It is well!
Well, at 100 feet….
Are you well?
I need water for my feet
poetry
Weep
image by unknown via http://www.pinterest.com
here comes the rain that will wean me off the jilter
dip in it
bathe in it
soak in it
roll in it
until,
scoured clean,
my truest colors are revealed
Stoic
image by unknown via http://www.face2faceafrica.com
You are beautiful.
And I will try to be civil about it
Lest I be arrested like the men who pluck flowers
I am patient zero for you
Patient…..
Bridelope
As I walk towards
my tomorrow, I see the sands of time
sifted through the screen of age,
Clarified like layers of mud from Wigwa
Then I tossed the chaff against the wind
I am beaded to a T, I am a bride
for a man I know little about
I wonder what it would be like to walk to the others
If in their hands it would be just as uncertain?
Maybe my children should have been dark-skinned;
like Odhiambo. Tall like Lenana, or coarse-voiced like Maina.
Or perhaps light-skinned like the insides of a ripe mango.
But I truly hope before we share the bull’s heart
scorched over acacia’s wood. That this uncertain future,
That this forever, is too long to sift
Luminescence
Fantasy artwork [ONLINE]. Available at: http://www.wallpaperup.com/684002/fantasy_artwork_love_mood_men_women_girl_girls_woman_man_art.html
one of these days I will take your hand and we will fly
to the sun
just close enough so that you and I can be melted
into one
because you are the sweetness in my insanity
Rue
He came along,
He opened doors,
He carried my bags,
Till his hands were full,
Then he dropped my heart.
Pun Intended: Up-roar
There is up-roar in Africa. Rightly so!
Circumcision by the river
After the ceremonial circumcisions, the Maasai boys dress in black, have their face painted white [ONLINE]. Available at: http://humorplease.com/i-documented-daily-lives-of-african-tribes-for-four-months/
The last day of my childhood
Is the first day of my manhood.
I will not wince.
Like a warrior I will pounce.
By the river I leave boyhood.
Angry
It runs deep
red as blood
It extrudes through stocking holes
flowing blue-black with skin
It ejects through the chest in heaves
decrying the emotion
defiantly encrusted in the cracking enamel of a firm visage
It waits for Christmas
with fingers crossed
to explode
Journey through the hills
Nganya,
Cutting the grassland like cutlass
Flying,
Devouring the hills like roasted cassava
Guzzling,
Till when the sun
Bloody,
Half-eaten by the black-backed jackal on the hill
Shrinks
∗Nganya is a souped up vehicle used for public transport. Often playing loud music and driven by drivers who care more about getting to the destination fast, than obeying traffic rules.
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