tribe shades.
The words are now slow and less jubilant in the manner i sit at  the edge staires of The very auditorium.  
I remember those lifes lost in the wake of the violence and my heart weeps within my tearful soul.
The opharns left under  the brutal care of a non willing world and the wanton thorns of poverty and conflict that afflict them from day to day ,antagonistic so in their ambition to lessen them from holding on to their dreams.
I count my fingers to the crowd and they are in the figure of  those under aged kids out their who swerve away from their dreams each day under the influence of their unmet needs and undeserved reality.
Those bred away from love and kindness , all they know by their mother tongue is affliction and misfortune.
And what is democracy by their mother tongue does wonder my encounter with the word?
A president is a president in the mind  and it begins with the push to fulfill other’s dreams rather than yours.
my question to those so willing to rule Kenya why be so hesitant to see that our scholarly timetables are being pushed time to time in the name of our security well being to Carter for your selfish ambition to hold the mantle of leadership in a society that has made it clear it wants you not.
Why fail to see the shooting inflation in alarming rates yet urge us to leave our workplace and join in protests that force us deeper and deeper into the slumber of poverty and need.
Even the dictator regime stressed on a clarion call ;”naturudi mashambani”
A swahili phrase that loosely translates into lets get back to work.
What’s the use of a canaan where i can’t pluck the fruits of freedom in a land that’s not of my tribal blood.
what use is it if I can only study in my campus rooms in kisumu when no political activity is yet to save myself from shedding my skin because those of my tribe are far away from kisumu. 
I recently heard that a handshake is no longer a handshake when it passes  the elbow.
like wise
Democracy is  no democracy when it exceeds the threshold of our endeared power of choice and freedom ,for its a way for democracy to put us in contempt of the law and the law in apprehension of our freedom to choose. 
What’s the use?
Narrating about  Kenyan democracy feels like a mother boasting of her unborn child.
And the stage saxophone goes on and on to control the mouth .



Who My Prayer holds,

when the light is dark ,

when the rain is tight ,

and we walk through the storms ,

amidst the bumbling of innumerable bees ,

held against our fear
where they gaze from our rear

as we stear the waves of the sea ,

blazing like lightning chariots from zeus ,

who my prayer holds?
when belief is far from believing

when doubt is cast down their faces ,

and my tears welled their demotivating speech…

Who my prayer holds….

The Jury (part one)


( Above all , the prisoner should not tune his mind to other things )

In my vision is the very jury that sentenced me to this

This Chaining Prison Of Emotional Tussles

This Vainful Streaming Of Ignorant Faces

Enter The Dreaded Prosecutor Whose Tasteful Eloqution Has Brought Hundreds Down The Line Of Justice…

Somberly In Mood Says He

If It May Please The Court To Object The Release Of A Felon As Such , Then Let It Be For Penal Servitude And Penal Servitude Alone.


But am innocent!?

infuriated the prosecutor laughs!

Too scared of state advocates to battle my case out in court , i stand alone in the courtroom caught within gloom of what awaits in doom , just to plead the unbelieved NOT GUILTY.

That aint true , thats madly comical , are you not frightened being labled an idiot amidst wisemen?
will you continue your doubtful please?

How cheerful does he so , this bastard sweat over his knowledge , the pride to see me confined within a lifetime cage.

I Was , I Am , I Will


A 15 year old , battles the imperatives of his thoughts in the priority fever amidst his society’s flames . From his own perspective , his rightful point of view which at a pivotal point of unbalanced choices , pleads with either side of his divided thoughts , his soul for the arts , the flesh for the love of computers.

Oh and the observers

The asides

The restless adlibs…

SOUL : An account of a show stopping lively perfomance at the kapsabet high school auditorium , soulful so in a swahili rendition , reminds me of how i first met my love , sitted in a row of only newly admitted juniors , undecided with what to do with their lives , i fall to the soul of so lively a troupe of actors.Enthralled By Their Only Glee , Which Is Their Love To Perfom , Am As Well Hooked To Their Cadent Theatrical Greatness Or Rather The Emotional Carthasis I Felt At The Time As A Result Of Their Ingenius Delivery As Testified Through Their Energy , Ecstcacy , Euphony And Fluent Swahili . I Knew I Had Found A Companion.




written down are the words of a song so serene

so soothing in the transcendent bliss that sets forth bubbles of life-livening blinks

written down are the words of musicality

words that define the form of things but unseen in light dim of what would but seem

yet appears not


see the words…

words burbling with essence down the trove of facts sieved from mere grammar syntax

bubbling within a beam broken dangling down the blue of chance

burbling in azure

burbling a blend of scarlet

words fine in reality

words smooth with tranquility



written are the words of hope gleaming in absence of despair

gleaming in the orange of tomorrows enlightenment

enthroned  neath a crown of delightment

ensnared by the brim of dawns enlivenment



written are the words of a truth

behind scripts of pain

beneath pages of blood…

but clowned by a fawn

branded as a frown



written is the epitaph that stands time

bubbles lime

…      and we sublime



The Man That Puts Strength Before Will…..


Does it provoke you that my silence stands , while to me you quibble trouble ?Did it confuse you that when aside you pushed me for a fight , i didn’t move but silently;innocently stared at you?Does it hurt to know that my will to live lies not in my bushy-tailed muscles but the cup of the wild wit? It is because i as born and raised to a people who recognized not my physical strength but the wisdom of the human form.I was raised by a mother who saw in me not the muscles  of the human make  but the knowledge that stands the sweeping  sands of time.I was raised by a man whose will to live lay not on material possession but the many lessons that delved on the use of common sense , the utility of the human psych.

