"nairobi" poems
Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution
Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen,
That tall old man with white hair all over his head
Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind
Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart
But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece
Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade
His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself,
Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss
Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift;
A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary
Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine
But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent
Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution
For you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution
That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect
The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour
He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety
He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda
He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi
All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness,
It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade
His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt
To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts,
His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece
And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution
Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk ****
Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness
They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty,
Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism,
Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs,
Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy,
They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets
Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
psychologism, i.e. neo-racism, neo- due to it being without any collective ethnic collectivisation, best insinuated by marijuana users, grouping alcoholics with ****** sharp shooters; they think they have the moral high ground, but they talk jack sh-: medicinal marijuana is synthetic marijuana / ore without casual-use effects, it's not the sh- you put in your **** have a *** change and tell me about children suffering from cancer while you're at it: because those starving children of africa adverts... are really really working... knowing that the man in control of such charities earns over half a million a year - post-colonialism only really works while you have former colonial indigenous peoples nearby, then you can milk that ***** cow from the locals... make sure you think the nairobi international airport has a dirt runway and you'll feel all ******* fuzzy giving money to these companies... post-colonialism only works like that... import some former colonials to milk the former colonial whites into coughing up money & guilt... then watch the irish get leery with sarcasm at almost anything... and the scots gear up pride and become politically malignant... the good friday agreement? tony blair did as much as / avoiding-tax cigarettes smuggled from eastern europe west of the ural mountains exchanged in belfast... but geographic borders were never used in rhetoric in politics... because ireland was always further west than iceland: as oaths go... it was a neighbour of liberty iseland... with the true statue of liberty in a moulin rouge cancan attire, skirt up, flame extinguished - although ***** as hell: and in koranic reality, requiring a harem for her three holes.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
A man must be knowledgeable, says God
For him to come in the presence of God,
He who has his male members dismembered
Or his testicles crushed whatsoever,
He shall not be permitted to enter in to the synagogue,
To worship Jehovah God of Israel,
says the deutronomical god of Jews
And today I am ill fated,
my testicles are crushed,
By the grenade thrown by a terrorist,
Here in Nairobi, an Islamic terrorist
Has crushed my testicles, in his guest
For the land of Palestine usurped by Israelis,
How do I worship you God of Israel?
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
let me begin my salutation to you
by expressing my angst about your ghastly night experience
that you go through when in the hands of the policemen
who often walk around in the name of security patrols
while in truth they bettle terror in the show of evil mighty
they swop you down and arrest you spreadeagled
asking for bribes substantially the money of your proceeds
from the ware of your trade your body the temple of christian God,
Wherever your lack money
your beauty saves you as they go on to **** you in circles among themselves
as they glorify the power of your bossom in their policeman's slang,
where beauty , tyranny of bossom and your bribe is absent
you are forlornly arrested from the streets of Nairobi and Lagos or Johannesburg
then rounded down to a dingy police cell to be charged
with heinous crimes of prostitution and vagrancy,
when the true origin of your fortune's tomfoolery
is powers that be as they glorify anti woman crude cultures
beseeching a girl child into despair and depravement,
they are these men who refused to see you as a beacon of glory
they always link you to the filthy bedrooms from which you ennoble not.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
They began without notice, in the city of Mombasa
By the Al shabab shooting baby Osinya in the head,
Killed the mother, leaving a slug stuck in Osinya’s head
Killing and mauling many others macabrously,
Killing for no other reason, but tribe and faith,
Their victims confess different religion and ethnicity.
They had initially lynched the West Gate Mall
In Nairobi, killing the aged and seasoned darling
Of African poetry and true fountain of peace
The dearest Kofi Awonor, in full watch of his son,
Confirming a trail of the ghastly curse of fate and death
That totted him arduously from his home in the west
Of the tropical gulag that makes the land of Africa
From where the terror maestro ; Boko haram reign scot free
Mayheming, Killing, ****** and kidnapping harmless virgins
Killing For no other reason but tribe and faith,
Their victims confess different religion and ethnicity.
