My first Blogging Anniversary!

Last year, a day like today, I decided to explore the passion that had thrived in me since I was young. I was ecstatic to have a platform where I could share my passion of writing poetry with the world. It seemed as an adventure of some sort at the time. I did not know that my life was close to the beginning of glorious opportunities that came with that very decision.

Poetry to me is my silent way of voicing those words that that are past tenderness and have an immense humbling power. A pen and a paper have a way of healing the brokenness that normally defines human defect. Poetry gives me a delight and satisfaction that makes me feel alive, loved and relevant. Poetry is the best gift that life has presented to my life and I bath in the spotlight of my blog every day of my life! I did not know that I would meet amazing people who are a great community, with whom we share and explore the celebrated possibilities that life presents!

This blog has made me discover things that I never knew existed about myself and still, is a continuous process. It is exhilarating to learn that there are hidden powers in my wild and untamed imagination usually penned down by my talented hands. For instance, after writing a poem titled ‘I Am Ready’ (After responding to a request made by one of my blog’s avid reader), I decided to explore short stories. And wow! What a decision! I have written about 7 short stories all of which have been published by local credited media house. (To view, you may visit>>>my short stories )

I want to thank my readers and fellow blogging friends for the support and love that they show every day. I would not have made it without any of you and I say a big THANK YOU! I cannot wait to see what poetry has in store for me as each day comes with new gifts to see, explore and enjoy! I hope that more people embrace poetry as it is art, which best defines hidden meanings in the mysteries of this world. For me, I remain guided by an eagle’s spirit; unrestricted, untamed and ready to navigate the unknown to get that which delights me!

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Two Little Birds

Their mother out of sight, had gone to fetch for them,
It was her purpose to navigate the unknown with trust,
To find for her young ones luscious food that which blossomed them,
Relentlessly, for her love and protection to them could never be contained

Covered by a glorious breeze that ran through them,
The two little birds easily welcomed the intimate air,
In that distilled sweet moment that braided their young dreams,
They waited for their mother with an anticipation born on faith

The two little birds were growing untamed and unpredictable love,
Love that made them feel warm and free from any hate,
Their innocence was awe-inspiring and ruinous at the same time,
But it was safely hidden from real and canny horrors of this world

It was a certain flattering innocence pepped with marvel,
That always brought them into a deep bliss that slipped their minds away,
And made them happy in their own solitary nature of their youngness,
Ravishing splashes of beautiful white, gray and dark colors in the night,
As they waited for the sounds of whistles and bustles of their mother’s coming

 

My White Shadows

I am honoring the pragmatic of my white shadows,
In a frosty world of adoration to all that abhor,
That many times leave me lost, hollow and unloved,
The sinuous grace of white shadows cover me with gentle kisses,
As light and tender as the fall of delicate flower petals

Through the deafening hisses of persistence rumors,
Those that create a big hole of lies that harbor primal fear,
And carry a fatal chord that can stop the rhythm of life,
My white shadows distill my moments and save me,
They get me deep in a protected, timeless dreamlike ecstasy

When I am a small fly caught and trapped,
And my world is suspended and immobile,
My heart weak and helpless with a distorted visage,
From the horizon, they appear radiating something intimate,
Of a connection to the air, the earth and of an infallible purpose

The immaculate anonymity of my white shadows fill me,
It fades away all tenuous beliefs of what I am, can be,
For they bring fresh ripple of whispers in my ears,
Of hope and love that is beyond time and space,
That awash me with a sensation of a beautiful life

 

Flowers of the Rainbow

Was it the color, the sight or the smell?
She was struck by a fine wavering feeling,
Of the flowers of the rainbow that could be imagined or real,
But they had an invincible chord that played her rhythm of life

She was overwhelmed; it was as if she had found her own world at last!
Now, she was in her solitary nature where she could be free,
The flowers of the rainbow carried something silently powerful,
It was the ultimate freedom, tenderness and protection

She was in a dream, where all her elements went loose,
They were unrestricted, unbidden and in their true nature,
She was now dancing to her own tune that sounded true,
There was easy intimacy in the air that she breathed

The flowers of the rainbow had hands beyond tenderness,
She was in a timeless bliss in that moment of sweetness,
They were an ocean that she was too willing to drown herself,
She was now weak, helpless and imperfect human and it felt so right,

 

The First Kiss

He was always unnoticed, unloved and abandoned,
His orgy of solitude had become his constant companion,
He was invincible in a stretch of time with no ultimate space,
It was his inevitable curse that had been rained on him

But he longed and wished for that first kiss that could mean anything,
He didn’t care if he was going to equate it to rejected love,
He knew that was a cruel phrase that made him unwanted,
He wanted to feel like everyone else, a helpless human

