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Monday 24 November 2014

I am you.

I KNOW 

That fiery anger,
Temper almost choking,
When you clench your fist,
So identical to mine,
When I just can't get the right words,
To express my thoughts.
I know how you feel,
Because I'm a poet.

The tingling feeling when falling in love,
When you relive Romeo and Juliet,
I know the rapid pumping of the heart,
I know it because I make it,
The softness of a touch,
Intensity of a kiss,
The passion in love making,
I know it,
Remember William was a poet too.
When you're Sad,
And obviously think no one understands,
How then do you think we compose these?
I feel you,
The loneliness, rejection, pain and shame,
I've been there,
I've felt it before..
And there's that one more,
Who's jolting it down.
The urge for a cigar,
Or just one puff,
One more tot,
One more hoe,
Everyone is addicted to something,
I know coz mine is poetry,
I know just how much you need,
It's the same thing,
When It's me and my pen.
No matter What you feel,
Know we've been there,
And you're not alone,
Because being a poet is all about capturing emotions,
Fitting in different shoes,
Don't feel alone,
Because I've been in many words,
A rape victim,
A prostitute,
A drug addict,
A battered wife,
A hopeless romantic.
I know,
I understand,
Because I'm a poet.

Love being black.

FAVORITE COLOR

Crumbled up in a corner,
Mascara washed face,
A mass of snobs and sniffs,
countless thoughts of unworthiness.
She,
Confused of all she was,
Wondering of all the colours,
Why she wasn't the favorite.
The bleaching cream,
So vivid lay her reflection through it,
But would that erase their memory too?
Would that ease the teasing?
The tattooed abuses,
"Black monkey! " "filthy " "dark hoe "
she wanted it all gone,
To scrap it out and be clean,
Or white, at least pink,
You know the beauty that comes with colour..
Only then would she be complete.
The black slave down at the Caribbean,
The white nanny at queen Elizabeth's deck,
The red Indian fighting for the Americas,
Which off these is your favorite color?
What defines a man?
The sight of the outside?
Or the beauty of the inside?
White? Black? Red? Brown? Caucasian?
What's your favorite?
Mine is the red beneath,
After all,
We're all shades of the same colour.

My white desire.

I WILL MARRY THE WHITE MAN
Yes,
I will marry Mr. Grey,
His amazing pink skin beckons me,
His way of etiquette amuses me,
Oh! His language ma!
Enchanting with vocabularies like "sweetheart " "darling" "honey"
Ei! Words not found among my tribesmen!

Mama,
Why are you screaming your lungs out?
That I've brought an abomination to the land,
A curse to the tribe
And shame to my kinsmen!
A coloured man!!!
You claim that,
His ways are strange,
His skin burning to the eye,
He can not speak in our dialect,
He can not fit in our society!
Definitely he does not deserve a princess!
But,
I love him,
And I know he loves Me too,
His beautiful blue eyes tame me,
His respect to women ma,
So different from the village monkeys!
He buys me roses,chocolates and calls me beautiful!
Even without the stinking red ochre smear.
I don't like men from the village,
they're uneducated, untamed, uncouth!
They hit women,
And make love like uncoached wild animals.
I will marry the white man,
He gives me independence,
Love and laughter in doses,
He gives loves in ways the village dodos will never know.
I will marry the white man,
To me he IS THE MAN.

Friday 14 November 2014

As i rest in peace.

LAST WISH

when I die,
I don't want to be mourned,
I'd rather a celebration party,
I don't want any black,
Because I'm a chic of colour,
I want splashes of orange, blue, purple, pink, yellow..
I don't want any sad looking faces or tear soaked handkerchiefs and tissues,
I want happy smiles, ecstatic laughter and ripples of joy.