They have now killed fifty peasants in Mpeketon town,
****** them in circles to puncture their virginity
and brutally kidnapping those that are not *****
Using the AK 47 and the Ak 74 to shoot and ****
Without reason nor course but failure of mind
Botched down by authenticity of holy diversity
Heavenly packaged in God’s idea of tribe,
Uhm! An African man with a gun is a brute of brutes,
Giving an African a gun is simple mess of the world
In to helter-skelter poise tilting peace higgledy-piggledy,
Killing one another like animals premised by Charles Darwin
As overtly seen in the warring Congo and CAR,
Where Africans **** one another in a stupid dint,
To ape Rwanda or no! To outshine the Jewish Massacre
In the Ammonium chambers of fuehrer Adolf ******
This stupid Africans baser than wild beasts,
Who told you that your greatness will come
from killing your neighbours; the fellow peasants?
These African men are the modern homoguerrillus,
Which one call cheap war making man
They and **** ! **** **** **** **** **** ****
For no other reason but faith and tribe,
Their victims confess different religion and ethnicity.
Gunshots of the gunmen in Africa are not
A song of the caged bird, no whatsoever,
They are cowardly maneuvers of the weak
As the weak and cowards rarely forgive,
They arm themselves to the teeth
With deadly weapons from Russia or wherever
Only to shoot and **** the old and malnourished
Peasant women, killing the likes of baby Osinya
Shooting a suckling baby to prove your heroism,
These African men are really a Whiteman’s burden,
They **** their fellows from cockcrow to chick roost
For no other reason but tribe and faith,
Their victims confess different religion and ethnicity.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
They are silent and beautiful,
gorgeous in in the white halo,
cemented in a beautiful terrazzo,
baring the names of fallen soldiers,
the European soldiers that fell in Wars;
second and first and the heinous silent wars,
i hope this is why they have a proverb; white sepulchre,
only baring the white dead, only chiefs but no dead Indian.
Common wealth graveyards are all over in Africa,
in India , panama , Latin America and europe,
the active fronts in which the allies fought ******
they are beautifully placed in silently posh areas,
in langata when in Nairobi, in Mbaraki when in Mombasa,
in Matisi when in Kenya, In Namusungui when in Lodwar,
They bear horizontal silence with white names engraved
on their beautiful face shouting the glory of European empires,
which provoked the evil sense in the heart of the king's horseman
in Kenya, in the city of Nairobi, to steal the graveyard lands,
he made them his urban home with an uppish courtyard,
for him the dead white neighbours are better than in-corruption.
I walk around the commonwealth graveyards,
in the all quarters of erstwhile British empire,
looking for the names of African soldiers ,
who died in thousands fighting for the queen
the royal bloodied woman of England;Elizabeth,
Looking for the sons of Ethiopia who stood with
the second duce Benito son of Mussolini,
fighting for Hitler,for Shintos in the European war,
i have seen no name of any African,
I have not seen Wandabwa wa masibo,
who was conscripted into the first world war,
Along with his father Biket wa Khayongo,
Biket back after seven years in 1918,
carrying Wandabwa's Belt,
Wandabwa died in the field,
Where was he buried, he is nowhere
Not anywhere among the soldiers in cemeteries,
I have not seen Nasong'o wa Khayongo,
who was conscripted in 1940,
to fight against ******
he was conscripted on his nuptial evening,
even before he had had the first ***
with his new wife, he went away crying,
he never came back, his name is nowhere in the graves
the commonwealth graves that bare names of the fallen,
Fallen soldiers, but they all bare white names in the black world.
you come to Africa, Kenya, Nigeria, Malagasy,Egypt,
whatever the geographies of Africa, and you keep keen,
you hear someone is called Mr. Keya, or Madam Keya,
or you come to Bungoma county of Kenya,
you meet a man that is of the circumcision age group,
Known as Bakikwameti Keya, Bakinyikewi Musolini,
Keya is subverted sound for Kings african rivals; KAR
the African sound for KAR is Keya,
in reference to mass conscription of Africans
into the KAR, to fight ******
A child born during that time is Keya,
A man circumcised during the time
is in the age group of Keya,
A simple lesson in regard to our people,
taken away to fight the colonial power
and left to died and rot away in the bush
with a simple courtesy for ceremonial burial,
that come along with the death of soldiers,
who passed away in the battle field.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of love this is Africa
What's in Africa? What's there to see?
I asked myself on the New Year's eve
I thought that I was good in geography
But I didn't know Lagos or Nairobi
I might be ignorant, I have to admit
About Africa I knew just a little bit
The great Sahara - sands of mystery!
The Nile river - so much history!
