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.