"When your turn finally arrives," he says,
"you'll understand why the wait was really long.
You'll see why the storm was rough and strong,
Why the Ocean was endless, the sails torn.
When your turn finally arrives, every tree in this jungle will make sense.
You'll appreciate each wound and scratch for the beautiful scars they are.
You'll finally see adventures in your endless journey.
You'll realize that the burdens and weight you couldn't bear
were merely the crucible where your strength was forged.
The wrecking heartbreaks, the tears you've shed,
You'll learn chiseled your spirit and your character made.
When your turn finally arrives, you'll understand that
The purpose of going through the deepest caverns and the darkest tunnels
was to unearth hidden gems, like precious pearls in funnels.
When your turn arrives, amid life's daily stumbles,
You'll discover that each loss you picked up along the way
collectively turned you into the masterpiece that you are."

"There are a few good men like you", she says.
"Men out there are gods, born to be worshipped
they were told good women aren't created with tongues to talk back
Men out there are tyrants in their kingdoms
they are broken and their women die trying to mend them
blinded by ambition they can't see what's in front of them
and have seen terrible things happen to men like you so they don't believe.
Men out there are burdened by expectations,
they shoulder the shattering weight of society's pressure,
Lost in their minds, they forget to be present...
They're a civil war and the battle sometimes returns with them
fights lost resolved using the punching bag they married at home...
Every step forward, they're pulled five steps back,
Entangled in a web of a perceptions they can't unpack.
Men out there, like caged birds do long to be free,
Yet the bars of expectations deny them the key.
They're deafened by their own silent screams but they refuse
to lean on anyone, after all, growing up they were told big boys don't cry."

Do not read it, you will not like this book, it speaks about your pain,
It reveals your scars, the ones you don't want us to see,
It tells how lonely you are and happy you used to be.
You will not like the reminder that you once really believed in love,
That your heart was a beautiful castle, this book calls it rubble.
Its pages will unfold like the layers of your forgotten dreams,
Revealing the cracks where hope once happily lived .
You'll find remnants of the light that used to dance in your eyes,
Now muffled by the cello tape of countless goodbyes.
This book is a mirror to the cold nights you spend alone,
When only the stars see your tears, and onto your groans the moonlight shines.
and her light sings the melodies of your shattered symphony,
The tune of heartbreak and bittersweet agony.
The stories it holds will reopen the septic you've concealed,
The wounds that time tried really hard but miserably failed to heal.
In these pages, you'll meet the demons you've known,
As the pain within you is a dynamite waiting to be blown.
this book will drug you deeper into the labyrinth of your past,
Aren't you, exhausted from trekking the same miles when you've just washed off the dust?
this book brews with the wrecking storms thought to have passed...
Do not read this book, it will drive you insane...

She is sore, burnt by sparks from the flames of desire
there is no treasure to find in the land far away;
yet, the journey home is as tiring as the stay.
The ocean of opportunity, once pictured in vibrant hues,
stretches before her in muted tones, its waves carrying
not the promises but the weight of disillusionment.
The sky above, once a canvas of dreams, now painted grey with clouds of doubt,
casting shadows on the path she knew, or thought!
The laughter that lingered is drowned by the silence of shattered dreams
The friendly whispers, once a soothing melody, now resound as hollow echoes,
stark reminders of friendships dissolved like mirages in the desert of reality.
The road paved with anticipation is a maze of uncertainties,
each turn leading to a dead end of unmet expectations.
The once vibrant petals of hope have withered,
replaced by the thorns of disappointment, pricking at her spirit with every step.
The starry nights that were supposed to hold her wishes
now seem like distant constellations, beyond her reach,
lost in the vast expanse of unfulfilled aspirations.
The roads of life are perilous now more than ever
for her knight of courage upped and left in the dead of night ...
She can't even tread on the shore of optimism
as what should have been warm sand is a swamp of alligators waiting to bite...

They say she was molded from Angel wings,
that her face was brushed with star dust.
That she was bathed in a meteor shower,
And alloyed in an asteroid crust.
There was an eclipse each time she blinked
and when she cleared her throat an earthquake.
They say her heart was so big it could empty the Atlantic ocean,
that her smile was silver marinated with pure gold.
She caused solar flares when she flirted, global warming when she farted...  
Her presence, osmium-strong, held so much weight,
that all marveled at her, as sapphires were her eyes
and her mystic gaze held the aurora in their depths.
Her feet were cosmic, galaxies born with each step,
Her mind a black hole of infinite wisdom,
some thought her alien, others titan,
for she clutched the universe in her palms...
and her handshake was a bridge to uncharted realms.
Her hair flowed in dollops of molten amber and liquid silk,
and her hug they say was a gentle breeze across the desert sands.