Glowing anticipation severed his lips and made them thinner,
That first kiss, is all he needed, wanted,
The vision of that moment always answered faithfully to his calls,
The wanderlust of the first kiss takes away the long tunnel of loneliness

The sounds of the first kiss sparked dazzling light in darkness,
He knew the first kiss slowed everything instantaneously,
It navigates the heart to lands that are unknown but beautiful,
The first kiss forces one to that one moment of timeless bliss

It had vast answers to the many questions as wide as the world,
This was his one wish, his moon that swirled his whole life,
He wished he could hit upon a tune of point of contact,
To feel the eternal freedom of the first kiss in every step

 

 

The interview

The silence of the stars was too much that it daunted her. She couldn’t stop waiting for that wishing star. She needed it especially during that night that seemed long as she tried to close her eyes but couldn’t. Sleep deprivation was melting the edges off her entire concentration as she fitfully searched for the fainted glow of any wishing star. The anticipation for the following day was proving to be more thrilling than she could ever contain.

Linda was a twenty four year old girl whose ambition was brighter than the moon and the stars. She had worked so hard and she knew that in life, she deserved the best. In fact, she had passed so well with good grades that had secured her a partial scholarship to study in the United States. She had pursued international law and wanted to become a successful lawyer not only in Kenya, but in the rest of Africa. That dream offered her an inexplicable exhalation that always overwhelmed and lifted her heart.

Tomorrow she was going to be interviewed for her dream job and her heart could not stop pounding. She could not dismiss the uncanny feelings of the possibility of broken dreams. She was a straight arrow who always stuck to that one plan. She didn’t know what would happen if she was denied a chance to realize those dreams that churned inside her. Unable to stifle her expectations any longer, she lay on her bed and waited to welcome the break of dawn.

As she dressed that morning, the act itself seemed like unveiling of a promised future. Quiet excitement filled her heart as the vision of her promising future was the only thing that mattered during that moment. Enthusiasm lifted her heart as she walked for that interview. Finally, the moment had come and her perfect self-absorption calmed her throbbing nerves. She was going to pass. She repeated those words over and over because they carried self assurance and comfort that she desperately needed.

Linda could not believe what had just happened as she walked out of the interview room with blank and expressionless eyes. “We are sorry Linda, but you are not qualified for this job.” Those words shattered and pierced her body with unbearable pain that could kill her. The sun was bright that morning but she couldn’t possibly feel its warmth. She didn’t need it. The horror that she felt was sharp enough to cut the sky into two. The vibrations from the punishing world had crushed all her hopes. The hoards of hell that rested in her eyes distorted her visage. What was she going to do now? That question seemed to lack slighted lying words of comfort.

 

I’m a Mess

 

I’m a mess, weak and at times foolish,

My dreams seems scattered extravagantly as debris on my path,

The sounds of my reckless imagination ply the air around me,

They lay at the centre of my dogma of philosophy

 

Every motion of my life has meaning that deeply matters,

They bear silly patterns that make my life an existential lark,

Sometimes I fear that I would be at an impasse,

Probably because there is something unseen waiting

 

I’m a mess because I bond so tightly with my gut,

I like the idea that there is safety in the tickling of the clock,

Keeping the door wide open for fate to bring forth its twists and turns,

Because I know for sure that in the end, its all picturesque

 

I’m foolish because I find too much meaning in illusions,

My born stupidity lubricates my silent gales of giggles,

They carry an extra-ordinary quality to many unforgettable moments,

For sometimes nothing matters than a moment of self and thrill

 

My weaknesses are the open floodgates of my irrepressible charm,

I am a bended arrow hitting all the wrong but right places,

I am navigated by my reckless instincts, sounds and smells,

For I have half formed idea that they bring timelessness in the rhythm of life

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The English Lesson

“Sasquatch Wekesa!” He raised his hand half way feeling old, melancholic and resentful. Not because of the faint giggles coming from the rest of students, but because he hated that name with passion. Until recently, he used to hide in the washrooms during all class roll calls until he got reprimanded. He had always thought that name belonged to some rogue character somewhere back in history. It was more dreadful trying to find out, so he avoided researching for it would only add grief to his sorrows. “What were my parents thinking giving a child a name like that? Sasquatch!” he often wondered.  He had promised himself that he was going to change that name once he was mature and stable enough. He couldn’t imagine carrying a name that bruised his born dignity for the rest of his life.

