Wednesday, 29 January 2014

Dance of The Dead

I dance on this grave with mirth
I sing with glee as i twist and turn
I have never been this merry
You may say I am cold
I will say you are right
Because it's true
Beneath the soil am dancing on
Is the old me
The old me full of stupid ignorance
Along with my warm heart
Buried deep down the soil
The old me that was killed by the society
Expecting too much from me
Now am happy
Dancing around with my cold heart
That cares nothing of the hypocritical society
That killed the good old me.

posted from Bloggeroid

Saturday, 25 January 2014

Ashamed to be Kenyan

Will I be painted a traitor when I say I am no longer proud to be a Kenyan? 
Will I be labeled a whites man groupie when i say id rather go away to the white mans land?
What will you call me when I say all I think of is the other world depicted as Canaan 
Far away from this God forsaken Egypt?
Call me a traitor I say again
But every time  I close my eyes i see i dream of smooth roads
I dream of my little son playing in a colorful gym as i look on
I dream of a life 
where my hard work pays off fairly
Not where the boss takes what is rightfully yours
I long for a government that will take care of its retirees
Who contributed to the fund only to be left out in the cold
I long for a government 
Which will let my taxes work for me
Not one that makes me pay tax for the litattle chicken i keep
For that visitor who drops in unannounced
Or for my children during the festive season
I am ashamed of my government
I ashamed of my leaders
I am proud to be Kenyan,
But am not proud to be this kind of  Kenyan

Friday, 17 January 2014


she walks and swings
her wares on her woven head
her skin is dark
her lips are thick with a natural pout
she ties her kanga but bares her breast
and ahead she forges
they call her mraia,
i call her super woman 

she tends her goats and cooks the meals
its in the hot dessert sun but she does it all
they say she is backward
i admire her resilience
while we have all transformed
to the white man's way
she keeps strong 
with her fat from the goats
and traditional body markings
she weaves her house and weaves her beads
she walks with pride and holds her head high

I and I

l took a chance I took  wrong turn,
I made a choice I picked the wrong side
I said I lacked courage I know I lied
I wonder sometimes if I did right
Most of the times I hope i never find out
I gaze ahead my eyes are glazed
I see nothing there is a haze blocking my sight
I dream I wish I hope
I am afraid to reach out
I might and yet grasp nothing
I wonder I am scared
I know it could be that day
It could be that day I dread
I hope its not
I know its coming
I know I will never be ready