Friday, December 15, 2017

COME! LET'S REASON WITH GOD


Let’s question God.
Let us ask Him all these difficult questions
Let us ask Him why me,
Why us,
Why now,
Why now?
Why this way.
Why?
If it wasn’t me, us, now like this,
Who?
Who?
When?
How?
Let us ask him why a child dies at birth,
Why the preacherman got killed and the killerman got paid,
Why the poor man can only afford one meal a day for his family,
Yet the rich man’s family are obese and busting at the seams
Let us ask God why our enemies are still free and alive on the streets,
Yet we asked Him to deal with them.
Let us ask Him why the thieves and robbers,
Rapists and murderers,
Liars and cons,
Still breath the same air,
Enjoy the same sunlight,
Moonlight,
Sunrise,
Sunset,
As the saints,
The righteous,
The noble.

Why the blind don’t see,
Why all these dumb people,
All these lame.

Let us ask Him why He isn’t making me as rich as them,
Why I have to work everyday to eat,
Yet the wicked politicians kid can live a million years without breaking a sweat.
Why the corrupt are never caught and they seem to prosper,
In our eyes.

Why do we mutter these questions to ourselves?
Why do we whisper them to ourselves?
Why do we ask the wrong people?
And yet we expect the right answer.
Why don’t muster enough courage,
Enough courage to take God at His word.
After all,
Isn’t He the one who told us;
“Come let us reason together….”

He says. ISAIAH i:xiix

Sunday, July 9, 2017

NOT AGAIN

http://kenyanpoet.blogspot.com/

NO!NO!NO!.
Not again.
You want us to fight again?
A fight to death?
Even before we catch our breath?
Who are them?
Who are us?
You said,
We are fighting “them”
For our rights.
Our rights?
I only see us in the ring.
I don’t see them.
Remember how we fought us?
How you urged us to fight us?
Not for us, but US.
How we’ve always been fighting us?
Fighting us for you?
Fighting us to employ you?
To give you power to mistreat us?
Steal from us?
Using us as pawns, at the battlefront,
Fighting for you.
Killing our mothers for you.
Maiming our sons, for you.
Do you love the colour of blood?
The smell of blood?
The desperate cries of our dying sons?
Do you?
Mr. Politician,
Tell me,
Who will you rule, who will you govern?
If we all die in the ring?
Are we collateral damage for your thirst for power?
You love the color of blood?
Kill you chicken and use their blood to paint your stomach red.
You love the smell of blood?
Kill one of your prize bull and use its blood as perfume.
But please just let us employ you from the safety of the ballot,
Not from our graves.
It is not a fight between us and them,
It is a fight to choose the best from us.
Just drop your CV and we’ll be sure to get back to you just after the election.
And let you know who among us has been successful to lead us.
So this time,
You have to forgive us.
To your suggestion, we say,
No!No!No!
Not again

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

VISUAL POETRY

http://kenyanpoet.blogspot.com/

Thursday, September 3, 2015

At Fast



At last,
I found my own voice,
I’ll no longer sing out of tune,
I’ll no longer speak incoherently,
I’ll no longer heed to your hush, hush imploring,
I’ll no longer speak in hushed tones,
I’ll no longer whisper in the dark,
I’ll no longer keep mum,
As you step on my toes
I’ve found my own song ,
Don’t expect me to keep on singing yours,
I’ve found my own voice,
Don’t expect to keep on speaking for me,
I’ve found my own courage,
I can now shout in the dark
HOORAY!
At last.

Just for MAMA (repost)


Mama this is your space,
The whole world should be your space,
You held nothing back,
You let me have it all.

I soiled myself,
You did not not pinch your nose in disgust,
I cried at night and disturbed your sleep,
Yet you cuddled me with love,
And loved me back to sweet sleep,

As if amazed too,
You cheered me on as i made my first step,
As i tumbled and fell,
You urged me on,
Picking me up,
Hoisting me back to the track,
To race against me,
And when i finally stood up without holding onto nothing,
You cheered me as if I'd won a gold medal,

Mama this your poem,
In fact all these are your poems,
You deserve each poem the world has ever seen,
Yet this is the only one i can manage,
At least for now,

To express my sincere gratitudes,
My belated THANK YOU note,
Which should have come in ages ago,

Mama this is your day,
Everyday should be mama's day,
You deserve to celebrated daily,
If only to remind us daily,
The big role you played in making us US,
Especially me.

