The Fairer State

Watch out for the spirit that ensnares as it lies
for the soft velvet touch of its airy wings
is worse than a cobras venom..

Retracing the steps

Before a seed grows,
Before a plant shoots from a tiny seed,
It must dry up and die,

The african dream

Good things come in small tidings.
And thats what mother africa teaches us .

Who! who! Who!

I ask not because i want answers,
But because i seek the truth.

No easy sail

Too often than not,
A community goes through  a spectacular transformation.
More easier to relate with,

Little Albert Terrence

Small children know just little!
At least thats what we think.
As grown ups we think we've grown beyond their innocent stare,

Picture on the wall.

A picture on the wall,
is a shadow of life that captures time.

I see clouds gather

The clouds turn grey,
Seems pregnant with message,
Hanging heavy with a feel and purpose.
Tis these clouds which gathered in '63,

We still remember

You took our ancestors captive,
Didn't even mind they left their wives,
And children.
And made them to work in foreign lands,
In the baking sun they toiled
On your cotton farmlands
You whipped them,
To you they were beasts of burden,
Lesser beings to be tolerated!
We still remember.
And this is how the story goes,
That you hoarded them into economy planes,
Took them to Burma and other far flung war zones,
Just to fight your battles.
And you made them frontline soldiers
You made them a shield for your safety
unfortunately none had bullet proof bodies,
To stand the tirade of the aggressor.
And there they were-Poor Africans!
The next day they would be buried in mass graves,
or left to rot,
Left to rot for the delight of the wild life.
We still remember how you hated our colour
Just because we were coloured.
We were not supposed to access premium healthcare,
Lest we spread the black germ.
We still remember,
How you treated us in Harlem and other lowly states
Excuse me,we didn't choose to live in Harlem!
We didnt choose to live in dingy places.
Maybe that's why you thought lowly of us.
We have not forgotten how you coined apartheid,
And we felt sick in our own land,
Making sure we did not learn your language,
Because you thought
We would take away your wealth.
You were afraid that we could do research,
and come up with solutions
to our problems.
But nay, that's what would make you lose sleep.
We still remember how you came to our land,
First as a mission for the good word,
Then as masters.
we can't forget how you barricaded whole regions.
How you put curfews.
How you limited our time for travel.
You limited our time to access our lands
Limited our times so we couldn't chat,
You knew if our time was free
Then we were free as well.
We still remember Manyani detention camp,
Yes, Mau Mau remembers.
We still remember how you exploited our weaknesses,
And our differences.
And from that you created homeguards.
We still remember how you put Mandela in prison
For 27 years!
And still he found it in himself to forgive.
We still remember these things.
We cannot just forget.
We keep history
We are now able to remember the moments as they were.
You took our bright minds captive,
And started insurgencies where there was none,
So you could come back as saviors,
And reprimand us for being 'thick in the mind'
Aren't you the one who called us 'half baked brains'?
God wasn't in a hurry,
When he created us.
Don't you think we too belong?
Don't you think we can be like you?
That we too can do what yo do,
Or even do it better.
All these things we remember.








































we

The upheaval

A soul in unrest
Go slows of functionality!
waging war on them killers
with a blood penchant
Them blood suckers
Them bugs sucking blood outta bodies
So u think this MAU MAU is no longer?
Them name called good people of Africa
Warlords for land and freedom
Movements start,
No! movements form- around a state
Like a state of oppression
Like a state of situation
Them people coalesce around an idea
Doesn't need a leader
only a rudder,
A leverage against extremism
Because we've not lost purpose yet
We know what we want
We no need teachers of the law
We need teachers of the lot
Fearful people are a disgrace
To the fountain of a movements courage
They infect them real people
with a doubt drug.
And for this time too,
far in the horizons,
Beckons of a new state linger,
Another way for the people
who're used to the same ways.
So you think Kimathi was a 'chicken'!
He fought them, even stevens
With no thing but home made gun
His foot soldiers with catapults
We need no barracks for training
Anybody can start this new state!
Our women,babes on their backs
can start this state.
The upheavel starts with a silence,
And then murmurs,
And then people can't keep their mouths shut,
Because they see these things too.