  Did it occur to you that while you wrestled me to disgrace  i felt nothing but contempt towards men like you that value  the valiance of the manly anatomy yet in them forget the need of basic human dignity..?Realy ? would i settle for less?Would i bend that low ?Be too slow to deign my upbringing in exchange of nothing but useless biceps ? did  it bite to the ass when my straight glance mocked at you and you did lower your gaze in shame of your actions ?   I know it did that morning .   While you sunk to violence and brought me down to my knees to expose in you the folly of an untamed cat. I saw you like nothing but a fart lot of use.     As i gave in to your gags , withstood your gurgles and every annoying tantrum from your ideal strength , the future in you deformed and a ragged rebel without cause began to form…. an ill reflection….

There is a thing like common sense and to lack this , a God given right , serves as ignorance towards the giver of all that is the living deity !      There is something like wit to have this , a life-long guide serves as light towards the happy end.

Did you know that strength is nothing but a state of seemliness that drenches our mind with nothing but assumption. Do you even mind ? did you care ? or fear that the same physical agility you so much praised would be your downfall?

Did you note the ability to wade about about the sea of life , the path of light lay not on your strength but the wit of the HUMAN FORM.


The Man Whose  Acerbic Wit Speaks For All….


It was better while you kept still than while you rose to speak for yourself.You had rather slept  or stayed silent than grin to us your teeth of gluttony..  LISTEN : when a man keeps still he garners  respect for his silence but he that Crookes thy tongue to his favor provokes thy  mood  of other men.

so my son speak for the rest.                                                                                                     reflect yourself to the make of the human self.

When it comes to pass that the tongue you whole-hardheartedly sacrificed to save the heathens , the destitute s and innocent beings…let it be known you did it not for yourself  but for the hurts dear to see them joys me to see them fly.

Did it hurt  while you saw them , heard them and in their hatred watched them as they sold their men to slavery ; conspired against those the lesser and in a way so disgusting burnt alive the remains of our innocent society . Did it bite ? Or even fight you on behalf , of those many kids left behind to be eyed with contempt , to be frowned and gurgled at the gutter by your merciless world.?Did you feel? or even seal their fate with kindness or some sort of selfless articulation of equality , a way to table them a meal or two to keep their hunger away  ?Was the laod so lid to lift with them  in mind? while at you they smiled for piety …ooh lord …you distanced yourself from them , their plea for mercy.You had not the shame but the means to speak for your belly , while millions of them lay in wait , helpless , for their imminent end.You had just the blame for theirs being born the wrong side of fate.

Did you freak ?                                                                                                                              You didn’t speak while my expectations highly rose that for once you open your gaze to the suffering mouths surrounding you.

Was the human form so formless that you failed to take its form ? was it so useless to learn from ?That you neither blabbed nor listened while a pep-talk it gave , the reason beneath its voice  was for you to my son to see. To speak for them…those innocent souls that lay in wait for a bitter  tomorrow.


The curse of the human form                                                                                                      follows you from afar                                                                                                                     to poison you in the nick of time                                                                                               by the vines of the resin thing                                                                                                   trudge your path it will                                                                                                                    til at will you speak out for the voiceless                                                                                   till at will you heal their yearning……the will of the human form.


The Man That loves…


None is sweeter  than love steeped in fragrance of their human form , none but the love of a man to a woman. None entails much of the manly make than the myriad sacrifices made for love….so infinitely menacing is the man that respects not the bounds of true love.

so both went to the open fields to play with the buds of thy fresh roses and betrothed to each the oath of the human form.In a seemliness sharing of the most beautiful words of comfort and pleasure ; they hugged to the glee of noontime , where garbed in their romantic antiques both found love among the blooming buds of may.

hear what the man thought yet said not…

When a woman loves she loves for real.when she gives in to the zeal of her lovers demands, she loses herself to the man of her life.  She intimately makes happy the man and where her man lies nothing lies but the lover and his image in abstention….where the cheeks are kissed less they remain unkissed in his abstention , the man she loves she loves with heart…the spell of the human be loved too she has.hhhhhhhyhtt

words only cant describe the sweetness that pervades the air when both beings  trap each other in emotions of sweet silent thought…to love you will , for that am sure; but in this here a world exists a thing..

Adversities of the human form

love you will am sure but to be loved back you not may                                                        love you will at least but the right person to love find not you maydancer

here is what that eats away the fabric that entails basic love

trust for sure isn’t guaranteed but a love drove by selfish lust wont survive               hear their cry mighty men that fell , their hearts wounded by wild arrows of is an owl that howls through a night yet hides when diligently is a shooting star which at first may gleam but last may slowly is a funny tingle at your armpits that makes you laugh when you need is a long line of disappointment lest you be tricked yet a necessity of the basic human form. Which jolts down our diary , our lengthy books of history

of people we loved but said not                                                                                                          of people we loved but didn’t love us back                              of people we loved yet puppet-played our love .                of people that loved  we but we loved them not.               or could we settle for less but  pursuit of the golden bait

hear what the lady thought  but said not

I shall love him like the only surviving species of man ,

irresistibly i shall vanish swiftly in his love.The bullets for my beloved i take…..the chi of the human form.