Africa is magical and magical is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of joy this is Africa
Namibia, Nigeria, Niger, Angola, Algeria
Burundi, Benin and Libya, Lesotho and Liberia
Burkina-Faso, Botswana, Guinea-Bissau, Ghana
Djibouti, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Uganda, Rwanda, Gambia
I saw a film on Serengeti Park
A one of a kind, a must-see landmark
I watched a documentary on pyramids of Giza
They're much much older than Mona Lisa
I heard that oldest coffee plants
Take their roots in Ethiopia's land
And that samba, rumba, funk and jazz
Take their beats from African drums
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of love this is Africa
Cameroon and Congo, Malawi, Mali, Morocco
Côte d'Ivoire and Kenya, Mauritius, Mauritania
Tunisia, Tanzania, Eswatini, Eritrea
Sudan, Senegal, Somalia, Sierra Leone, South Sudan
You can travel around cities of Africa
Like Cape Town, Cairo or Casablanca
If you're in love or plan to be
Go to Zanzibar, feel that ocean breeze!
Climb up mount Kilimanjaro
Watch the zebras cross the Masai Mara
If you're adventurous, you're a dreamer
Take a wild trip down Zambezi river
Africa is magical and magical is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of joy this is Africa
Comoros, Chad, Cabo Verde, Democratic Republic of Congo
Ethiopia, Egypt, Guinea, Gabon, Equatorial Guinea and Togo
Madagascar, Mozambique, Central African Republic
Sao Tome and Principe, South Africa and Seychelles
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland, I'm on my way to Africa!
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 7:33 PM UTC
Tax man! The tax man is coming,
He is in company of the city Askari
Armed with clubs and sten-guns
In the militant spirit of field combat
Reconnoitering to the point of rampage
In full readiness to attack and wound
The street hawker in Nairobi city,
The dominant city tax payer is under siege
He has no option; is either tax or death
tax man! Tax man! Don’t **** a hawker.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 5:54 AM UTC
‘The rebels always find each other,’
the old men used to say, scowling
at us and our feral-haired friends
in the slums of Nairobi.
Tell my people I love them.
The rebels do not know who they are
but they know who they are not;
they know they are breathing bad air,
they know something is not quite right here.
The rebels always find each other,
communicating on some soul-dimension of revolutionary
called to understand, called to speak,
called to live and live well the cause of peace.
Let them be alone if they must.
They will empty their pockets for the freedom of the world
and feel themselves the winners of some crazy cosmic sweepstakes--
tell my people I love them.
The rebels always find each other
far from home,
far from other.
They find each other and remind each other:
to tell despair to **** off,
to reach for light,
to stay up all night seeking,
because the rebels will find each other
and be found--
tell my people
I love them
by Teej Mali
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:19 PM UTC
Mount Kenya University; our school
Has really scaled the heights
Climbed the mountains of education
In and outside the country.
However, we as students have to sweat it out
To climb personal mountains of education.
That’s why am not happy
From Monday to Friday
My precious time and fare
Gets wasted
So that I can attend lectures.
Here I am
A digitalized engineering student
Who has designed a robot
For taking me up there above the clouds
To punish they who brought
All this book-struggling to us.
The robot is climbing up
The steep steps of the atmosphere.
In heaven I am now
Holding a cane.
I dispenses three hot strokes of the cane
On Eve’s buttocks
Then advances towards her husband.
But Michael the Arch-angel
Kicks me back to my seat
At Uniafric house
Where am listening to a lecturer
Who is possibly lecturing for eternity
He does not seem to understand
That my dry throat needs some unlocking
That my lover
Is waiting for me.
Have a look at Nairobi city!
Lit like a bush
Full of countless glow worms.
Look at the beautiful
Gleaming lights of Tribeka club!
At the cheap hotels
Located at Odeon Cinema
Am forced to take lunch
Of chips which cost thirty bob
They say it’s usually prepared
Using some poisonous electricity transformer oil.
My pockets are
really too small
for the likes of Java.
But my fellow mountain climbers
Let’s fold the sleeves of our shirts
To hold onto the mountain’s
tricky walls for guidance
To climb all the way to the top.
And of course
We will have plenty to enjoy
In the snow capped peak of the mountain
Armed with huge jackets
For preventing the destructive advances
Of the then present world.
©2013 Vetelo Ngila
The writer is a Journalism student at Mount Kenya University, Nairobi campus, Kenya.