Lasting call

Some will call it the last call
And to others-the last kicks of a dying horse
yet not all will take heed of the renaissance,
That can come from a call to action
If Africa's children get exploited and looked down upon
And the oppressor in his palace sings the victory song
saying-'see they don't even know their language-
see how they take up the language of others'
And at that point he thinks high of himself,
and lowly of the ones below,
Then he himself is sick .
He suffers from a disease without a cure,
because then he doesn't know humanity is the same.
Humanity from the north and from the south,
Is same as that from the west ,and even east.
Some don't came to Africa for anything else
Except delaying the dreams of a continent
And----cementing dependence.
Who will teach our children about these things?
Achebe is no longer and Ngugi has kept quiet.
Quiet in the sense that he no longer evokes
with the same passion as in old days
This generation needs direction and identity
albeit with a touch of newness for a different time.
I don't wanna go up a mountain and make a clarion call,
About this crossroads that lead to nowhere,
This aping and copying of trends!
This export of worth and import of nothingness!
This brain drain that sharpens the oppressors axe
I don't want to wrap my frame with a sack cloth.
I would do if i knew it would play the magic wand
and change a peoples conscious.
In the meantime i make a last call,
Not last because no other option remains,
But because i know it will last.

Out of myself

Out of myself and into the world,
Beyond the dermis and the gene that defines me
Killing the self slowly- and reaching out,
So i could raise the selfless I,
From the ashes of self righteousness
to outlive myself in time
and the little good i think i have,
That too i give up,
If to remember only,
That I too live because of another,
Who lived out of himself,
For the world to heal.
And so i move out,
perchance i might affect another,
To live out of himself,
And lose the coat that so defines him.
From the space i think i own,i go out,
And into the unknown.
Don't search for me anymore,
In the enclaves of self.
Look for me out there,
Coz am no longer a slave.
I have broken the shackles i was bound with.
Am no longer in chains.
I am out and about.
I am not inside me anymore.
I don't remain in the tents of I.
I am out of myself.

I choose

I choose to stand at the edge
so i could be a lesson to heal the lesions
in time i believe t'will heal all
i choose to uplift my conscious
and tear apart this ignorance that stays close
this insecurity that tells me that vice may overcome
this that tells me that my lineage
wasn't made of famous people
i choose to be the link
between enlightement and ignorance
if by knowledge my light shines on another
and because of it he too feels the urge and the nudge
i would call it a success in an unending endevour
and so i choose to be the light that drives out darkness
not that it need be necessarily dark
for me to shine the light
who knows- darkness may overcame
and if others after me come
they might ask how comes the darkness overcame
yet men saw,and heard.
and so i choose to be a man
belonging to the human tribe
so my lens could see farther afield
so the horizons in front of me could remain clear
i choose to be the gatekeeper
at my souls front door
so i could see them all as they come
i could as well man my minds entry
so i could take in what i choose
and reject the derelict thoughts
that peer for entry
I choose!

Mans craving

To live in space,
And transcend space and time
to be everywhere all at the same time,
And fill the void of the human limit,
To bury the scroll where evils plans are scribed
To realize the real reason
for right and wrong,
To clip the pride at its bud
And in its place,
hoist the similar sinews of thought that unites us
To cry with those who cry
and laugh with those who laugh
To connect ones embers of thought
With those alike in space,
is but a mans dream in search of reality
Though the murderer becomes an outcast
and the leprosy infested suffers
and it appears like he doesn't know God
Though the rich man prides in his wealth
and forgets that it is not his but someone elses' toil
and the poor man begs for sustenance,
Both are the same
cut from the same cloth-We're all from the same cast
our going and returning all but a determinate of one,
One who has never wavered
and till we return to the ground
from whence we co meth
All is but toil and vanity
as we search for meaning
as we look for whats real
In this changing play
where we're characters till we exit.

What all are seeking

Ask the loner on the street
What the hell he is looking for,
make it quick before he turns the other way
You're not assured of an answer,
But just try.
By stroke of good luck he'll respond
By genius still he'll say it
He craves to fill the void in his heart
And he cant explain what would fill it
So he wanders-searching,looking
Sometimes animated in his search,
As if curious with a find,
But nay-tis another mis lead,
That traps him away from another potential find.
And so he hops from one marketplace to the other,
Still looking,
Still searching but finding none-nothing.
The loner is like everyone else,
in this pilgrimage of life,
Looking for meaning and purpose
so the journey would not look bland.
The problem?
No one stops and asks what all the world is seeking.
Is this void the hope ,
Is it the faith we are meant to have,
so life would not look complete in itself-and purposeless?
Or then what does all the world seek?

