Every poem is emotion set free, like the chirping bird which runs from the cage with such glee,

It is the setting free of pain and sorrow delicately written with words and symbols,

They write about everything, like they’ve seen it all heard it all, like they are themselves immortal.

So one day, under the bleak mid winters night,
I followed a poet through the dark and murky with all my fright,

Poets like musicians are volatile energies,
Sons and daughters of visions and epiphany’s

They smell wind and see letters,  the skies to them is an ocean full of stars and sea monsters,

They’re witty and cunning, with half truths and insults which seem to be funny,

I watched him for three minutes, he wrote nothing, with a pen in his left hand and his eyes deeply searching-

it’s like he was watching angels flip flap mid air, it’s like he was here but all the same he was there,

Emotions are caged in great dungeons, to break them free from it’s Siamese like bond could take a surgeon,

It’s emotion but no words we’re created to describe the commotion,
Binding and bending and bounding, living is scaringly agonizing,

They know what’s right from experience,
They’ve lived a thousand lives and been a million consciences,

I watched him a great deal, taking notes of his tumultuous ordeal, he saw me and ushered me in, like he knew I had questions and couldn’t wait to begin.

“How do you make a poem happy or sad?” I asked.
He said ” you can’t write what you’re not,”
He smirked ” I am what’s happy and sad”
I said” I don’t understand, how can you be what’s happy and still sad?”
He said ” a poet is a watchman of a great prison, and his prisoner’s are  words and lingual, It’s a great doom, cause sometimes I just want to be normal, but these prisoners are loud and could never shut up, so I have to release them”

Poets and rituals, in the business of capturing facts and emotion,
It’s a curse and a blessing,

It’s life itself.


Love like life comes and it goes, we hold birthdays and eulogies so on,

Like currencies, dollars and dinariis,
I’ve stopped hopping, maybe I was meant to die lonely,
Looking  for the female version of me,

Someone whose me but still isn’t,
Someone who’d tell me bare but still succinct,

Someone who reads poetry, reads big books about horroscopes and calls herself a fairy,

Looks to the clouds, and awes, like it’s her first time, whose bodied life, gone through and far but she’s still mine,

Someone whose hard but soft,
Like some delicate tapestry, sweet but also to the contrary,
Someone who cries at the minute, and  giggles at a funeral,

Whose Pinterest cover is full of beautiful butterflies and ugly moths, cause they’re small dragons and she’s the fire queen,

I want what’s insanely sane, an angel with demon claws,
Otherworldly but feels like home,
who wears purple orange skies, and thinks the moon should be the sun,

Whose skin is effortless, whose face limitless.

What’s beautiful about love,
It takes and draws blood,
Draining and  draining till there’s not a drop,

I’ll live alone in my head, cause there’s probably
nothing breathing that could please me,

She died before she breathed, I see her in my dreams but it gets too bleak,
So I continue walking Nairobi streets,


Poetry holds the knowledge that we are alive and that we are going to die, the way life’s a simulation of all feelings happiness and spite
A river of experiences.

Once upon a time in a far and wide land,
Away from the buzzing traffic haphazard,
A young light was born, brighter than most,

Minutes to hours to days, growth is progress so they say,
He  grew to understand that life is strange just a little  bit,
How human boys he played with laughed lesser,
How girls in the harmonious harmonica lived with pressure- to be beautiful, who freaking cares,

He couldn’t understand then, couldn’t understand even now six feet under, that some life’s mysteries, are better left that way.
He fell in love for the first time,
Didn’t know this, he was always like ” wow that girl’s so fine”. He loved how girls we’re like flowers, didn’t understand that thorns are to rosses.

Got rejected for the first time,
It was never said never spoken,
But dear young one was eternally broken.
He schooled and topped his class, and wondered how finding X and finding Y, was making his class mates cry,

A bright light, too bright for his generation,
A bright light, he needed the clouds, or else they’d go blind.
The clouds came in shapes and symbols,

He absolutely loved the stormy dark ones cause they quenched his big fires.
The light one’s were for sundays,
Cause there was a god, and he loved brightness,

Old enough to own a beard, young enough with the body of a boy,
He grappled with life, tasted it and felt sour,

He thought,”to diminish or shine brighter?”

