(LOVE)

I do not say I know love, /

Nor place my relationship above/ others like others have. /

 I do not say I know the difference between love and hate, /

Yet/ it’s not something I can test. / I only attest/ to what I feel is best, /

That which touches what is in my chest. /

It is hard to believe in love, something you cannot see. /

People debate whether it is a feeling or an ability. /

Some say love is a tool to vulnerability. /

I agree/ that I prefer reality/ coz love doesn’t know me. /

I do not say that love is bad, / some say love is hard, /

Some claim love is something they’ve never had/ let alone heard/ about.

 I do not say I know how love feels, / some say it brings chills/

…but so does disease/ and yet you insist/ that this is/ LOVE.

Love, I do not say I know where to go look for it, /

Maybe we passed each other so many times I just never saw it. /

So let me not force it/ coz I cannot foresee/ whether I will ever get to show it. /

 I do not say I know but who knows? / I think love is curious coz it comes and goes/

…not something we share common goals/ with.

Coz when it’s tired of you it leaves and leaves open doors/ again.

So why should we be living/ a life that we do not believe in. /

Something that has left many grieving. /

Something that made Mr. Right to turn bitter and he left, /

And changes Miss Right to a Mistake. /

 I do not say I know where love comes from. /

You cannot call love on the phone/ and ask it if it’s at home. /

That’s why I decide to leave love alone. /

You just don’t go up to love and say ‘hey love, I want you!’/

And you know that’s true/ but unfortunately that’s what most people do. /

I know of a friend who says he believes/

But his heart bleeds/ from the thorns of the rose he picks. /

So he speaks /of the memory that slips/ and dips/ in a well full of deceit/ 

So he freaks/ and flips/ making him feel like he is deceased. / 

But still he insists! /

One thing that I know is that the rose he picked, /

Pricked/ his heart leaving him dead and with his final strength he breathed/

And gripped/ for mercy from love only to find out that he was tricked. /

The little butterfly that he held/ stung him and just watched him as bled. /

 And he said, / ‘you can’t kill a heart, but you can break it, leave it weak but not dead.’ /

A sting from the butterfly that he praised, / raised/ to levels like no other had bred, /

Instead/ it mutated/ and to the dungeons his heart it led. /

It fed/ from his heart finally tearing it into shreds/.

And that’s when he knew love ain’t so lovely so he tried hatred. /

According to me love is a being. / Love is not a thing. /

 Love is not brought by the love songs that you sing. /

Especially love in brackets is something/ not worth seeing. /

Love might be living in/ you wanting to be seen/

But you hide it coz you don’t want to dig deep within. /

You surround yourself with walls anyone trying to show you their love they have to be breaking in. /

Let love live life. / And you will never strife. /

Love attracts love/ and I pray sooner than later we all would have. /

MIXED UP

I am searching but I cannot find./

I am thinking with no brain so I can’t seem to make up my mind,/ coz this love makes me blind./

I am looking but I have no eyes so I can’t see/

But I can see your eyes staring at me/ so I know that you know that I am not free./

I am listening but I cannot hear./

There  is a disturbing beat beating around here./ My heart beats so loud it sounds like fear./

I am talking without a tongue so I can’t speak./

Am miming my moods but now am feeling weak./ Am trying to get rid of these feelings but on me they stick./

I am breathing but there’s no air./

I am dying but you don’t care./ You just sit there/ and stare/ and when our eyes meet you pretend to be looking somewhere/…else.