Like an emblem

Write your name,
across my heart,
so i would know that you are mine
and i am yours,forever.
Like an emblem let it be.
If by weakness i sin,
and hate my neighbor,
and detest his ways,
soften the chords of my heart,
so that i may rebound with love.
If by pride i blow my trumpet,
remind me that i am like a passing wind.
Forgive me always because i am weak,
I fall prey to the devils smallest tricks,
when i think am now strong on my own.
So I have learnt to appreciate that i am just mortal,
frailty and weakness is my second name,
Because what i say i will do, i don't.
Neither do i give what i pledge to give in my heart.
When man comes to that point,
Where does his hope come from?
Except from you ooh lord.
However, i appreciate though tiny as i am,
That i am an agent of change,
That within me lies potential unexploited,
That through your heavenly eyes,
I am one of your first line soldiers.
My doubt as to my ability holds me back,
And i tell myself that i am not good enough,
That i am not educated enough,
That i am not the strongest of all.
Like timothy of the old times i am.
Like David in the open space i tend the sheep
Oblivious of how differently you see me.
I am among chickens though am built to fly,
The genes under my wings cry for flight
But gravity holds me down,
Planted so firmly as if to own,
The ground on which i stand.
And so here i am-ready to fly,
Here on the runway-ready for your word.
That its safe and clear to fly,
I am waiting still-speak that i may go.

Can't agree the more

To awaken a country
for people to listen.
to correct and at the same time to advise,
is no easy feat.
I dont have to agree with you Barrack;
Not on anything.
But i have to agree that you had fastened your belt
as you came calling on the land of your father.
Because to say that people are the same,
and should be treated the same,
and should enjoy the same privileges,
no matter where they come from,
no matter the colour of their skin,
I mean....all this is absolute truth,
Under God and high heavens.
I cant agree the more.
You remind us of Martin Luther king junior
you instill the thought that,
even if its not in our time,
the power of a good thought and a good deed
don't go stale.
It will ultimately catch-up with our children,
or our childrens' children.
And they will eat a good fruit,
from a tree planted,tended and cared for,
by generations back.
Yes we can!

The Hanging soot

In my language-we call it Murari,
decades of wood smoke makes one,
a fire place with no makeover breeds many.
And so back then in the days,
Billows of thick carbon smoke made soot
And wood burnt as babes waited for yams to boil,
it also made a perfect setting for night stories,
stories of Cain and Abel,
and the swell of grudge between them.
so when a warning came not to go out at night,
it was that you don't dare move out in the dark,
lest you meet Cain in one of his transworld treks-
and accidentally steps on you.
Now,that sent shivers down our spines
and were' better of enduring the hanging soot,
in my grandmas' hut,
than risk huge Cain's step.

come with me

Come so we could see this place.
This place that gave birth to our dreams.
There are no dreams,
there are only valid dreams,
inspirations from the echoes of our ancestors,
Hopes eternal from God,
reverberations of strength,
that remind men of this conscious flow.
Come along this path,
this path of solitude,
where man discovers who he is,
where sinew's of thought are tapped.
Once when i walked along this path-alone,
i thought it was a mirage,
Then i heard a voice-and then a lush
I thought it was the flow of the stream besides
I teetered,
then i trembled,
And then an affirmation,
like the one you get from one who knows you well.
Come with me!
There was an urgency in his voice.
I heeded the call,
stepped forward to where the call emanated,
And followed.
From then on i just followed-no questioning.
Apart from an occasional sigh from my stranger friend,
nothing much passed between us-and i just followed.
And just like the way he appeared-he vanished all at once,
but not before saying thank you,
for agreeing to go along with him,
as he said in his own words- 'On a rough stretch in his life'
I went home that night,
and slept like a child,
peace enveloped-I had walked with an angel,
without knowing neither his authority nor his status.
Come along with me.

