Come to me.
I am an actress you see.
I can love you the way you wanted to be love
treat you the way you wanted to be treated
seek home in my embrace
seek warmth in my bed
seek love at the cliffs of my lips
Do you fancy sweeter?
Do you want space?
I can give it you see.
I know what you want
because like you, I need love too.

Come, my lover
I am nothing but, a picture of happiness
You have summoned me, out from the pages of your fantasies
out from the imagery that sprung from folds of your idle mind
smile, laughter, glisten on my eyes
I'm the breath of your lost youth,
I'll offer you nothing but paradise
I am nothing but paradise

Come to me, tired and already bowed down
I'll quench your hollow well with life
two in two, we'll paint a picture of fantasy
I with the brush, you with the pencil
let's paint it red with passion, yellow for happiness
blue, orange, purple
we'll make it our rainbow escape
our kaleidoscope heaven.
I'll call you the sweetest names your ears are begging to hear
so sweet like sugar plum,
so sweet you can taste the air with it

Come to me, my baby
let's make this few hours together last forever
lets make memories like classic movies we're addicted on
aren't we good?
aren't we so believable,
Two foolish old kids we are...
Our rendezvous always sweet and short
Quick to pack up, and eager to remove our masks
We can only play this role for awhile
We can only pretend for a limited time.
We both know we can't keep up with the stage
With the gleaming lights, and billowing demands of our wants
always on our toes, our make up, thick and pale
The you and I in the we, are not fools, just desperates,
but never
numb,
deaf,
blind,
dumb,
numb to the dead beating of our hearts
deaf to the silence of our sorrowed souls
blind to the lifeless glisten of our eyes
dumb to know what you and I very well know...
You and I know there wasn't any We to begin with
You and I know what we made,
You and I know who you and I are even before this
You and I know what is staged and what's not
When the curtains fall, and our shoulders finally slumped and feet flat on the ground
Tired, oh but how I know how relieved you would feel.
You go back in the life that you know, and so do I.
You sleep alone, wake up alone.
live , breath and weep alone.
Being real, alone.
I know all this you know.
Because much more than an actress,
I am a human too, who like you,
needs true love too.

You've never loved,
I guess you never could.
Being in love's not cool,
And you don't want to look a fool.

Oh your spoilt for choice,
All the girls are yours,
For the taking,
Everyone knows you're in for some love-making.

Just cause you can bicep curl a twenty,
You think you're cooler than me,

You took my best mate's girl,
And you ruined his world,
He thought he had nothing left,
Now he's hanging by his neck.

I tell you what, when you wake up, you should shake up, and get your ego from mind, cos your wasting everybody's time.

Oh your spoilt for choice,
All the girls are yours,
For the taking,
Everyone knows you're in for some love-making.

I bet you're proud,
bout what you done,
and tell the crowd,
that it was fun.

Come Saturday night,
You'll pick a fight,
With a 5 foot man,
Who's too drunk to stand.

Oh your spoilt for choice,
All the girls are yours,
For the taking,
Everyone knows you're in for some love-making.

Oh you think you're cool,
You're probably the most popular guy at your school.

I suppose confidence is good,
When you live,
In this neighbourhood,
Where you live.

Oh I've heard your jokes a million times,
When I've passed by,
A crowd of desperates and cheaters and liars.

Oh your spoilt for choice,
All the girls are yours,
For the taking,
Everyone knows you're in for some love-making.

But someday it'll come back to bite you I bet,
But I know you won't fret,
Cos it's not what you do.

poetry don't work for anyone else
like to the desperates
who do not find peace in world
and it lacks equanimous beauty to the terrible
to agony
what is wrong
disfigured
deranged
forgotten
poetry is the cradle of crazy
that beyond philology
they look for a motherly hug in words
poetry is not a show
it's the very current of life
and you can see the roots when walking
it's erring from being in being
recreating again and again
in its metamorphosis
poetry is the sweet song of mythological beings
something that we do not see but in which we believe
a spell
a contraption
between paths that slopes
and plunges without rest

A car owner in Nairobi Accra, Ouagadougou or any African city
would, as one drives through potholes and ancient ragged tarmacs
be approached by beggars, street urchins and the poverty strickens
all with hungry faces and rags reeking of miseries and street lifes

With arms outstretched they beg pennies or two for a meal to survive
in the blazing sun hopeless lives look to the cars and those who drives
meal tickets wheezing past impervious to painful rumbling stomachs
in air-conditioned splendor they glide quietly past unmoved as stones

The poor wretched would hiss and snipe in ringing tones and anger
look at you useless person, you stink and you **** that dog you have
your mama is a *****, your father is a donkey and we **** your wife
you can't read and you **** yourself, you are a worthless *******

Some hunger crazed ones will throw stones and spit as cars speed on
again, again these desperados will exercise their right to free speech
Mister, you wet your trousers, you're fat like hippo and you smell
you and that woman, you look so ugly like charcoal and mud statutes

As they hurl insults and jipes at these car owners they found relief
with wide eyes and foaming mouths and rotten teeth they laughed
each cheering the other and high fiving as an original curse spews
it's the frustration of the wretched, it's the anger of those without

But worry not for we have these same forlorn and desperates here
angry, powerless, insignificant people watching successes drive
hating all those they feel is above them, hating those they envy
hating those they wish they could be like, hating their mediocrity

But they don't mill about on dusty roads screaming asinine insults
they go on computers and troll their targets, projecting their pains
flinging defamation and putdowns, hurling demented idiotic slurs
casting doom and despondencies,  accusing others of insecurities  

So like their African kinfolks, the wretched and the poor find relief
mediocre needs to release pent up frustration and pained anger
they need targets to hate and blame, they need distractions to ease
and the troll screen warriors and haters have the computers to thank

Their African kinfolks just want a meal not to waste time and energy writing **** to their envied, that is nonsense ****, they say!
These people too full for their bellies, what is wrong with them
them crazy, maybe their ***** done fall off, maybe they **** dogs
crazy western poor people, no wonder God give them long noses!

Who are we to judge, I'd say...it must be horrible to feel inferior....!!!

a glimmer of hope
boys in bars with sculptured hair
girls trip on their heels

where, where are the men?
smear faced desperates lament.
not in the club scene.

and these boys care not
a woman could scar ego
so they pursue girls

He cried out to the world and received only the response of his echo. Unlike the many other desperates of life, he did not despair. Instead, in his loneliness, he cried out "I have a ******* awesome echo" and sat down to check his Facebook messages.

That was that, he thought, as he waited for you to wake up and say hello.

It was a very cold and unfortunate place to be right at the top of, here in the mountain of his friendlessness, right here on a Monday morning; but... the sun was rising and the day was coming- even if you didn't get round to saying hello.