The night was long. A thousand pains multiplied stabbed his body from the multiple beatings he had got earlier in the evening from the lynch mob. They say hell is in the afterlife but this pain was more than the real thing. Numbness assailed his body. He felt his eyelids cover his eyes in a stubborn blanket that would make his eyes open his eyes in slits come morning.
Even his tongue, which had suffered several bites, was too sore to wet his cracked lips which felt aflame. He was later to realize that some of his teeth were missing, but the puffy face that awaited him on the mirror come morning was one that would shock him. He didn't even feel some parts of his body, only an occasional stab of pain reminded him he was still intact. Problem was that was just the beginning of his tribulations.
The crack of dawn and arrival of beams of light brought with them renewed trouble. In the desolate regions of the night solitude had alleviated a sense of self consciousness that comes with interacting with people. Come morning, the stares and inquiries from neighbors and the Missy-two-goody attitude of people unsettled him. Pitiful words from the neighbor’s friendly children irritated him, the questions from the well meaning shop steward making him retort unkindly, an attitude that was foreign to him.
His mind was a racing turmoil. Sanity was a luxury he could only afford as long as he kept his calm. Reason and reality proved otherwise. A hundred thousand shillings of his life’s fortune had gone down the drain the previous evening. Not only would his father have a field day castigating him, his poor mother, her relations with his dad already strained, would get the proof that was a failure. If the loss of that money won't send her to an early grave, the rape charges against Jeff's wife would no doubt put his elderly mother in ICU.
The long awaited call from a gruff policeman came at around midday. His throat was perched dry for neither a morsel nor a drop of water had gone down his throat since the last evening. Wobbly knees and a general weakness ten fold added to his woes. Looking like the only survivor of a head on train wreck victim, he took a taxi toward the local police station. He didn’t tag a friend along; was it his fault last nights events made him distrust all of them?.
He arrived at the designated meeting point opposite the police station where he was to make peace with his friend Jeff. Hope that he would be refunded the hundred thousand shillings made his pain more bearable. The gruff policeman had told him over the phone that Jeff had seen the lie in his wife and wanted to settle matters.
James wobbled into the designated café and asked for a glass of water. If the effort to bring it unto his lips was torture, then swallowing it was pure hell. He gave up, just in time as a very apologetic and caring Jeff strolled in, smart as usual and carrying a brown briefcase. There were no hugs, no preliminaries, just contrite words and assurances from Jeff to make it up all for James.
There were no lengths Jeff wont go to make it up to James, not only from refunding the money James had paid last night to get his freedom but Jeff was prepared to meet the hospital bill too. The misunderstanding, Jeff promised, would not derail their plans. Minutes later, a call came for Jeff. He spoke into the phone for a minute, asked to excuse himself for a moment to take care of some business. With with a trusting look, he gave James the briefcase, which seemed to hold something important for for safe keeping. “I trust you bro,” Jeff said, apologizing yet again, placing the briefcase next to James and heading out.
In less than three minutes after the departure of Jeff, a long old model Peugeot 504 screeched at the entrance to the café. Even before the 504 came to a stop bully armed figures sprung from it as James wondered where an armed robbery could be taking place. They say that bad happen all the time but good things happen all at once. That adage was being proved wrong
The armed men, whom from hearsay and experience he knew were the dreaded flying squad positioned themselves at the entrance to the café. His reason and logic failed to meet. Were they training their ugly guns muzzles at him? Bewildered, he looked hither, lacking comprehension, only to realize the other two patrons in the cafe were staring at him. That’s when he heard the menacing snarled command from the leader of the squad
‘Mikono juu, step away from the table slowly or I make a sieve out of you’. James slowly got up, oblivious to the pain springing from his battered body. The rest happened as if he were a mere spectator watching a piece of action he wasn’t involved in. In swift clinical motions the squad member's stepped into the café, guns still trained on a James now shaking with fear. Inside the café they fanned round him, giving him a wide berth like he suffered from a highly contagious disease, enclosing him in a horse shoe ring.
The operatives seemed to know what they were doing, -what they were after. One of them deftly opened the briefcase. Crisp one thousand notes were neatly arranged in the briefcase. James felt his jaw drop. The naivety in him failed him; he didn’t hear the words "fake money" and "lie down". He didn't even know the magnanimity of their find and its ability to alter the course of his life.
A sweeping kick connected with his lower feet, landing him on the floor with a thud, swiftly followed by the butt of the gun to his upper abdomen that punched all the wind out of his system as he sprawled in pain on the floor.
He momentarily lost consciousness and was tossed into the boot of the police car. When he regained consciousness, bully faces stared down at him from far up above. He was lying on his back in a clearing in the forest. The far off faces he now came to recognize as those of the cops. His spirits rose a bit when he saw his friend Jeff. That man must be the reason he wasn't in the police cells. He smiled.