State of mind

To be the force in the wind,
or to be the grains of sand,
that gets carried away by the force,
is a state of mind.
To be in one position,
and not in another,
To immerse in the moment,
and savor the power of NOW,
Is a state of mind.
When the oppressor does his act,
and loads himself over the weak shoulders of the oppressed,
It is a state of mind.
When the oppressed flees from the oppressor,
Fearing one who can only maim,
and not take away the soul,
It is all a state of mind.

Am Inspired

Am inspired by the clock that ticks,
It reminds me of a different setting,
That nothing is permanent.
Even darkness gives way-to light
Am inspired by the odd moments,
Like when the mist appears at noon,
Casting an unclear picture,
Where clarity has been.
Am inspired when the laggard changes-
When he reforms and sings a hopeful song.

Am inspired when trees are cut,
Because from the decimate,
Will arise the shoots.
Am inspired when undemocratic regimes loot,
Because it means justice systems will find their place.
Every worry has its happy factor.
Every lack has its plenty.
Am inspired when i see these things,
Living side by side as bedfellows.
They-aren't strange bedfellows,
But the other side of each other.
Am inspired.

my dreams

My hope is to live to see the things i crave.
If the hope is a dream,
my dreams would be varied,
just as situations have been different.
To meet the loner on the road,
And gift him for his searching soul.
To meet the king in his palace,
And tell him of the life outside,
Outside of the high hedge that blocks his sight.


If life itself is a talking legend,
I would bother it -seeking answers
But since it doesn't talk back or even heed my calls,
I will dream,dream and dream.
I wont spare the loftiest of the dreams.
I will dream and make dreaming my only dream.

If dream rewards with more dreams,
I will write a book of dreams,
Pressed together in a cache to make a bundle,
A bundle of dreams.
I will make an effort to actualize my dreams.
But if the dreams shortchange me,
as if none to get actualized,
I will give up the chase,
And let dreams chase me,
Because that is my dream.

Looking back-The streams of old.

I remember one day i was moving downstream,
It was a habit born of curiosity,
fed with delight and maintained by youth.
It was what every lad did back then.
We cut pores of flowers and tossed them in the running stream.
Different colours they were,
each representing the cars we dreamt of.
Still,they were canoes going down the river.
And the waters were crystal clear,
sieved and purified by the grains of rock they passed through.
That was simply heaven to our eyes.
Time always stopped and a quiet serenity overcame,
the only sound being the rush and hurry of the water,
as it raced downstream,
the only focus being our boats-
being tossed downstream as we followed by the sides.
An occasional shriek of the wild birds ,
and the ducks that flew away interrupted our game.
And so when evening came,we knew not the time nor the hour.
so when mama called from uphill,
we knew her patience was stretched,
and we ran uphill through paths not travelled .
so we could avoid the scold but not the cold.
And that always marked the end of a day out,
In those days and times.
Its different now as the streams are dry,
and the catchments have made way for habitation.
The wetlands have been grabbed,
and the clear waters that quenched our thirst,
is but a running sewer.

The alien

Someone says i am an alien
a legal alien
one with a right to state and stay
Am from the wider circle.
I stay at the periphery of confinement.
Many say i don't belong
to the culture of my people.


So even though i have forgotten my native language
and i live among the custom less people of the city
i still have my roots,
where the chord was buried.
so don't call me an alien
because i don't sit under the mugumo tree
to give decrees in a kangaroo court.

Yet,i don't despise your ways.
it is the mental confinement i hate
i hate the procedure-and the rules
because they limit me.
i know these customs make you rich.
i know it has stabilized generations

So go on with the practices,
if only to shape the river waters,
so they wont break the banks.
Allow me to scout the world
and tell all about our people
these who are undefeatable under God.
These whose spears harm from far,
If only to defend the sacred creed
Hidden under the Mugumo tree
where slaughter and ritual took place.
So am not an alien,
I am one among you
whose horizons reach farther afield

Hail them

To those before us.
To those who came and saw.
To those who conquered after they saw.
to those who stretched reality,
yet not too far than necessary,
To them are these words.
They are meant to their ears,
wherever they may be.
They are meant for their souls,
wherever they may lie.

To Mlkj for stretching the chords of justice,
for the oppressed.
To him and Malcom x for activism against racial injustice.
For colour could be different,
even the thickness of the dermis varies,
but similar is the blood that runs inside the veins,
so there ain't any superior than the other,
unless from inside out.