Mama this is your child,
Everyone is your child,
And you call me 'My little boy'
Even with my long beards,
Yet i feel not offended,
Because I havent repaid you,
For your care, kindness,
And above all,
Your unconditional LOVE

Thank you mama

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

The LORD is a stronghold for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. — Ps 9:9

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

MOTIVATION

IT IS THE SOUND OF THE GROUND BENEATH MY FEET, THE PROMISE OF THE BIRDS THAT FLY PAST THE SKY, THE SETTLING DUST OF THE PAST STRUGGLES, THE WAY THE DAY STARTS, WITH A BEAUTIFUL SMILE STRETCHING MILES BEYOND THE HORIZON, AND ENDS, WITH A HALOW THAT SWALLOS SORROWS WROUGHT BY THE TOILINGS, AND PROMISES A BETTER TOMORROW.

MY MOTIVATION

http://kenyanpoet.blogspot.com/ IT IS THE SOUND OF THE GROUND BENEATH MY FEET, THE PROMISE OF THE BIRDS THAT FLY PAST THE SKY, THE SETTLING DUST OF THE PAST STRUGGLES, THE WAY THE DAY STARTS, WITH A BEAUTIFUL SMILE STRETCHING MILES BEYOND THE HORIZON, AND ENDS, WITH A HALOW THAT SWALLOS SORROWS WROUGHT BY THE TOILINGS, AND PROMISES A BETTER TOMORROW.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

BEFORE YESTERDAY

Before yesterday, I did not know you existed, i did not care what you did, what you thought of me, where you went and with whom, I did not want to know what you thought about my height, my weight my dressing my lifestyle. I did not want to know what time you came home at night, Actually i did not want you to come home. I did not want to know what your friends thought about me. But today, I wonder how i can exist without you, I wonder what you do and what you think of me, Where you are and with whom, I have to hit the gym to keep and lose all those tie and dye costumes, I would love to hear you say again that your friends like me, And i always want you home early. I still cannot imagine how life was, Before yesterday.

Monday, February 24, 2014

LETS GO GREEN

Lets plant a tree on this very spot, The storm from the mountains is rooting out everything, Everything not firmly grounded, Everything with shallow roots, Everything lying just on the surface; Soon we'l forget how the grass looked like, How the shrubs covered this very place, W will forget how it feels to be human again. As we get carried away by the changing tides of civilization. Actually let us plant trees.

DO NOT HAWK MY BOOK

Do not hawk my book, Read it, understand it, analyze it, And keep it on your book shelve, But do not hawk my book. Do not hawk my book, Buy it, keep it read a page every day, Then when you are done keep it for your generataion, That way my book will outlive me, Do not hawk my book, Do not hawk my book, Take it back to the bookstore, Let them keep it on their dustless shelves, Then i know every book shopper will see it, Even if they dont buy it, I will joy that it has been seen. Just do not hawk my book. Do not hawk my book, Let it stay on my manuscripts, That way it can be said in future, Here's the bet book that was never written, The author wrote the book in their head, Read it in their head, Published it in their head, But never wrote it on paper, He feared they would hawk his book.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

tag.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

http://kenyanpoet.blogspot.com/

I have travelled this road before,
I have trodded through this dusty terrain,
I have tripped and stumbled  on these boulders,
I have negotiated these sharp corners,
And these tricky bends.
I know this road of pain,
It still hurts, despite the experience,
And the remindful scars it deposits on my heart.
I still wait to master pain,
To learn how not to cry,
When they break my heart,
I wait to master how to stifle the tears,
How to redeem the lost years,
And allay the strong fears ,
The tears from the fears of hurting again,
The art of the heart is the mastery i seek,
The mystery of the soul!
To which i am open to learning.