Kill me quick

' KILL ME QUICK '

There might be a thousand ways to die,
and only one way to live,
For some it's just a confusion in between,
But for one Mr. Ken,
There was always the 'Kill me quick ' option.

In a rugged hut,
The filthiest of all places in the town,
He walks in with a full wallet
And leaves empty of his earthly sorrows.

Kill me quick,
Kill me happy,
Kill me swift,
Kill me now,
Drunken chats he'd mutter,
After a pints that were never odd in number,
( there's always that +1)
He saw heaven much more nearer.

It didn't matter whether it was Monday or Sunday,
After all they were just days,
Man must live or die..
Ken survived half the times.

Then came Friday then 13th,
Let's just say Cliché became niche,
On the worn out stool,
Just like that,
Kill me quick,
Actually killed in a flash.

Bloody pains

Scarlet Confessions

I did it Father,
One,two, three all the way to sixteen,
For all the affairs he may too clear,
Every time the blood splashed, I sighed with relief.
Knife in, knife out 
Bernadette, Suzzie, Jane even that filthy Mercy.
With every stab I made it clear who the bitch was,
It felt so good Father.
The pains I had endured for so long finally were released.
I had worn white specifically for this event,
I actually termed it '16 stabs of Pain'
Father, you preach about love and forgiveness
If you were in my shoe you'd understand.

He pleaded for mercy,
But all I could remember was the pain
I didn't want to feel anything
So I ceased being human for sixteen stabs
I hope he forgives me too.

I'm not really convinced I slayed him,
But I taste his blood every time I bite my lips,
My hands are scarlet
My blood stained dress hangs perfectly in the closet,
A constant reminder every sixteen seconds.

 

Days i vividly remember..

Ten days a whore.

Days when I felt too vulnerable, too free, too me

Walking down a thousand aisles with a million men

Not giving a damn, not a single care,

Old and young alike; life didn’t allow me to choose.

Staggering abortions and a whole load of meds too,

I cried when I fell and laughed in the rain,

When I slept with the father and tamed the son,

I learnt to give freely, forcefully, lovingly and grudgingly.

The street fights and shameless bargains,

Days when being a whore made me feel more than whole.

Keeping that relationship real...

Keeping it 100%


In darkness we yearn for light. Unknowing that maybe the stars might lead our way. It's basic human nature. We barely know when we are wanted. Take for instance love, marriage and dating. We always think it's greener and better on the other side. It takes pain to remind us not all that glitters is gold.
Love is a beautiful thing..ain't opposing that. But is it really love if it ain't true? Is it love if it can't withstand honesty? I believe the very fundamental asset of a relationship is it's ability to root the association in trust.
Trust doesn't mean just the basic " I trust you" line. It's about total acceptance and acceptance of your mate's being. It's not just liking the outside but totally falling in love with the inside. Knowing their weakness yet trusting them enough to handle your own. I do believe trust is love. Without trust it's mediocre acquitting.
The other very important thing is respect. Just for the record respect is a two way thing.    Both parties should be familiar with their partner's weaknesses, their boundaries and comfort zones. Respect is knowing this will or won't make her happy. Knowing to bae Friday nights are movie nights so probably I should reschedule the girls night out.  If one doesn't respect the other in a relationship it brings about the feelings of depression, self pity and in extreme situations low self esteem.it is mandatory to respect each other in a relationship and knowing just how far is too far.
Finally it's all about love. Seriously why would you be in a relationship to start with? Love is caring, devoting oneself to another, tender and so on. If a person is in a relationship that doesn't entail love probably it won't last. Love is patient, love is kind. It forgives easily and is slow to anger. Love cares.love bothers. Love insists. Love is the most beautiful thing. Love doesn't hurt. And when a person loves, it's best when they get it right back.

half of whole..

Half a soul.


Half the times we know what's right but opt for the wrong..
Half the times we live through other's eyes and neglect our own..
Half the times we'd rather have it all than share the throne..
Half the times we criticize more than we compliment..
Half the times we tend to lie than face the truth..
Just wondering why live half a soul when God made us whole?

 

My grandmother's Christmas story...

SIKUKUU
(My grandma's story )

The only time of the year we'd eat chapati, rice and meat all at once,
A festive season it was, worth the name ,
Just after the "ebisimba ",the circumcised boys were set free to be men.
They graced their manhood with vigorous dances at the marketplace, adorned with ornaments.

Well it was that time of the year,
When my father would walk in from the white man's house,
Dangling some goodies..
We would all run to him,
Chanting "thatha Ochire beka ethwani nse "
Father is home, slaughter a cock.

Amazing beautiful time it was,
On the specific sacred bright Morning,
We would all go down to the river and have the scrub of our lives,
Get back home and smear some milking jelly,
Shine like a thoroughly cleaned sufuria!
We would then all excitedly put on our new clothes,
"Nguo ya sikukuu "
They would range from the well tailored "amasungora "cotton clothes, to the "amachabani "that's for the lucky ones,
Ready made clothes from Japan,
If it was too bad, hand-me-downs we would proudly wear,
Like Who cared? It was Christmas!

Our mothers would get their cornrows neatly done and align us all to church,
Where the village pastor would boom about a God,
A Messiah born on that day,
We would religiously chant hyms
While our minds wandered to our grandmother's hut
Where goodies especially the chapatis, rice and "mandas "
Were being prepared by the special experienced village cook.

After church,
We would all gather and have a proper fulfilling meal,
The women danced,
The men enjoyed their busaa,
There was plenty of milk, water and busaa to go around,
laughter sparkled,
Many goats and chicken were mercilessly brought to death,
Lots of chapatis,
Not forgetting new clothes for everyone!
The Messiah was born!

It was "siku ya furaha "happy day,
The much awaited SIKUKUU,
I remember the joy and homely feeling just like it was yesterday,
Well it's been 60 years,
Some of my grandchildren went to Mombasa forget Christmas,
My children only M-pesa me,
Some will call to wish me a merry Christmas,
They will send images on this thing called whatsapp that my granddaughter has!
Ah! Technology.. after all what is Christmas to them?

I miss the good old days.
When Christmas was Christmas!
Eh! Sikukuu.

my female pains..

BEAUTIFULLY BROKEN.

I tend to think I'm the sperm that won,
But sometimes I'm just the ovum that lost.
I wish I was one in a million, 
But in a million none could choose me.

I wish you could see my beauty beyond my scars,
Or the smile behind my braces,
Sometimes it hurts so much,
I can't even tell it's paining,
Sometimes I cry so much,
I don't realise it's raining,
Because I am a woman.
I bear it all.

I give big smiles at work,
Just to go home to a battering husband,
I feel so alone,
I loose myself,
I give up everything to you, to the world, and end up a beggar.
I get lost, confused,
When there's a big contrast from that rush of the first kiss,
And the agony and sharp pain of the first slap.

How did we get here?
How did I lose you?
When I tell you I love you,
You say you'll find some time to do,
When I say I need you,
You mockingly laugh it off..
You used to be a saint,
More of like everything at the same exact time.
I try to be that woman, that girl,
I wish you could see.

There's more to me than makeup can ever conceal,
Just one word can fix it all,
One gesture can make me whole again.

The razor cuts don't help anymore,
And as I hold this gun to my head,
I remember everything,
Beautifully broken.