When I die,
I don't want a mean stuck up picture of me,
No one ever knew me as a sad person,
I want my favorite selfie,
Yes that one that got so much attention on IG,
I want all to remember my Lovely smile And best captured moments of happiness,
I don't want to be buried in a boring white dress or coffin,
I want to be in my favorite jean pants and my favorite white top,
With my nails done and hair super glossy,
And I ain't leaving without my favorite pair of heels,
An inspiration to all plus size models.. you're beautiful,
I want a selfie in my mauve beautiful casket,
I want you look the very best for my Creator.
Knowing there's a party in store for me.

When I die,
I  don't want wails or long sad eulogies and chants of R.I.P
I want a performance of my poetry and appreciation of art,
 I don't Want any questions about the cuts on my thighs and wrist,
No comments on the marijuana found under my pillow,
I don't want any mentions of my frustrations, hurts and pain,
Instead I want to be remembered for the beautiful happy girl,
Instead of a funeral process I want an afro-pop party,
With sauti sol performing sura yako.. and I really wouldn't mind Davido performing Aye,
The songs i wish I was worthy to be sung to,
I want everyone to dance, smile and toss for I have found a better place.

When I die,
I don't want my twin sister to cry because her smile was always the reason  I didn't give up,
Her beautiful shoulder that always got soaked with my painful tears,
I don't want my boyfriend to feel alone,
Rather I want him to think of our happy days,
I don't want the tears of my best friend.
For all I wanted was to be there for him,
I don't want my mother to feel miserable for loosing a  third child,
Rather I want her to be the proud mum of the obedient non-scandalous daughter,
I don't want my little sister to feel alone,
But rather look up to me as her hero.

When I die,
I don't want any more pain, tears and hurt,
I've had enough of that in one lifetime,
I want happiness and real party celebrations,
When I die, I hope these words will be written on my stone.

Heartless cheater.

PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME
Please don't go Mama Atis,
Not that after you found out that,
"Manu viatu" in my contacts was
actually Emmaculate my lover,
You know I'm not very good with
names and the he happened to be a
she,
By the way she's not worth the hustle
and tussle of a divorce.
She's just a first year student,
I slept with after buying her a pair she
liked..
You know women and shoes.
Really? Mama Atis, us fighting over a
covetous first year girl?
We both know,
It was just a mistake!
Mama Atis,
Don't walk out the door,
Not after you found me with a girl I
can't even remember the name,
It was a one night stand yawa!
She can not even come close to your
amazing bedroom skills.
She was just a option,
When you came home too tired from
work,
And I sneaked out to the pub,
I had one too many,
Forgot I had a ring on my finger.
My lovely hardworking wife,
It was a mistake.
Please don't go mama Atis,
Forget about Wanjiku the maid,
You found us making love on the
kitchen floor,
She is not half as educated as you are,
And now you want to leave me over
her?
You were too busy nursing Atis,
I needed someone to take off the
pressure,
As i said it was just a mistake.
Don't leave me Mama Atis,
Just Because you found me pants down
with my secretary, she ain't worth it!
You know the women who give their
bodies hoping to get men's hearts,
You have my heart and she was just
jealous,
And it happened she came when you
were busy doing exams for your
masters,
She can not compare to you my
beautiful learned wife,
I just had a boner and she happened to
be there.
You see, it was just a mistake.
Mama Atis,
At the alter we vowed for better for
worse,
After all human is to error,
It was just a mistake.

Lest you forget a man is human.

 MEN ALSO CRY,

They say we are equal,
That we’re the same and should be treated equally,
But does that really mean equality?
Whose rights are right?
Rather who deserves these rights?
They say woman is equal to man,
But in reality it’s more like the Animal Farm story,
Where in the animal farm every animal is equal
But the pigs are more equal than the others.

My name is Kitur,
I’m roughly 14 years old,
I don’t know how to read and write,
They say every child has the right to education,
But I differ it is more of a GIRLS’ thing,
The drive past me and my herd to take my sister Chepchumba to school,
I wave with a smirk across my face,
They stare as if I’m invisible , my mistake I forgot I’m not actually a girl,
I turn back to the herd hoping I’ll feed them well for the next sale for Chepchumba’s fees.
My parents had to choose,
She’ll be a doctor,
While I.. let’s just say I am not the society’s favorite.
Just which rights are right?

