I am not saying my poetry is perfect
But at least let it be good enough

Hate the feeling of declined poetry
As it lies aimlessly un understood
It still hold words worlds can not
Define

Poetry declined

I told her i just wanted to tell her my imaginations
You look like a girl who would listen
Do i take a sit?

Don't let them see the light they might be bright and Conqour us.......

I've never really liked the idea of culture
How it supports the African man
For the sins he commits
In closed doors

He calls his father and uncles
And reports his wife from youth
Says she doesn't do anything right
Says she doesn't respect him

Almost immediately,
His Uncle grins
He is reminded that
He once had the same problem

Recites the same words
That he was moulded into
As a young groom
To his wife from youth,

"It's true, they never do anything right.
They don't respect. They don't respect!"

His wife's mother is listening
She has flashbacks as well
From back in her day
She tells her, what her mom told her,

"Don't answer back, Mo. Don't defend yourself. When you're wrong, you shut up. Even when you're right, you shut up!"

She's astonished, but she accepts.
She goes with her husband
To their matrimonial land
As he continues to mock her

On arrival, they meet a lady
The African body, with braids hanging from her head
Beads on her hair, waist and feet
Standing all so proud

"Esther!" He cries. "What--are--you--doing--here?"
"I'm pregnant for you baby!"
"What?!" "Really?!"
"Yes love!"

Mo is about to scream now
Esther has always been a threat to her marriage
But when she tried telling Wanjala, he would lay his hands on her each time
So she keeps quite about the events she witnessed, a month ago, with Wanjala's brother, Sam, and Esther in bed together.

Sam was a good lad. He respected women.
He loved Esther very much. But so did Wanjala.
Wanjala stole her heart recently, simply through a flash of a few coins to her.
Sam was not wealthy as Wanjala.

Esther's baby could belong to Sam.
She can't tell Sam because he never knew about Wanjala's affair with his girlfriend.
She heeds to her mother's advice.
She keeps her mouth shut, like the African woman she is.

She remembers what happened earlier
When she overheard what her uncles said
Her husband had falsely accused her of adultery
And yet, here he is today, receiving the fruits of it.

* The END

He fingerprints my melanin skin
I bleed lust, i trust
Alien tongue playing a seductive touch on my **** lips,
Dropping my guard, gulping every ******..
Hard pacing in and out of me, i let him an inch closer to my heart,
As i pick a scent of city life on his chest,
His skin so smooth it mends my dents and cracks, my perfect match,
My soul dances in the light with the freedom of a mad man,
Dead brain this sweet pain, whispers pleasure......
I chose him and left all behind
The lights of the city held a pride
Which i would bask in beside him

See..... I lost me
Imbeko packed and left me lonely,
Getting high in dark spaces of the street lights,
Yelling die, this was not living was just trying to survive
Gutter life, suffer i, had to sell my body away,
Stained my soul, my conscience couldn't stay,
Mr urban see had hit the cherry got his share of merry and walked away,
Finally unmasking the veil of deceit, i saw the true colours,
But i couldnt go back to ravaged community of round mud houses,
Pride was the bouncer that kept me inside,
Had to die here and i did

But no i am not that young woman
Didn't let go of this culture
Content with these village ethics, nature's majestics,
Completely free from these misguided pledges
I would rather fetch water on earth's edges,
Why try mold into world classes, african being is rare,
And i am that her, who brushes my black hair with pride,
You.. yes you, your african hair is nice,
I rap myself in colours of native love,
Catching the cries of early *****,
Not waking up with a bunch of different strangers in my bed,
You might think i am misguided, i am not driven by philosophers of english communities
In which the music is within us.... In the untamed soils of mother africa

So i keep his fingerprints away from my beautiful skin
Cause i never wanna be where she has been

Sometimes we tend to define some things in a whole lot of words
When only a few are needed
Like 'i love you'
Doesnt need further defination
Plain and simple to describe a feel thats not as plain and simple

I am Jae
I am a poet