Contact: [email protected] OR [email protected]
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 6:31 AM UTC
Zebra-striped cushion covers on soft-white chairs,
cream topped calorie delights, inviting -
this patisserie in Nairobi:
"you're welcome" the smartly outfitted
African girl spoke in flawlessly accented English
as I pore over the menu - a posh girl
dressed in haute denim and a sleeved top
walks in and spoke French in pouted lips
as she found her corner spot, reading;
an Asian couple walk in, wife in hijab
and baby in tow, as the man sneers at me and
answers 'assalamu alaikum' on phone
as I ponder on identity when
the French matron in Yoga tops walks in
saying namaste to me, and calls out for Henry -
her outfitted and bespectacled pomeranian
oh don't we all want to be someone else
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
i'm 9 in nairobi
playing foosball with a masai man
whose lip and earlobe
(both well-stretched)
bounce against his face,
he hangs lip over nose,
ears over ears,
we play on
funny, those kinds of scars
began with young women,
east african, who
fearing ****
and kidnap
from the north,
cut holes
in lip, in earlobe,
lifted skin of stomach
to slice smooth turtleshell shapes,
rubbed camel dung in wounds for better
scars,
which meant:
resistance, meant:
freedom, meant:
don't take me away,
don't steal my life.
funny
those scars
mean beauty now.
funny, these scars
on my wrist, funny how
much i love life now.
funny scars
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
Do you remember the taste of my lips when we kissed
true those moment i realy do miss
when i held your face between my palms
so tender keeping yu from harm
Do you remember when we hugged
those moments when we were intwined
when your heart bet with mine
and every thing seemed so fine
Do you remember ma head on your thighs
and you held me like a child in a cry
those smiles
those moments should have lasted a longer while
Do you remember that stare that made you afraid of ma eyes
you were kept busy by the blue skies
watching time slowly fly
i miss those cute pupils ooh my!
Do you remember that ice cream guy
you don't remember the pinpop! Why?
and the candies that you gave me only a few
*** please don't tell me you dnt have a clue
Fine do you remember that selfie
the one i shared with a tag 'my future wifie'
smiles i will sure marry you
and the happines for our destiny; heavens have a clue
Do you remember when the sun went down
and that day we had to crown
the way we held hands and waists in town
they were jealous; you didn't see them frawn
Do you remember the Nairobi rains
with those poor drains
we got wet in love
we did like in the movies; laughs...
do you stil remember that day i got mad
you leaving early made me sad
heh we parted without a bye
and for another day i had to standby
to make up and make out
to talk sweet and refrain shouts
to let you know that i love you with no doubts
that point that you leave my world itl be all ouch!
Hope you stil remember the monument
it marked the end of my visit and my light moments
this memories are just a torment
but for a lifetym to stay they meant
Those kisses still quench my thirst
in your arms im safe that i trust
those rains still wash away my tears
for birds' chirps are still melody to my ear
candies taste exerctly as yua kiss
and for your face i have the night skies
Hope you remember you promises
for tomorow you wil stil be my princess
till mummy you become and a queen
i will love you handsomely that i promise
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 4:35 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My heart has gone out for all families on the street
That came out of the erstwhile street boys and girls
Kudos to your creativity as you make life from nothing
Blessed bye your bravado and sense of oblivion
With which you have held the riches of the world
In which effortlessly swim the powers that be,
Beautified be a street family in the all quarters of the world
Wherever you are kindly be ennobled
Whether in India or Chicago of Americas,
Be it Nairobi, Lagos or Jo’burg the infernos of urchinery
Good times and chances befall you children of the street.
Great beauty with you is condemnation of the tribe
In Africa where ethnicity is the bricks of tribal mall
Your names are conditional but not tribal connotation
They sing songs of exclusion but not chauvinism of ethnicity
I was in Kenya at the city of Eldoret, I visited your platoon
In the suburb of Langas, I derided not in the glory of your nomenclature;
Some of you festooned in the street emperor, as other wallow in mauverick titles
Like; Cop-puncher, weed-cooler, ****** breaker, top sniffer, hotel sentry
And many other accoladic names as you feasted me on your virtuosity.
Royal is your blood as you bivouac in the blizzards
The blood in your vein came from the state panjandrum
During the libidinous hour in the wee of the night
The teats you suckled were of your undergraduate mothers
In the high powered Universities of bourgeoisie education
Never regret in your ego for great is your genetics
It was solely misplaced priorities of your vulnerable mothers
That had you dumped on the street garbage in the oblivion of society
But great you are because 10% you hitherto make
Of the ostentations African population that is whoopingly a billion!