To nelson Mandela,
for showing us that the oppressor too needs some loving.
That he too craves for acceptance,
because his heart is ruled by turmoil,
and only love settles the scores.
The antidote for hate is love and not more hate.
You don't become a man by playing boy,
the boyish stride in all its leanings will overcome;
even though you wanted to man up some day.

I give it up to the writers before,
whose writings we now can read,
in whose realities we now can see,
as envisioned in their writings of old.
And to God-from whom all inspirations come;
To whom all roads lead.
To Kahlil Gibran of the prophet,
To Benjamin Franklin in his espouse of the road he travelled,
To Ngugi wa thiong'o for his excellent works of art.
To Chinua achebe whose works light up a continent.
To the little known of our age,
and those before,
who genuinely conveyed the message as it should be,
who told of the little things that deprive humanity-
A place at the seat of God.
Hats off-i hail them.

And to those in our age,
who've got the fire in their bellies burning.
To those who have got their alarm set,
so they would not sleep till its mission accomplished.
Take up the band of courage,
see the reality of what is at stake,
burn the chaff with the pen,
say it before its too late,
deny the unjust the peace of their greed,
Let your creed be-Let me not unheard depart.

Just a cause

No man lives on bread-alone.
He lives by his thoughts where they lead.
He lives by the wars he fights,
And the things that take his time.
He lives by a cause,
to satisfy his higher self,
for his maker to glorify.

Like a reed that resists the swamp waters,
the soul looks and yearns for a cause to satisfy,
so it could hang its lofty tentacles,
and be assured of another day,
where it will fight to earn another pay.
Much is the talent that goes to waste,
coz the fire in the calling,
can't sustain the cause.
And so like the reed that sprouts and lengthens
without paying heed to the surge on a rainy day,
paves way for another.

How beautiful 't would be
for man to know the drive,
the passion that sits at the basement of his heart
the cause that calls,
seeking for adoption;for space,
So it could be owned,
and cease being the wayfarer on broad-way,
and be the adopted child on life's highway.

Lose Your Guns-Dedicated to the leaders of Nadome and the remnants of Nadome who lost their loved ones.

Does nadome ring a bell?
Does the sight of bodies swell your conscious;
to a breaking point!
And the sight of a child left with no care,
after its mama has been butchered?
Tis these things that trouble the soul.
And rage boils from within,and without.
Men killing men
men killing women,
as the babes cling to their mother's lifeless backs.
Is it for resource that they kill...and maim.
Is there Gold at Nadome?
Please tell me-i don't understand
Somebody tell the death merchants of Nadome,
There is no pride in taking away that which you can't give
Am talking to the leaders of Nadome!
Nadome is not an island.
It is not leaderless.
Nadome has leaders with titles.
Nadomes' certainly not a no mans land
It has history,culture and certainly a future
Tell the people of this place,
And the people who border Nadome to drop their guns.
Tell them that ceasefires exist,
That there are break-aways from the past.
I urge these who kill-To lose their guns
History will baptize you a new name,
And call you peace makers.
The future will adore your stamina amidst strife,
And call you the warriors of light,
Who saw beyond the barriers of thought.

Revolution-special request

Revolution begins with me and you.
when our minds are tired,
and tirade takes the better of us.
It starts when your conscious whispers that its time,
And it can't be any other time.
Its fuelled by neglect of the regime,
So that regiments form.
Revolution is evolution upside down.
Its when you can't take in any more abuse.
Its when you draw the line on the sand.
Its when you don't pamper a bad situation as good.
Revolution is when you're uninhibited,
its when you don't look for a word that hurts less,
So you could appear a friend of a sorry situation.
It starts when a beggar loses his bowl.
It starts when he detests the sound that the coins make,
as they land on his begging bowl.
Revolution happens when you no longer worship
the gods of war.
And instead you embrace peace even with your enemies.
It happens when the system changes,
without prodding by the masses.
Revolution is complete the moment the seed is in the mind,
Hidden from the prying eyes that don't want to see a good seed grow.

