I know you weren't the one because you didn't like my yellow coat,
The one Sacha told me made me look like a whale watcher,
When Sacha said that I felt tall and strong,
The coat made me feel prepared
And I wore it like a suit of armour,
Shield in hand, sword raised high. Ready!
The weather makes me feel like a bird,
Frenzied and beautiful,
Swaying in a tree,
Hot, damp and alive.
I'll always love my yellow coat,
To wear on handsome grey days,
Sharply defined in dimly lit doorways,
Like a honey eater in a stark, dead tree,
That's how I know you weren't for me.

Am not writing to whom it may concern
But to the poets whose silence i want to discern
You are the prophets of the
Word
And if you mute you earn our world no profit
Am worried you have gone hiding
And abandoned your call of writing
You have denied your pens the justice
And you have played mute in many instances
Where is your voice?
Your fingers have slept
And you haven't poured your heavy soul unto the paper
Why are you not talking about the evil that has cast a blanket over earth dwellers?
Don't you feel this tangible darkness that has enveloped our planet?

Where has your voice been when fathers have been sleeping with daughters
Or it no longer matters
For mothers to lie with their sons?
Why have you spared your ink
And just watch as kids stop taking milk and water and fight over beer
None of you has been bold enough to write about that man who betrayed his nation for a piece of gold
Have you forsaken your mission?

Your silence is too loud
Are you dumb of the warning sirens
And like the ostrich,you have buried your head to the soil with pride
I wanna know why you have played dumb:why thee borrowed your ears to the waters and non of this you hear
And our women throw their foetuses away like a man doing open excreta
Arise oh writers arise and wipe away this coming darkness with the light from your papers for when the good are silence its evil done enough
I wonder why writing pads are clean
Yet men have stop desiring man and are siring thoughts  to woo men  
Why have you not quoted the scripture to condemn this abomination?
"Behold woe unto to man who lies with another man"
Are there no writers to pull of this dark shirt of evil we have donned?

Am not playing saint by asking these questions
But my conscious is burdened
I need to offload this nagging from my shoulders
Only you poets who can set my mind free
So arise African writers
Let your pens bleed the truth
Two wrong never make a right
But what you write can rectify all wrongs
For prosperity will never forgive a man who goes to sleep during the day while goats eat his barn of yams

1208

Our own possessions—though our own—
’Tis well to hoard anew—
Remembering the Dimensions
Of Possibility.

And now its just a photograph
I'm planning to destroy
A bitter pill to swallow

The woman in the black dress
What a love we had
What a mess we made

I'm straddling the borderline
Sitting on a fence of razor wire
A continental divide
A fault before an earthquake
One side is a steep climb
The other a cliff
Should I fall?

The mountain is too high
And I can't stand still anymore

I'm in it
But with the realization
I'm really going through it