Stories

Stories are told of ages before,
Stories of triumph and strength,
Of hope and courage,
Of death and fear
Of sorrow and pain.

In the dead of night, peak of the hill,
Laughter of men on strong drinks,
Laughter that did little to hide their fear,
Ominous camp fires from the opposite end.
This is war.

They sang songs, melodies of death and life.
Tunes of hope, melodies of sorrow,
Notes of celebration, chords of regret,
A father's shout, a mother's cry.
This is war.

As the morning dawns, belts are buckled, swords are sheathed,
Boots are worn, breastplates adorned,
Spears are raised, flags are hoisted.
This is war.

If this is death, so be it.
It is destined for a man to die once,
Then face judgement.
Trials are official events,
My excuse to be fully girded.
If I am to be judged, let me stand dignified.
Polished armour, shining sword.
If today is the day, so be it

Pretty lady

If a thousand moons were to be plunged in blood
And all of earth's light dimmed by the chaos of war,
If there was ever a light needed to shine beauty into the blight,
Then without a doubt, I would nominate you.
Beautiful lily, perfected star

Hidden

Sharp edges, coarse ends.
Graze the skin, feel the pain.
I forgot the gloves in the expectation there won't be danger.
I fore went any protection, knowing and hoping I would be safe.

The festering pustule.
The torn skin.
Pierced souls,
Shattered glass hearts.

No need to stay calloused, I said.
No need for shield, sword and spear.
Just another sheep from the flock,
No wolves here.

No need for binds now,
Let the blood flow,
Let the me wallow in my ignominious state,
My plume once again is no more.

Music

I long not for your words,
They are a great distraction,
A desiccation of the great beauty within,
A denial of the glory resident.

Distract me not with your words,
Draw not my attention from that which matters,
Deal me the hand that wins.

[Transpose ]
Give me ecstasy,
Enisle me in love
Eternal chains,
Engrain me into all that you are.

My love

Isn't it a beautiful thing when you can listen to a voice without having to pay attention?

To be able to hear the message without ever paying attention to the words?

To be able to feel what the musician felt, to be able to laugh and cry with him?

To love deeply and to be grieved as he?

To dance without a care in the world?

To be caught up in eternal ecstasy,
And never want to leave

Is this love?
No woman no cry
Exodus
Get up, stand up.

Thank you Bob for giving the world,
What the world needed.

Reggae heartbeats,
Roots and Culture.

Let me be buried

All I ever wanted to do is dip my foot into the shallow waters,
Test its temperature and play on the banks of the river.
Keep it safe, for I knew not how long I could swim in deep waters.
Probably coz I never tried.

That was then and now I knew not whether I regretted that choice.
Now I was being driven downstream,
Currents too strong to resist,
Water too deep to walk on.

I no longer had control.
I was drowning but,
But I liked it.
I wasn't interested in help neither in surviving.
I was being choked, losing air fast.
I didn't care.

I had always wondered what being engulfed felt like,
What not worrying felt like,
Not caring,
Letting go,
Death.

And now that it is all here,
I am at peace.
Do not look for my body,
Let me be buried in the currents,
For I finally found my rest.
My grave of freedom and fearlessness!

My wife 3

It's been a week now, a very long one. I hadn't even noticed time passing. All I knew is just that there were sunrises and sunsets. I could not point to a specific time in the day when anything had happened. I don't know if I ate lunch at 9am or 4pm. I even cannot remember what my wonderful housemates had cooked for supper. I usually enjoy their food but everything this week had been tasting like rubbery slippers.

To many people, this dilemma seems more than easy to resolve: just elope with the love of your life and live happily ever after, though in uncertainty.

Accelerate the plans.
Cut off communication.
Find a perfect hideout.
Start a new life.
Stand up to your father.
Reject Wangare.
Stand up for your rights.

All plausible but unfortunately for me, far fetched realities.

The truth behind this new arrangement is that political marriages in every sense of the word still do exist. Not the Kalonzo-Raila types but the kind ensuring continuity in family relations.
The funny thing is, my dad is not even a politician. It was all my grandfather's doing.

How?

Well, let me summarise it for you. My grandfather is a politician but all his twelve children or disciples if you like, were all married. He even had twelve dogs in his compound. I don't know if it is mere coincidence but you have to suspect. Since there was this dilemma, the son of the firstborn child had to make this merger happen.

It is usually only natural for the firstborn to take the political reigns of the family but my father did not trust my elder brother. I personally love the guy but if I was the dad too, I wouldn't trust the little crook. At least not with something sensitive as a politically arranged marriage. So at this point, the question, "Why me" was becoming irrelevant as the days flew by. So much for being a goody two shoes. Now I was paying the price for my perceived loyalty.

Reputation, Love, Politics. Seems my life had now blown up into a traditional soap opera.