22 Apr


What you hath is immense.

The minute cell,

To the living hell.

The ant.

Image Continue reading

Ode for S.Sudan

21 Apr

Brother, why do we hate each other?
Brother, why are we fighting?
Look, our children are strewn on the ground dying.
Our women are crying.
Because we are fighting.
As if we were not borne from the same womb,
We wound each other.
As if we do not share the same story,
We are foes.
When will we sit together,
And share a meal, a smile, a dance and maybe a drink?
When will we shake our hands, hug each other, and make our mother  S.Sudan smile?
When will we remember we share a mother,and her love and stop punishing each other?
O, brother. When?

fodder for the mill

19 Apr


Don’t give fodder to the rumor mill

Don’t say things that you don’t will

It’s not them that makes you happy

It’s you who makes you happy.


So they are used to take words out

of many affairs

So they stress you out,

and you think it is not fair.


Thus you feel that them you have to please,

For you to ease,

You try to impress,

And they don’t make you feel like an empress.


Just don’t give fodder to the mill

Just don’t say things you don’t will.


It sickens to see them make you do things

And make them be like kings

In your life they make dings,

And to them you cling


They treat you like trash

They are harsh

How do they keep you there?

Where is your esteem, is it still there?


You just keep giving fodder to the mill

And they destroy you against your will.

the way home

18 Apr

Long colorful chain.
Of white, silver, grey, black, and occasional blue, red and yellow cars.
The chain is tight on the black weathered tarmac.
They move slowly and skillfully.
They move fast and recklessly.
On the road that leads to homes.

Sometimes we are ahead.
Other times we lag behind,
Overtaken with a swoosh, and another.
On the road that leads to homes.

The road winds over the hills and between mountains.
The vegetation is lush and green.
Fresh winds.
Cool air.
The road.
Dotted by herds of animals,
Cattle, sheep and goats, here and there.
Sometimes with a shepherd with a staff across his shoulder and a dog or two,
staring at the ongoing and incoming vehicles,
On the road that leads to homes.

Large colorful billboards advertise insurance, drinks,churches, businesses, schools, gas stations, telephone providers, hotels and motels.
Signs welcoming and bidding farewell in towns and counties.
Cyclists and motor-bikers with huge luggage or two to three passengers dangerously ride along the highway.
Various markets of fresh farm produce mainly fruits, are the regular pit stops for the drivers, consenting to the wishes of their impulse buying passengers.
Yellow bananas, green bananas, Oranges, fleshy pears, big mangoes, enormous pawpaws and watermelons.
Beautiful vegetables all over.
Roadside merchants and travelers haggling.
Unfinished buildings.
Neat fences on roadside homes.
Falling fences.
Puddles, ponds and shallow dams.
Bright pastel colors, on people, umbrellas, plastic sheets, canvases, buildings and boards.
On the road that leads to homes.

The road is clear, we speed.
The road is jammed , we slow.
We ascend.
We descend.
Across bridges.
Sharp bends.
Steep ascents.
Careful drivers.
Reckless drivers.
On the roads that leads to homes.

Tall trees,Taller masts.
Short trees,Shrubs.
Big stones, Deep ridges.
Rivulets and rivers.
Cacti, Flowering aloes.
Isolated houses and homes.
Many hills.
On the road that leads to homes.

Groups of Christians reenacting ‘the way of the cross’ for the umpteenth time.
Lonely pedestrians.
Happy walkers.
Children playing,
Corrupt traffic police officers, seeking meager bribes from the motorists.
Large Tractors on the farms ploughing, harrowing, spraying and harvesting.
Large fields of wheat, rye, oats, hops and canola.
Small farms of fruits, vegetables and flowers.
On the road that leads to homes.

Blue skies.
Warm weather with a sun that gives a tan.
Cloudy skies.
Heavy rains.
Chill and cold, you may need a coat.
On the road that leads to homes.

It’s a long way home,
Bad music playing on the stereo.
Tired passengers.
Sleepy passengers.
Four and half hours,
on the road that leads to homes

Happy there’s leave

17 Apr

A bump here.
A bunk there.
Over the clouds,
Through other clouds.
Up Eighteen thousand feet,
Up eighteen degrees of heat.

Everyone full of chatter,
Even the cups did clutter.
A smile here,
A laugh there,
Everyone was happy to leave,
Everyone was happy there was leave.

On the windows the rain sputter,
Beyond the clouds, the  lightning flash with a shutter,
And there’s thunder.
More bumps,
More bunks.
We are happy there’s leave.

Easter is yonder,
Hearts are fonder,
We are happy there’s leave.

What is happening to our moral fences?

17 Apr

Under the breezy Neem trees, under the gazebo, five colleagues sat eating their usual breakfast which they had already gotten fed up of and lacked other options.  There was Crepe Suzette in honey, Chai latte with a dash of ginger, Spanish omelette, Mahamri, Bread and Coffee.  There was no sausages that morning. Sausages was the only breakfast item they never got tired of.  It never lasted the week. And they always complained to the chef about mid week shortage of sausages. They always wondered why the kitchen did not bring in enough supplies to last the whole week.  (I know you may be wondering  why anyone could get tired of the crepes and why they appear for breakfast.) Yes, Crepe Suzzetes were eaten for breakfast there. People did not have time for desserts, so the crepes appeared on the breakfast table and not on lunch or dinner tables.  And yes, one could get tired of them, especially if they are had daily. It’s all about monotony and lack of culinary surprise from the chef.  They had twenty minutes to eat. After exchanging the morning greetings, the table was quiet for about five minutes.  Then the conversation was started.27064 Continue reading

I miss her

16 Apr

Fading slowly…

They said, “You need to be strong”,

“You need to hang in there”,

“You don’t know why she was chosen amongst the throng”,

And I knew it was not fair.


Like the sunset on the western skies,

She is fading.

I tear, I sob and she can hear my cries,

And she knows it is ending,

Ending slowly…


She is gone.

I still think about her,

I dream about her,

I talk to her.

I tell her what is wrong.


What’s wrong

Is, I don’t know how to be strong.

I’m weak

All through the weeks,

I’m weak.


Now I miss her,

I miss her everyday.


15 Apr

Their eyes met for the first time,

But their hearts were already acquainted to each other.

His eyes smiled,

Her heart laughed.

They knew what they had,

They knew not what they had.

Smothered by love,

consumed my lust,

inundated by infatuation,

they held  hands and walked away.

Laughing, unsure if they’ll walk back.

Convinced, and happy that they may never be back,

And they may never be unsure.

They walked away, unsure.



Nairobi History

8 Apr


Eccentric ride :-)

I’m reminded

8 Apr

I’m reminded today of the sagacious words,

knitted together,

softly and carefully.


Today, i ran into these words.

Words that remind me of my love,

my love for poetry.


These beautiful words,

These somber words,

That belong to Alfred Edward Housman


“Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows:

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?


That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again”.

I’m reminded…


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