So now I cry/ with no tears so am dry./

I don’t have the confidence to approach you so I lie/ to myself that I’d rather die/ than come over and say ‘Hi!’/

Now am scheming with no plan./

It’s like campaigning without a slogan./ And yet I insist to myself that yes, I can./

Am walking towards you but I can’t feel my legs so I can’t move./

I can feel my heart dance with excitement but I cannot feel the grove./ I am… confused!/

I am laughing at myself with no laughter so am sad/

Coz now you are walking away and I haven’t said a word./

I regret, I wish I had/ but now it’s too late…it’s too bad./

I give up and try to obstruct myself by getting things to do./

But my life changed when you left. It’s not normal, not what am used to./

So now I am depressed… I take an overdose, I slit my wrist, I jump off a building. I try to kill myself but I cannot die coz I have no LIFE…without you./

THE POOR

They are politicking their politics; I call it politiquence/

Coz of the lies they speak with so much eloquence/

And with which they never fail to carry in their wallet, influence/

…of which they used to turn people to violence/

Now they are out there pleading for their innocence/

With tax payers money…I call this nonsense!/

Tell the IDPs who hear how much these people  spend on welcome back parties and presents./

 Each one pretends/ that they care about their subjects subjecting them to abject poverty,/

This is their policy./ Community policing/ an avenue for community polluting/

As we see the same people we report back in the streets I call it con-munity recycling/

Coz the con-men are immune to the system./ The cops join in coz  they think they can’t beat them./

So this then/ is the highest corruption./

The only place where people wake up early/ to go to a public rally/

And turn it into an alley/ of political violence and malice./

 What is this if it ain’t a crisis?/ What was nice is/ no longer a pleasant cool breeze./

Government offices/ are now opened for private businesses;/

 Bribe here bribe there and you get instant services./

They talk about free and fair justice for all./ Well, yes it might be fair, but free? Not for a single soul!/

As leaders happy to watch the integrity of their offices fall./

People running the country like it’s a family affair/ and you lie to me that they care./

 You go look at the people in Mathare and tell me its fair./

Go and look at the people in Mukuru wa Njenga and tell me who is going to speak for them  when their MP doesn’t even stay there./

A place where success is for those who can afford favors/…and not for the clevers. /

The successors/ are either close friends, those who are able to bribe and/or family members/

 While the rest are left exposed to what I call unemployment dangers/ such as homelessness so hopeless it turns people into beggars./

Oh! So you thought that being unemployed and stressed/ was staying in your parents’ house feeling less blessed/ with freedom and always complaining that you are being oppressed/ by your parents’ strictness?/

How lucky you are you have people to fall back to. The rich and the affluent/ and those with influence/ have the HRC for their defense./

 Who will talk for the poor/ since we have established that their leaders are not pure?/

They talk a poverty cure/ but they just watch as their subjects get fewer and fewer/ chances to access basic necessities/ and public amenities./

Who will stand up for them and I will second it and shout amen to this./

DEAD

I see corpses, they walk around me thinking they are alive but they are dead/

Every time they lay their head/ they are on their death bed. /

 When they think they are earning their daily bread/

They are actually indulging in deathly trade. / Their lives to the devil they fed/

 So they are dead men walking, / dead men talking/

Dead men stopping/ to live so they are strolling/ back to their graves where they had already stop growing. /

I see dead people hiding in big cars/ waiting for years to pass. /

Year in year out, one tries to get out of this curse. /

 Curses brought upon on one ’s self for the things he does. /

Dead people singing songs verse after verse/

Praising the integrity that they have so scarce. / Praising life that’s perverse. /

 Trying to handle the remains this new life has. /

 They insist on holding on to what they don’t have. / Like pre-adolescent girls with bras. /

I see dead people walking in masses, / walking past churches/

For the little life that each searches, / they realize they lost it for holding on to grudges/

And notice that they lost all their chances. /

 So now they don’t live, they exist like bargains/ and before they know it their time ends. / 

They try to breathe but their breath slowly ends, /

They cry for help but now they are lonely, no friends. /

I see dead people walking into massacre, /

They walk into the death of their own character. /

This is their book and they are on the last chapter. /

 They pray and hope that they are not caught unawares at the rapture/

Coz to them the pre-life didn’t matter/

 And they didn’t hold GOOD as a factor/ that leads to a BETTER life after. /