His smile was cut short with words that sent a shiver far up his spine a knife could not cut. "How could you be so stupid to carry fake money with you?" Jeff asked him. "I have arranged with this friends of mine that if you cough up fifty thousand shillings you wont have to spend the larger part of your life behind some dingy cells as deserves criminals such as you", his friend Jeff went on.
Has reality ever failed to register with you only for it to later hit you like a flying brick?
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
CONNED: A SERIES. EPISODE ONE
CONNED: A SERIES
Episode 1.
A slow smile curved on his features as the Matatu cruised along Thika road heading to the city. In a few hours, he, James, would have the papers that would enable him cross the bridge from the deserts of poverty to the oasis of riches, at a fee. If guys coughed over two hundred thousand shillings to get to the armed forces to earn a paltry thirty or so thousand who was he to let the chance to earn over two hundred thousand a month in Afghanistan?
He surveyed the oncoming cars, discarding from his plans the small ones; he was going to buy a state of the art SUV once he got back. He felt for his passport which he had coughed ten thousand shillings at Nyayo house to fast track and smiled. He was going to make his mother proud, soon. She had stood by him, supported him against his father when he had told her his plans. That is how he had been able to raise the two hundred shillings that were tucked safely in a location only he knew.
His friend since high school Jeff was organizing the whole deal. The sweetest part was that James was not to hand over any money until he had all the papers with him. He alighted at the fire station, a spring in his step. In a few moments he would have the documents and air ticket, paid for by the sourcing company, in his hands. They would then arrange where he was to hand over the money. His plan was water tight and Jeff was obliging. In this times you cant trust anyone, he had told Jeff.
They met at an uptown hotel. These joints James would normally pass with a longing glance but since meeting Jeff he had become a regular. Not that James paid the bills; what were old buddies for and Jeff had made it in life, driving top of the range machines and dressing in top of the market clothes?
There was a hitch though. Jeff was in a hurry to go to a meeting and didn’t have the papers with him. Could James collect the documents at his place in the evening? His disappointment was abated by the heavy lunch and five hundred shillings Jeff pressed into his palm, assuring him. A few hours wait could not kill a dream that had festered for so long.
Arriving at Jeff’s place in the evening, he was ushered in by his wife with a welcoming smile. He had met her several times when he had been consulting with Jeff and had been introduced as an old friend. Since Jeff was not in she gave him a cup of tea and retired to the bedroom. Left alone in the room with the remote his eyes wandered on the pricey items that adorned the room. This was a couple with a taste.
Kept busy by a thrilling movie on one of the pre paid channels and a hostess taking care of his needs now and then, the hours flew by without his notice and dusk tuned into night. His bliss was broken by a high pitched scream that seemed to go on and on. Alert, he listened for its source. It came from the hostess’s bedroom. Rushing in to see what was wrong, he found her in a torn night dress, her eyes wild, her hair ruffled. The room seemed to have been disarranged in a scuffle. He didn’t have the time to get what was wrong from her for in an instant the house was filled with neighbors and one or two people he recognized as Jeff’s friends.
By now the hostess had already attacked him, bawling wildly, scratching biting and kicking. He was felled by a heavy blow to the back of the head by the rescuers, who went on to set on him with kicks and blows. Sense of what was happening deserted him, he was lost for reason searching for answers he had no questions to, while blows stung into his body from all corners. He was losing consciousness when he heard the voice of his friend Jeff shout stop above the din in the house. At last his savior had arrived, his feeble spirit gaining strength.
What shocked him was the reason the hostess gave for attacking him. He, James, had been trying to rape her, she sobbed as she narrated the ordeal. Jeff set on him with a vengeance, admonishing him for breaking his trust and trying to defile that which he held in esteem above all else, his own altar. James tried to profess his innocence to no avail. No one believes a battered man, especially if found in a bedroom that doesn’t belong to him.
The crowd gathered outside bayed for his blood. He was a man besieged. His one hope of salvation Jeff was being held back, machete in hand, lest he finished him off. A hasty jury demanded he give a hundred thousand to assuage Jeff’s rage else he would be tossed to the murderous crowd. These guys were serious. He was fighting for his life and not even his dream, edged on the inheritance money he had pried from his Dad seemed that important now. What use was a dream to a dead man anyway?
It was two cops who escorted him to his place to get the money to pay the liberate, albeit a statement written at the local police station where he was to attend summons while waiting for Jeff to either drop the case or prosecute him. A hundred thousand shillings less, beaten to the edge of death and having lost his ego and the trust of a friend he took to hospital to have his bruises tended to.
He woke up the next day in pain all over his body, but little did he know that the call he was to get from his friend Jeff in a bid to bury the hatchet was only the beginning of his problems.
Episode 1.