Time is coming for your final say, bivouac wherever you are
For your day is very soon.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
He comes out of his house, off into his ****** limousine,
The pride and glory of American handicraft,
Drives away past his main gate, guarded by a Luhyia national,
The nation from which watchmen are mass manufactured,
The gate is banged closed with a sharp emblem dominating;
tafadahli umbwa kali, please fierce dogs are in don’t dare enter,
when no piece of a dog is in, hen pecking husbands perhaps,
He drives away in low spirit, like the tail of a snake,
Sharply contrasting his tiger thoraxed debates in the parliament,
In defence of state corruption; Anglo leasing and her sisters,
The wife has chased out our state officer, his sole Succor,
of the night and chilly loneliness so nameless ,in the streets of Nairobi,
Is the epiphanous street of koinange, after Mbiu Koinange
The colonial orchestrator of intellectual globalectics,
He sired political immorality that sired social depravement,
To rove his avenues as the state and money capitalist
Convert beautiful daughters of the poor peasants
Into defenseless protégés of class misfortune
Roaming the back streets minus
Any lingerie in their bosoms.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My heart has gone out for all families on the street
That came out of the erstwhile street boys and girls
Kudos to your creativity as you make life from nothing
Blessed bye your bravado and sense of oblivion
With which you have held the riches of the world
In which effortlessly swim the powers that be,
Beautified be a street family in the all quarters of the world
Wherever you are kindly be ennobled
Whether in India or Chicago of Americas,
Be it Nairobi, Lagos or Jo’burg the infernos of urchinery
Good times and chances befall you children of the street.
Great beauty with you is condemnation of the tribe
In Africa where ethnicity is the bricks of tribal mall
Your names are conditional but not tribal connotation
They sing songs of exclusion but not chauvinism of ethnicity
I was in Kenya at the city of Eldoret, I visited your platoon
In the suburb of Langas, I derided not in the glory of your nomenclature;
Some of you festooned in the street emperor, as other wallow in mauverick titles
Like; Cop-puncher, weed-cooler, ****** breaker, top sniffer, hotel sentry
And many other accoladic names as you feasted me on your virtuosity.
Royal is your blood as you bivouac in the blizzards
The blood in your vein came from the state panjandrum
During the libidinous hour in the wee of the night
The teats you suckled were of your undergraduate mothers
In the high powered Universities of bourgeoisie education
Never regret in your ego for great is your genetics
It was solely misplaced priorities of your vulnerable mothers
That had you dumped on the street garbage in the oblivion of society
But great you are because 10% you hitherto make
Of the ostentations African population that is whoopingly a billion!
Time is coming for your final say, bivouac wherever you are
For your day is very soon.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
Thank you, thank you from the depth of my heart,
Thank you my lovely family from
Mombasa,Nairobi and Daressalaam,
Thank you for adding colour to my miserable grey year.
Thank you for welcoming me to your home,
For being there for me when I needed you most.
Thank you for taking me on the trip,
For walking beside me,
For holding my hands when I needed support,
It's the little things that you do that mean so much to me.
Thank you for putting up with me,
Thank you for sharing your food with me,
The delicious acharis, yummy jugu paak, mouth watering gorpapdi, exquisite puris, sakarperas and variety of biscuits,
Not to forget everybody 's favourite "popcorn",
And showering me with lovely gifts,
Thank you too, for celebrating my birthday with that awesome black forest cake.
Most of all thank you for listening to me,
And encouraging me in my low moments.
If I ever think of a good family,
You guys are always first on the list,
So many thoughtful things you did for me,
But, one thing is for sure I owe a lot to you.
I also want you to know how much I love and appreciate you.
Thanks is just a small word,
But, for me it has a deep meaning and thousands emotions.
7/1/2020
Jan 7, 2020
Jan 7, 2020 at 5:17 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My heart has gone out for all families on the street
That came out of the erstwhile street boys and girls
Kudos to your creativity as you make life from nothing
Blessed bye your bravado and sense of oblivion
With which you have held the riches of the world
In which effortlessly swim the powers that be,
Beautified be a street family in the all quarters of the world
Wherever you are kindly be ennobled
Whether in India or Chicago of Americas,
Be it Nairobi, Lagos or Jo’burg the infernos of urchinery
Good times and chances befall you children of the street.