In a world indifferent, he felt different,
So old he grew, old enough to understand
that blickering light is just for the imagination,

In a real world, dark runs cold.
So he, like many of his peers,
clothed themselves in stormy dark clouds
Cause rain was beautiful, and darkness bliss,
He was a sun of the light, forced to abandon and despise.

He died a dark sun,
The storms choked him to the ground.



I know you think I have it all figured out, walking around with my head in the clouds,
I hope you know it’s not always happy in my head,
I’ll lie to you tell you happy stories instead,

I wish you could see all that I’ve seen,
I wish you’d see how sometimes I’m not me,

I’m I a lost cause? I’m I the dark deep in my soul?
I’m too afraid to speak my truth, I feel so old but I’m still in my youth,
I know my mind doesn’t give a damn about me,
Pitted against storms and great fires surround me,

I’m trying to love someone who loves me,
Used to poison and toxins cannot believe a soul could please me,
Sometimes I want to do what’s right but I end up thinking  about what’s left,
Sometimes I just want to sleep and take deep breaths finally meet with my inner god and all they say,

It’s not that easy for boys like me,
who try and try but end up defeated internally crying,
I just want to be sane, to be emotionally available to them, to listen to them talk and feel the pain, I want to be normal, a human boy why did the universe make me this hormonal

I want water, I’ve heard it’s clear and it quenches my tongue, I want what’s clear I’m just like you, don’t need this kind of fear,
Goddammit, an inkling of peace and sombre.

But maybe we are too lost in that shit hole,
Maybe I am the darkness all along,
Deserving of great dungeons cause I’ll probably scare.
I’m a lost boy after all.


I’m in the toilet of a shit old club, while this other boys are taking drugs, talking to my friend Ray about love and where life starts to go wrong.

He says he’s been addicted to drugs, he’s name’s Ray but all he sees is dust, he’s only twenty three but young never felt this old.

He’s got three sister’s, two of them good kids but the other one just like him in a society misfit.
He says ” I try to let it go,god knows I try” and I try to talk to him, tell him the reasons why, there’s more to  life than this.

He’s got a beautiful girlfriend, the one called Mildred, a cool ass name even for her and her kindred, she sets him out of control, he’s full of big fires and Mildred’s his petrol.

He says” It comes and it goes, leaving me hungrier than before”
I light another cigar, to scare his demons away less it triggers- him to give up again and feel like a little failure.

I said” You’re young with life my G, I remember you wanted to be president by twenty three, you’re king of you’re own life, but drugs will disagree”

He coughs three times and whisper’s
“Bro, I love how you think, If I had a sister I’ll set her up for you to win, but I’m a lost ship, I’m healthy but I’m too sick, if I had another life maybe I’d breathe.”

You see boys like Ray, full of talent and life’s sway
Get tossed into the ocean, so they’d lose the vision,
It’s crazy sometimes, cause there’s the merry and tough times

We are but human, under influence we submerge
Like prisoners to higher powers, scared and bruised like heat to a flowers.

“It’s never easy Ray, addiction means fighting for your way, it’s like breathing inside water”
So my friend Ray, washed his hands and went his way
He’ll remember what we talked about that day in the old shit club

The sky is not always blue, there’s always happiness like there’s gloom
Perfectly balanced I’d say, enough to keep us sane, enough to break us dead
As I stroll the dark streets, thinking about life and what it means
I’ve come to realise,
There’s more to life than this


Dear dolly bunny,Glowy eyes with that dark brown

Face radiant, oh the skies!
 Voice, Western much,Western chic with the gloss.

Yellow with happiness, she’s the sun
  A mere mortal, but looks like heaven

Laughs loud, her neighbors irk
Big girl energy, like she’s a queen and
 I’m her savory

Not a ten, but, squeeshy, glitzy
She’s beautiful. She’s beautiful

Lazy, oh how she awakes
 She yawns the yawn of six mornings

Choco cakes, her favorite
Got wings I guess, oh divine

Waves, winds, whirls,sink!
With polka dots,with lace white
Kills me everytime,all the time.

I’d stare at the audacious glare

She’s a freaking angel

Fly to me

My cherub.


Belief in the human history according to pundits and team players all alike is a sort of social construct which allows the human mind to have hope in seemless incurable sadness. But according to me belief is an attitude, a decision, a way of thinking of folks who most of the time prefer to see the glass half full.

If you roam through human history. Some of the greatest human biographies are from people who literally had nothing to start with on their ventures, nothing to hold on to but a tiny little strand of belief hanging on a falling cliff . It is to me the soothsayer of qualms that interrogate the human brain on negativity and failurism. Believe!

