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.

i used to envision myself
gracing scenes of
your spotless minds
movie screens
in films wrapped in gold cellophane
directed in flickers of light
electrified by pain
enhanced by the vision of what
our love could be
switching to black & white projections
anytime i feel happy
to play onto the theme of
my own personal deflections
because even the actors know
i’m the happiest
when you’re without me

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...

She is
entranced
in the little,
endless hums
of the night,
they are
soft spoken
mysteries,
gentle
whispers
in the
wind by the
poet’s pen
in stroke of
the fabric of
pages with
visions
written by
sonorous
hums of the
deep sea
arms of
the cosmos
in a flower
undying,
opening
in the eyes
of the one
who have
known
the dark
to cherish
the light,
unfading
in bloom,
she rises
from the
long,
waking
daydream,
drifted by
the seas of
the moon
to the
shore,
where
she rests,
gazing
upon
the tides
until the
sun is in
advent,
the earth
awakens,
deeper
than
stars, the
unsullied
sleep and
breathe,
they too, are
timeless.

I believed your
heart was holy
because
every kiss
you gave
was heavenly