Great beauty with you is condemnation of the tribe
In Africa where ethnicity is the bricks of tribal mall
Your names are conditional but not tribal connotation
They sing songs of exclusion but not chauvinism of ethnicity
I was in Kenya at the city of Eldoret, I visited your platoon
In the suburb of Langas, I derided not in the glory of your nomenclature;
Some of you festooned in the street emperor, as other wallow in mauverick titles
Like; Cop-puncher, weed-cooler, ****** breaker, top sniffer, hotel sentry
And many other accoladic names as you feasted me on your virtuosity.
Royal is your blood as you bivouac in the blizzards
The blood in your vein came from the state panjandrum
During the libidinous hour in the wee of the night
The teats you suckled were of your undergraduate mothers
In the high powered Universities of bourgeoisie education
Never regret in your ego for great is your genetics
It was solely misplaced priorities of your vulnerable mothers
That had you dumped on the street garbage in the oblivion of society
But great you are because 10% you hitherto make
Of the ostentations African population that is whoopingly a billion!
Time is coming for your final say, bivouac wherever you are
For your day is very soon.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
Dear future friend, lover, husband,
At this particular moment in my life, I am laying straight on my back on a hard flat mattress.
I am hearing the sounds of cars struggling to leave a parking lot with tired wheels and manly voices.
My heart is free for the first time since the last time it was broken, and I pray. I pray to our God that the next time is the last time.
Dear future friend, lover, husband,
I want you in that order. I want to know you and laugh with you and feel like I am safe with you.
I want to pray, dance, and dear God I hope I get to sing with you.
I hope I get to eat a full bowl of ice cream in front of you. I hope you stay around for what that does to me, and if you stay through that mess then you deserve this chest, these hands, and my feet.
Because with this chest I will ache for you.
With these hands I will reach for you.
With these feet I will walk towards you.
I have had too much hope and too little life to give up.
I’m sitting in Nairobi, wondering where you are. Wondering if you are.
Dear future friend, lover, husband,
I grew up thinking I needed you. I grew up believing only one love was true. I grew up believing you’d come and find me like a sleeping beauty I would be awakened when I met you. But I can’t wait for you.
I’ve trekked across the globe and seen the band of the earth. I left trails of myself in every place I was like bread crumbs hoping you’d follow the delicious path to me.
So take your time picking up the pieces that will lead you to me. I don’t want to wait for you and I sure hope you’re not waiting for me.
Dear future friend, lover, husband,
I hope you understand that I love you already. I have only a notion that you exist. My words stutter and stumble around trying to find a way to you.
Do not wait for me, but join me on this hard flat mattress, and make this night less of a nightmare and more of a future.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Johnny won't tell me what he is wearing
I beg
show me your shoes
come no one will see you
Nothing to lose
sympathize!
snap a photo
be normal like everyone else!
you won't stand out
I promise
Everyone selfies
just snap it yourself
I just want to see what your wearing from
Heathrow to Nairobi
come on tease my eyes!!!!!
I am waiting..hurry the plane is about to take off!!!
show me **** it show me
come on Johnny
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
I fell in love with a girl from Nairobi.
She was from a political family, timid with the heart of a coyote.
You couldn't hide the intelligence in her smile
because she smirked and stroked her bottom lip, like her joy was on trial.
she thought she was always being watched
and that prevented her from experiencing real joy.
even though i tried with all I am, i could never maker her fully enjoy
life,
because hers was never really her own to live.
i fell in love with a girl from Nairobi, she already employed the greatness i could not give.
T.S.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
I'm done I don't need anymore reasons.
I'm sick of this feeling I need some of your pleasing.
I think I'll wright a note, or just come out and stop teasing.
I want to be with you.
And I could give you what you need too.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 9:42 PM UTC
#Al Shabab having terrorist fits
while Nairobi is taking the hits.
An attack calculated
by gunmen, frustrated
for lack of Somalian *****
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 10:03 AM UTC
My dad is faithfull to me
He always pound hard on my girl
At first i felt so painful and o cried
He told me not to tell my mum
I was faithful;i kept quiet.
He always tell me that i am nice
And mostly feels good in my girl
I hope he will marry me
Because he loves me so much
I am only sixteen
And he takes me out in his car
Sometimes i don't go to school
Just to go out with him.
He tells me one day;
He will take me to nairobi for one week
I long for that day
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 3:45 AM UTC