I think this word in itself serves poetry and art lovers right. It evokes emotions pent up, it is sometimes misunderstood and utterly taken advantage of, but it really is a double edged sword. Looking keenly at people who claim to be in love, I feel like some mind maim-ness has to be at play, the couple has to be transfixed, some person worship or maybe common goals such as making babies or starting a family or looking good together, or the most trivial of reasons, you know what it is..Ok it’s not trivial but looking at it, love is an important fibre in human kind, because its what makes mother’s love their drunk husband’s and what makes these husbands come back home every evening after work. To me, the best humans are those who love truly and aren’t afraid to show it.

Belief in a super power is almost scary. Of a higher being watching on from the heavens as things unfold. I feel religion as much as being a human construct, it’s got some supernatural to it which I’m afraid cannot be ignored.
You see, if you talk to a pagan you’ll realise that they in most cases come from religious backgrounds, then as they grew older they obtained new ‘knowledge’ which pitfalled their understanding of a deity and paying homage to religion. As a free thinker, I believe religion is for the good of us all, it’s what keeps the social conscience in check, “thou shall not murder” of course I support that!!

To belong to a specific gender is an ardent responsibility I guess. Girls are taught at an early age on sitting with their legs together, how to cook and clean a home, this ironically cuts across all females from all levels of the societal classes, while men are taught to be “manly” that is, zero emotions and level headedness always. These two aspects of gender upringing is somewhat right, cause who wouldn’t want to marry a woman who cooks as good as their mother, or which lady will want to get married to a man who runs when the neighbors dog comes barking. All in all, with due respect to the LGBTQ who according to me are amazing people, there’s just two genders under the sun, choosing which one to belong to is where the politicking kicks in.

As a child death always seemed to be a far away destination for old people with heart problems.
I thought, well I’m twelve, I’m barely anything yet in life. I’ll be here for a long time. Now living the earth for a long time will make you see death as a less monstrous ordeal to  a way of life  of all human  folk, as  long as you breath air ,  it could go any moment. Scary I know. Sometimes it feels like death is an escape from reality to something unknown, I feel like, beyond death there’s still ten thousand mysteries happening good thing is dead men  tell no tales. See what I did there
Anyway, fear of death according to me is brought about due to love of what life has to offer, not love of life in itself. To be alive you can breathe ocean air in Trinidad, you can damn well fly across the ocean, it’s the only feeling we know, however to be dead is unknown. The fear of the unknown I guess.
My two cents.


The blue canvas that overlays the earth, it’s a dome of immense girth, once you fall in love there’s no going back, if you stare too much you might just be in luck.

There are weird things in the sky, it’s beautifully set with the glitz and the glam that you’d just smirk
There are stars that look like stars but they still move like cars, there are clouds that look like clouds but they smile back and can frown,
There’s the big old moon which shapeshifts,
Like its always in a sinister plot to  fit- in,

The horizon seems bleak, I’m green with age but I want to sink, in a black hole and feel nothing,
Empty has never felt this whole,

The sky’s always black, it’s the  darkness that makes it  blue, it’s the systems and the powers that be that make stars shine so bright,
The sky is poetry, it’s got this feel to it, so exquisitely powerful.

When you’re outside and you get to meet the blue canvas, the same one that  Aristotle saw and thought he should encompass
It’s so wide and spik and span,beyong my cognitive  abilities like pointing a gun
Watching the sky is therapy, heals the broken bones cause it’s healthy
Widens the bigger scope, cause it’s lengthy
I want to die watching the sky.


Roses are red, love is pain so it’s said,
My heart’s blue, another love so true,
Sometimes there’s deja Vu, thinking it’s her when it’s you,
Another love,but different,
Not as fiery as  old  love,but it’s magnificent,
No secrets cause new love is transparent,

It’s subtle and soft, my soul at peace aloft
Sometimes I compare, understand that love is in the actions,
Sometimes I despair, what if, like the other one she loses attraction?
Angels are beautiful and swift, that’s why love comes and it goes when you have it- a gift

New love means fresh mornings, it means accepting your faults and saying sorry
Its full of growth  and warmth, in love with myself again away with the loathe
Holding on to lost love, Hot coal on my hands without gloves
I’m in the arms of another, feels strange but I still savor
With another love.

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