Time to go

I will hatch a plan,
And leave all this behind,
It is a fearful plan,
But life has to be more than this space,
The world must be bigger than this place.

When the mountains call me by day,
And the stars signal my name at night,
Maybe it is time to go,
When the moon whispers my name,
And the sun shows me a long way away from here,
Maybe it is time to go.

Memories last as long as they can,
Feeding my mind telling me whom i am,
Telling me whom they are,
Maybe it is time for me to go,
And make new food for the brain,
The picture on the wall is no longer shiny,
And a spider has made home in this house,
Probably it is time to leave the spider at this home,
Maybe it is time to go.

I may follow the rails as they disappear in the horizon,
To their direction, the winds I might trace,
Follow the birds I could in the morning,
Or to its destination the river i may wander,
I could follow a path through the bush,
But maybe, this is the time to go.

You know six is short

You know six is short,
When it curls more than a seven!
You know how six years are short,
When your first big exam you are about to do,
And they are even lesser,
When you are done with high school,
And staring at the eyes of your first love.

You know six minutes are short,
When lips locked to your loved one,
Their mother approaches from a corner!
You know six hours are short,
When the last meal you ate was just six hours ago,
And more the stomach as if hollow asks!

You know sixty years are short,
When your children are parents,
And they know raising them six was such an jolly trip,
Yes, you know sixty years are short,
When you look back at the work of your hands,

You know that six seconds are short,
When in early climax all is wet and it’s time to sleep.
True, you know six is short,
And to a fly it’s just about a complete lifetime.

My Harambee

Behind I sat amongst acquaintances, gloomed,
Watching waiting as my turn approached,
And donate an amount for the fundraising,
By the people for the person, a together coming.

Next was a being and another,
Of his days under Sun, soft spoken whispers delt,
How he had been sick like a dog at the hospital,
Bedridden for so long, lost his job,
His either side sad sore-nurse battles waged,
Indefatigable despite debts heavens high and increasing,
And the landlord; out his mattress, long had thrown away.

From far foreign lands, siblings came
To attend the funeral in days near,
As glory an expensive house of the dead mine awaited,
Of mahogany wood, velvet and gold handles, they had it crafted.

In this open fundraising no one dares not contribute,
And one may not but be warned they are of their fate,
That in due time it will be their turn,
So since tit-tat is a fair game,
Despite the overly a lot of already contributed money,
Better give this investment from heart deep,
It was a person even well known to me.

Heart tight as a drum, overrun by emotions i became,
Looked and my mother – like a smothered candle sad she was,
Turned to the door but took a last look back,
At all the people in the harambee,
I was sorry for the inconveniences i had caused them,
So I walked to the now neatly dug grave,
Where my hairy flesh, liquids, bones would be rested,
And I hoped i had lived for the living.

The travelers.

Two travelers hike the road so rough,
Kilometers and kilometers of road they eat,
Without missing a stride, they are as diamond tough,
Bestowed with the nomadic Bantu genes.

Rivers great gush dangerously in front of them,
Deep valleys block the sights ahead,
But, “we do not go back” they know,
And through and through they cut paths.

Side by side they see the beauty,
The trees, the bushes, the deadly cliffs,
The galloping antelopes, the runny zebras,
And the wild buffalo who hides in ambush!

But in the never ending journey,
A junction, alas and behold,
And day and night to part ways they must,
Each to follow on a path their own.

Without shedding a tear drop,
They each take a road of their own,
But somewhere in their travels, on a mountain not so far,
They hope they meet again.

When the globe warmed

The odd oceans ominously overflow,
Such city of beauty wail of woe,
Drenched deep by waters out of control,
Like by a deity, death to none takes a bow,
The last highest step our refuge now.

Mama and papa where are you?
Come see a world as a shiny coin new,
All old and good ravaged by waters deep and blue,
Many of our families gone us just few,
You did this to us, come see what we are going through!

When with coin and power, your pockets you filled,
Mining coal, and burning oil as if you did not mind,
Scientists researched and they debated,
Gave conclusions which to you passively listened,
The earth became too hot and the poles melted.

In this last highest step of refuge all I can is stare,
At this dear photo of you cuddled tightly in your fancy petrol car,
Stare at the horizon, at the waters stretch so far,
Stare back in time, to years dry and safer,
And tell you, do something, something better.

Goodbye, for now sweetie.

The cool breeze washes my face,
And all I can is with delight gaze,
At the blue sky everything in place,
Stealing my mind, I’m lost in space,
Everything is cool my soul says.

Then cloud from nowhere eat the sky,
Storms blowing making my eyes cry,
Dusts spinning choking me dry,
To my honeyed day dreams I say goodbye,
It was kingly, that feeling, oh my.

Baby my world was that beautiful sight,
A place God knows I found my light,
But what you did turned my days turned to night,
You left me bleeding my heart clasped too tight,
I’d like to say it okay but it’s not alright.

Running to shelter I had to,
Not as good as you but there is nothing I can do,
I await when the skies turn back blue,
When that is I have no clue,
But one thing for sure is that still you have my love, so pure and true.

Six minutes love…

Smoking, he walks the dirty dimly littered lit street,
Everyone minding their business,
People in a helter-skelter towards home, wherever that is,
Mid-night traders selling sweets, cigarettes and condoms,
Street kids playing, sniffing, happy…
Whores lined up along closed shops walls.

He was where he needs to be,
The district with red lights
The streets of sins and forgiveness,
Some prostitutes wearing jeans, others miniskirts,
Some slender, some skinny, others big, and others really big!
Unexcited, having transacted in this streets before, he puffed away.

Walking calmly, he lustfully inspects them,
They call unto him for a smoke of his killer companion,
But unimpressed, unanswerable, ignoring uncouth sluts,
Their voices and language corrupted by the stench of ignorance and illiteracy,
He despises them, he despises himself, he then despises them again,
Until he hears her call for a smoke of his trustworthy companion!

Nothing special with her voice, unpleasant to listen to,
Yet to him, it sounds like the sweetest pepper, honeyed lemon.
He stops and looks towards her seated, she stands up,
In the dark light, he saw a glowing fleshy angel, smiling at him,
Drawn by her tired beautiful eyes, the bustling round face,
The figural body, packed in a seductive sexy cream miniskirt.

Juicy hips swinging this way and that way, she approached him,
All this time staring and smiling at him,
Not breaking eye contact, not to lose her potential customer.
As a match in a dark room, his dark and cold groins sparked a fire,
And as his heart rate increased, he thanked his God,
For he was ready to fuck this angel sent from above!