All I did was write, until the pen accepted me.
Until the pain escaped from me, or became a part of me.
All I did was dive into the ocean of ink,
Where emotions sail, and dreams interlink.

All I did was write until the labyrinth made sense,
Until I imploded within and was no longer tense.
Until I figured out where every letter would go,
Shooting for the stars, this has always been my bow.

All I did was scribble down as I was always told.
They said between my ******* is a worth more than gold.
All I did was believe in the power of my mind,
That the words I share can touch and bind.

All I did was create, like an artist's hand,
Giving life to my musings, a world to understand,
All I did was illuminate with the written word,
Attempting to bring warmth to the hearts of those unheard.

I was shattered, these words kept me whole,
All I did was let my pen trace the map of my soul.

This war started long ago with your great grandfather,
The difference being he was fighting to stay,
For the same reason you're fighting to leave...
He was fighting for this home which no longer is,
For the gods you now call pagan, for the culture you deem fake,
And the minerals, now heavy jewels around your neck.

This war started long before anyone thought it would,
When the iron snake started wriggling from the coast,
Spreading its poison across the land, carrying modernity with it,
When they killed the protesters of Tsavo and called them man-eaters.

This war started when Kinjikitile failed to save us from the fire spitting sticks,
When nyungu ya mawe fell, when the imperialist found the trade routes.

This war started long ago when your ancestors developed a taste for salt,
And were told to give away a few of your kin to have it...

This war started with that book that you believe in,
the one that speaks about sticks turning into snakes and people walking on water.

This war started when your great grand Uncle believed and collaborated,
even long before that, when the kabaka agreed to split this land.

This war started when we accepted the names the colonialist gave,
to our lakes, our rivers, our springs and then to our children...

Yet here you are pumped up like this war has just begun...

Love is a pink diamond, it's ice cold sunshine
An invaluable antiquity that can't be sold
It's the dance of the moon to the music of the stars
Love is a quiet whisper of the tides in the storm
a new shock absorber smoothing an off-road adventure
It's the joy of weaver birds praising the rising sun
the swashing sway of trees in the early morning breeze
Love is a palm by the sea, a chain of liberty, a key
an invaluable painting hung up the walls of a heart
a slow roller-coaster that lets you savor the view whilst on the ride
Love is kids playing in rain, letting nothing steal their thunder
Love is the Masai mara, a breathtaking wonder
Love is a spark that sets hearts ablaze
It's an eternal flame, in a mysterious haze.

Her mother lied, spun the horror of reality into a beautiful tale,
Of perfection and grandeur, painted calm from storm and hail
She always whispered, "My princess, you're beyond compare,
With a big heart like yours, love will always be there."

But lies dripped from her lips, painting a mirage,
A portrait of non existent affection, like a flickering collage.
She claimed that men would **** for eyes that bright,
While truth hid beneath the surface shrouded in night.

Her mother lied that men would scramble for the warmth in her arms,
that her smooth and silky hair carried with it fairy charms
She blinded her to the grotesque of reality she had seen
and masked her from the sweet stench of where she had been

Her mother told her that hips like hers made men want to stay
that the man for her wouldn't show up just for a roll in the hay
her mother showed her how ugly she looked with a frown
that her smile was for a queen, and she should never let go of that crown...

the only truth her mother told her was to forever be down to earth
and to never ever let anything or anyone undervalue her worth
for whatever life would turn out to be years later
She would always remain her mother's daughter....

how is it that i feel this strange way, even though i choose to ignore it, to brush it aside like noise coming from a construction site.
what is this uneasiness, the shaking of my body at the hands of winter?
do i simply choose to ignore it because i consider it insignificant or is it simply that am not brave enough to face the consequences of such thoughts?
these thoughts that are harder to understand than reaching the reefs of the sea.
i occasionally let the sun burn my skin, and let the rain drench my body hoping i would find answers in suffering,
but all it has taught me is too wiser in taking decisions, as i am confronted with a cold later.
how is it that we could be like liquid, formless and shapeless, sinking deeper and understanding every molecule of our existence?
how is it that we align ourselves with the secrets we hold that we ourselves, are not even aware of?
maybe we have always been like this, forbidden from knowing some parts about ourselves.
yet we think we know the world more, when the secrets within us are lost in the dunes of the desert.
this desert doesn’t really have an oasis, because the water dried up a long time ago, when humans didn’t even begin to question themselves.
to be like liquid now, to be free and yet know our deepest selves, maybe all we need is a little rain in this desert?
but the coast is far, and the winds only carry sand silt.
i wonder if this is how a civilization dies.