The Genius

an axe sharpens another
a mind beautifies the sight of another
better still
a wise man learns
from the mistakes of another
not by his own
'coz then he would reel
under the weight of pain n anguish
befalling him as he searches
for a better way.

To be knowledgeable is not to know all
but a little bit more
than the average mind cares to know
genius isn't born
tis' made from following tested ways
only following them a little farther afield to where they lead.
sages aren't born
only they stretch reason a little bit more
hoisting their minds
on top of great mens' minds

The absence.

I'll write you a letter
telling you of the earlier disquiet
of the days without your presence
Hope the postman doesn't open ma letter
Or try to read through by the piercing sunlight.
I'll mention the rigid days
That follows a routine
and that makes me sooo sick.

But I'll also tell u too
that the babes are well,
They're coping.
Sometimes little Ann calls your name
thinking you're in the other room
She hasn't known counting days
To know how long you'll stay before u come back
Mich still does her homework
And every time i bid her goodnight
She knows that you're one day nearer
Even when you're far
They still think you're just around
And that's life
A little sacrifice here and there
and then its over.

W'look forward seeing you every other time
And miss you
every time you say goodbye
Nudging the hope
of meeting next time
And so w're lucky to have known you
Lucky to have crossed the paths of your life
We can only thank God
E'vry time we meet.

Don't be worried.

When ma lifes' over
and no more breath passes
when the heart beats no more
and I'm over at my fathers place
don't let ur hearts be worried
I'll have done my part
I'll 've shared Gods delight with you
I'll have told you not once
What i had been sent to do
down here in these scary place.

When no thing interests me
And my soul rests in eternal realm
Do not be scared by the silent nights
I'll have shared Gods' love with you
I'll have travelled with you
twice as much
Later when u too join me
We'll make a chorus in heaven
and the angels will join us.

And so when I'm here
in this long sojourn
i can't but wait for directions
From he who sent me
from he who knows my name
from he who knew me
Long before mama knew me
because u know,i existed
At the start of the times
And will be there
when the last of the times is sounded
In readiness for a new beginning
So don't be worried-rejoice.

Short End

If a man gives you bread
and waits just in case you drop some
if a carrot is dangled
just so you could forget your deserving meal
then what appears isn't what is
because then its not genuine
shortchanged is the name
that attracts men to ways seemingly good
but then tis all destruction at the end

i don't wanna sing my last song
because then
the singer appears a captive
of the forces that don't want him singing
a parrots early morning song isn't stopped by anothers'
yet there is space enough for both
and an audience twice as willing to listen

why then do you give the short end
the one that slips from the hand
as easily as it comes
what do you gain
when you rally your money might
and drive out the poor from their homes
so you may find ground enough
for the evil mans delight
this short end will take you closer
to the worms that devour with haste
so i don't wanna stop this
till you tell me in my ear
that you've left this game for a better one.

What can be done?

In a continent that bleeds with rage
where the only drapery
that conceals our nakedness
is but tatters that expose our torn out souls
In a continent that doesn't prepare for war,
until war erupts
And we butcher each other
with what weapon that's close
when we have cried for so long
and our bodies 're drenched in sweat
that shows the toil and the burdens we carry
and we still don't learn
what can be done

Whats the curse of Africa
Or better still-
Is there anything like that?
Is there a blueprint
that lays bare our Canaan,s plan
what can be done
when the sickly babes get no better
and their mother's got no money
And the states coffers are empty,
Emptied by those who've got the keys to the vaults
Is there hope?
OK-there is,only in heaven,only upward
If we don't keep up our spirits this way
we will just die
and be forgotten like our brothers and sisters before
they sucked so much steam it killed them.

generations of war children
poverty stricken grown ups
who know nothing else
except HELP!
a people whose ambitions are muted
and their plans exist only in their feeble minds
Not that they've got a weak spirit to match!
No.
what has killed them silently is dependence
crazy culture has killed their dreams
unknown phantoms have made visitation
and destroyed what good remained after the worms of fear ate the rest.

what can be done?
to uplift Africa
to give its people a voice
to remove the snare that surrounds their mental framework
Is it not to detest what others think of Africa
and do,and be,and stay like Africans.
is it not to break the cycle of dependence
and till our lands again like our forefathers used to do.
is it not to love one another?
and hate only the seeds of discord
tell me please-what can be done?