Sasquatch was a fourteen year old introvert who preferred his own company. He loved poetry and had read many sonnets and ancient poetry. His biggest dream was to become a renowned poet and an intellect of sorts. He always thought the world blazes with strange meanings that demanded his attention. From the majestic trees, sweet scent from the grass and flowers, the hot silent sun, the shimmering moon, the intricate wheel-work of frozen stars, the list was endless. He had discovered that virtual life was deeper than science. He had a personal journal where he loved penning down his poetry as well as his perceived brinks of revelations. He’d discovered in poetry, love has an immense and humbling power. It was the true nature of poetry.

Sasquatch had never allowed himself to feel anything for any girl. He always thought that the world today, hoarded madness in the name of ‘love’. He’d heard about husbands beating their wives, girlfriends stabbing their boyfriends so much cheat and deceit! ‘Fools’. He wrote over and over again at the back of his journal. So whenever he spotted two students losing all sense of emotion and discipline, he drew out his journal and at the back; he scribbled the word ‘Fools’. Sasquatch produced good grades which made other students respect him. However, he was particularly interested in the English lessons taught by Ms. Andrews; the boys in class loved her. In fact, he had scrawled the word ‘Fools’ many times during most English lessons. However, he couldn’t wait for the next day’s English lesson to analyse George Herbert’s poem, ‘The Altar’. He’d read widely about him and he knew so much his life, particularly his devotional life.

Finally the day arrived, his favourite subject that mattered more than anything. He was alert and wide eyed as an owl after Ms. Andrews walked in. Sasquatch thought her face was always sweetened by the endless love of the sun. She had big beautiful radiant eyes that stretched their stare to infinity and inspired a smile. She also had total discipline for her body, which contained all qualities akin to beauty. Those which forced other boys sit with feigned concentration and all consuming fantasy. She wrote the names ‘George Herbert’ on the board and started towards where he was seated.  “Sasquatch, tell the class a little about George Herbert.” She suggested.

Sasquatch’s heart pounded like a fist after Ms. Andrews’s placed her soft, delicate hand on his arm. He shivered and tried in vain to flinch from the prickling pleasure that ran goose bumps all over his body. He laboured to speak in that state of enchantment but could only make a small frustrated bird’s cry. The presence working through him was a gale, storm that blackened his mind. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t fight the irrepressible delight that was consuming him. He felt dizzy, weightless as if floating. Long after she let go her hand, he could still feel it running through his body, causing tremors that faded his vision. “What is happening to me?” he wondered, horrified.  “Stop it!” he shouted pooling silence in class as they all stared at him in shock.

 

 

 

I’m Ready

His heart was racing, made him breath as if in panic,

But he wore facade of calm on his face,

He was here at last! To attest his worth,

“I’m ready” he assured himself over and over

 

Finally the moment came…One, Two, Shot!

The race was on; he was among the first pool of racers,

He could smell their intoxicating desperation too,

They too, were hopelessly smitten to win

 

He stared ahead and welcomed all his dark shadows,

That had brought deep emotional chaos in his life,

They carried some kind of new energy that escalated him,

Now he was a bird, he thrummed through the twists and turns, shimmering

 

Filled with an insatiable thirst to heal all his brokenness, he thrust,

He was not alone; his dark shadows had proved to be his loyal friends,

They were deep and at his heart’s benign as he strode out with delight,

At the finish line they drained him all measure of self-pity and sadness

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Njoki’s Candle Light

Njoki looked tired, hungry, old and full of grief as she sat under the shade of that huge Mugumo Tree. But I can’t really tell whether she was old because constant hunger and grief forces one to appear somehow old. Clouds hung black and heavy all day these days as if they reflected what she felt inside. Mwangi, her husband had gone to war, just as the sons and husbands of many other women who were living with her, in that forced concentrated village. Their homes, land, livestock and all crops had been taken away by the white men. Njoki couldn’t hold back the memories of her early marriage from slamming into her. Together with her husband, they had barely stayed married three seasons. Happiness and thrill filled her innocent heart those days for starting a family, her very own home. Those feelings could not be contained then, just as the rising and setting of the sun. It was a blissful beginning.

As Njoki let these memories run through her mind like a bird from one branch to the next, she had a sickening feeling in her now pregnant stomach. She was now a small fly trapped in a big spider’s web. She was weak and vulnerable. How was she going to welcome and raise this baby all by herself in this pathetic environment? She did not think life was ugly and unkind until now. But she held on to those lasts whispers from her husband. “I will be back for you; it’s going to be okay”. Those were the words that kept Njoki alive and gave meaning to her empty life. They were the magical flickering flames of a dying candle. They were delicate and safe inside her heart. She thought she had a thump, a kick! The baby kicked for the first and second time and she felt it! Her heart softened with a squash. She was fighting  back hard the tears that were now shamelessly wetting her eyes. Was it joy? Was she wallowing? She didn’t have the right words to define that bittersweet moment.