Hey I’m Wekesa,
Just the other day I saw the activists  rushing to save Kwamboka from the illegal FGM practice,
There was a large fuss about it actually,
And now she and many more of her kind are free from the pain,
Today it’s almost a similar story,
I was forced into manhood,
The whole scenario did  not have to be kept secret,
In front of everyone (the activists included)
My naked body was bared and I was forced not to cry,
Forced not to cry because that would be as sign of weakness,
I bit my lip as the pain rocked my now “complete” manhood,
I still don’t understand why to  a man it is right to a woman it is wrong,
Again, just what right is right?

Halo, I’m Juma,
The other day it was all over the news,
A nine year old girl had been molested,
How brutal?
It even brought memories of my teenage life,
When I was a constant victim of my father’s gay passions,
The only difference there was no camera roll on that,
Many tines I tried to report it to the police but I was shut down by a mocking  “be a man”
So many boys suffer from this,
Rape, oh! Pardon my ignorance that was only reserved for girls right?
Just how many have been sodomised?
How many live with scars they just can’t dare tell.
Who actually speaks out for them?

Call me a chauvinist,
Call me lame, noisemaker, trouble seeker,
But for all those males out there suffering,
I dare to ask,
Do you need a vagina on your CV to get a job?
Is the world really fair?
Once a friend told me God is a woman,
But I can not dare question God,
But to you humans I dare ask,
And you better answer me .
Just what right is right?

#chroniclesofadeadpoet.
Reachel Anita.
MY BEER AND I.

well every friends has a foe,
and every good deed  deserves another,
that might not be my beautifully laced ballerina story,
we meet, we love a little while and we part.

My beer and i have had such a beautiful love story,
we met  on a lonely friday evening just after i had to dump Lucy,
not  my fault you know a man needs a break.
when she came to meet so beautifully  presented wet with desire.
my beer, i kissed and made love to her beautiful  shapely glass body.
sadly, she ran out,  they always do.

i was alone again,
my guilty breath betraying of the places my tounge has been roaming,
i hugged her a little while,
and wept for my Lucy.
the same old cuddle, yet now a little colder,
well my beer bottle, i call her candy,
it's been five months.
she's as  faithful as the sun,
every Friday night  i went and on her breasts i found comfort,
i would mourn for Lucy and rejoice with candy. 

the visits became too often, too predictable, too obvious.
now i would just come caress candy for fun,
not only on Fridays,but Saturdays, Sundays, Mondays, it was actually the whole week!
my little silly  flirting had actually got me into a relationship.
I did not know a woman is a woman even if she is a beer.
they are nagging and crazy..
candy had me and would not let me go.
i tried, i swear i tried,
i used a different route home,
i even showed up on Lucy's door.
but she could smell her scent and would not take me back.

I had to quit my job to be with candy,
I guess at the end of the day a man has to be a man.


Tuesday 11 November 2014

MY UNBORN
I dreamt of pretty lilies and silky roses,
Of beautiful days and girly dreams,
But the slight pain of your kick brings
me back to reality.
First,
I don't know your name,
Please pardon my ignorance,
But the condom burst with one too
many,
And I couldn't afford the morning after
pill every morning,
And the number that rocked my bed
ain't just odd,
It's lots.
Sweetheart I'm sorry,
I might be a disappointment,
Some will call you "bastard "
Some "love child "
Others "illegitimate "
Many other words that I learnt to
endure.
Well,
I couldn't afford the doctor's fees for a
decent abortion,
and I couldn't do it the crude way..
We'll couldn't risk my life it yours too,
That's incase you survived.
I apologize,
That your life will be filled with shame
and pain,
Shame that you might be forced to
embrace,
I'm sorry I'll have to give you up ,
To some rich childless family,
That they can pamper you with all that
I couldn't give you.
When my periods missed,
I begged it wouldn't be a girl,
That would grow to be just like your
mother and grandma,
that will be used to drunken men,
And smoke filled bars.
All the same I'm human too you know.
I know later you'll ask why,
My unborn,
I'm ashamed to be your mother,
when I can't tell your father,
You child of many spilled seeds,
I'm sorry
But even if I couldn't love you,
I bet they will.
I feel you kick again,
I wipe my tear,
And call on the next customer.
I'm sorry my unborn.

Thursday 23 October 2014

When he leaves you high and dry.

Break ups, break ups, break ups!!! always catch us by surprise even when expected. More often than not we see it coming but it still hits us so damn hard. My worry though is just how our better halves tend to forget the beautiful times shared together. Yea, I recently broke up and I was like did he just forget what we had or he just chose to brush it aside?  I bet he must be suffering Functional amnesia.

Here's a piece for all of you who are still trying to figure out what exactly missed out.

FUNCTIONAL AMNESIA.

It seemed just like yesterday,
when you looked into my eyes and vowed that you love me,
that you will never leave me,
those days when I   would actually live with the light in your eyes.
It was us against the world,
all that's left now is me against you,
I thought we would last forever,
I bet forever went pretty fast.


When you kissed me in the middle of the road,
amidst sneers from everyone,
you did not care as long as you had me,
when we made baby steps to our supposed life long love journey,
yes, baby I remember
It was I you used to thirst for,
I the only maiden you knew.

you seem not to remember,
I ask is it functional amnesia?

you seem to forget the many nights we spent together,
when we fought so much that we agreed we'll never.
the days when you 'd wipe away my tears and tell me I'm BEAUTIFUL.
 or the times when you'd just play with my hair because i was a "goddess"
do you even remember the times we'd just sneak and have our time in the bush?

you seem not to remember,
once again, is it functional amnesia?

Across your chest,
and beneath my left  breast we exchanged middle names tattoos,
it really was crazy love,
i   was your boo-boo, your sweet  mango,
baby you seem not to be the one in these memories.

it must be functional amnesia.

okay, how about the love poems I wrote?
when all your instagram and facebook photos were me,
when we used to laugh at how retarded we really are,
when i let you  slip under  my shirt,
and let you ruin my makeup  with just one kiss.

the pretty evenings under the moonlight,
when I would sing a whole Beyonce album to you,
you loved it,
now am all alone chanting Adelle's music,
you seem  not to remember any of these.

we used to text all night,
and laugh all day,
and i really  thought you were gonna stay,
but you did just the opposite and  went astray,
mingled with another.

I still do not understand,
Baby it must be functional amnesia.




Tuesday 14 October 2014

My night whisphers.

I do not think of myself as a poet but rather just a pool of well managed emotions and words. This piece here is about liberation. The picture in my head when writing it is was a girl in a web. Most of my poems are about feminism and I am a sadist. this is because sadness is the one thing that can not be faked.

NIGHT WHISPERS.

Turn off the lights,
and turn me on,
i do not want you to look at me,
i want you to see through me,
i do not want to get naked,
i want to bare my soul,
i do not want you to hold me,
i want you to face my fears.

Turn off the lights,
and turn me on,
do not make love to my body,
but penetrate my core,
do not caress my curves,
embrace my scars,
breathe not into my ears sexy dreams,
but hope of idealism.
make  me wet by your care,
and rock me with orgasms of real beauty,
let the darkness around us,
reveal the light in us.

turn off the lights,
and turn me on,
let me be your cinderella, your ballerina,
paint me in your image full of bliss,
let me  be the rerflection,
of your faultless,flawless completion.
baby touch me,
and feel my fears,
kiss me,
and taste my pains.

turn off the lights,
and turn me on,
forget everything else,
and turn on me,
set the spotlight on me,
meet my imperfections  with precision,
draw my weaknesses curtains
and let me free,
make the night perfect,
with the stars of our souls,
that two can be made whole,
let the scars mark our journey,
the redemption of the beautifully broken.


Everyone has their story, the strive for completion and utter perfection. As Beyonce says,"the soul doesn't need a surgery".