A slow smile curved on his features as the Matatu cruised along Thika road heading to the city. In a few hours, he, James, would have the papers that would enable him cross the bridge from the deserts of poverty to the oasis of riches, at a fee. If guys coughed over two hundred thousand shillings to get to the armed forces to earn a paltry thirty or so thousand who was he to let the chance to earn over two hundred thousand a month in Afghanistan?
He surveyed the oncoming cars, discarding from his plans the small ones; he was going to buy a state of the art SUV once he got back. He felt for his passport which he had coughed ten thousand shillings at Nyayo house to fast track and smiled. He was going to make his mother proud, soon. She had stood by him, supported him against his father when he had told her his plans. That is how he had been able to raise the two hundred shillings that were tucked safely in a location only he knew.
His friend since high school Jeff was organizing the whole deal. The sweetest part was that James was not to hand over any money until he had all the papers with him. He alighted at the fire station, a spring in his step. In a few moments he would have the documents and air ticket, paid for by the sourcing company, in his hands. They would then arrange where he was to hand over the money. His plan was water tight and Jeff was obliging. In this times you cant trust anyone, he had told Jeff.
They met at an uptown hotel. These joints James would normally pass with a longing glance but since meeting Jeff he had become a regular. Not that James paid the bills; what were old buddies for and Jeff had made it in life, driving top of the range machines and dressing in top of the market clothes?
There was a hitch though. Jeff was in a hurry to go to a meeting and didn’t have the papers with him. Could James collect the documents at his place in the evening? His disappointment was abated by the heavy lunch and five hundred shillings Jeff pressed into his palm, assuring him. A few hours wait could not kill a dream that had festered for so long.
Arriving at Jeff’s place in the evening, he was ushered in by his wife with a welcoming smile. He had met her several times when he had been consulting with Jeff and had been introduced as an old friend. Since Jeff was not in she gave him a cup of tea and retired to the bedroom. Left alone in the room with the remote his eyes wandered on the pricey items that adorned the room. This was a couple with a taste.
Kept busy by a thrilling movie on one of the pre paid channels and a hostess taking care of his needs now and then, the hours flew by without his notice and dusk tuned into night. His bliss was broken by a high pitched scream that seemed to go on and on. Alert, he listened for its source. It came from the hostess’s bedroom. Rushing in to see what was wrong, he found her in a torn night dress, her eyes wild, her hair ruffled. The room seemed to have been disarranged in a scuffle. He didn’t have the time to get what was wrong from her for in an instant the house was filled with neighbors and one or two people he recognized as Jeff’s friends.
By now the hostess had already attacked him, bawling wildly, scratching biting and kicking. He was felled by a heavy blow to the back of the head by the rescuers, who went on to set on him with kicks and blows. Sense of what was happening deserted him, he was lost for reason searching for answers he had no questions to, while blows stung into his body from all corners. He was losing consciousness when he heard the voice of his friend Jeff shout stop above the din in the house. At last his savior had arrived, his feeble spirit gaining strength.
What shocked him was the reason the hostess gave for attacking him. He, James, had been trying to rape her, she sobbed as she narrated the ordeal. Jeff set on him with a vengeance, admonishing him for breaking his trust and trying to defile that which he held in esteem above all else, his own altar. James tried to profess his innocence to no avail. No one believes a battered man, especially if found in a bedroom that doesn’t belong to him.
The crowd gathered outside bayed for his blood. He was a man besieged. His one hope of salvation Jeff was being held back, machete in hand, lest he finished him off. A hasty jury demanded he give a hundred thousand to assuage Jeff’s rage else he would be tossed to the murderous crowd. These guys were serious. He was fighting for his life and not even his dream, edged on the inheritance money he had pried from his Dad seemed that important now. What use was a dream to a dead man anyway?
It was two cops who escorted him to his place to get the money to pay the liberate, albeit a statement written at the local police station where he was to attend summons while waiting for Jeff to either drop the case or prosecute him. A hundred thousand shillings less, beaten to the edge of death and having lost his ego and the trust of a friend he took to hospital to have his bruises tended to.
He woke up the next day in pain all over his body, but little did he know that the call he was to get from his friend Jeff in a bid to bury the hatchet was only the beginning of his problems.
Monday, December 5, 2011
HERE AND ABOUT
I haven’t been in Mwingi a full day but i've noticed it’s not unusual for traders to leave their expensively stocked shops unattended. That would be risky in many other-a-town and suicidal in Nairobi. I enquire what drives levels of security in this transit town that is a rainbow collection of tribes and nationalities. The fear of Kamuti, witchcraft famed along Kamba land to punish thieving mortals deters the urge to pinch or pilfer. Its a safe town, I decide, my guard coming some notches lower. It’s a welcome reprieve from Nairobi’s thieving, shoving, pushing, cursing, erratic fares, general indifference and all ills a society cruising at rat race speeds spews forth.
The town I envisioned as we drove toward in the night is different from daylight Mwingi. Last night, driving up an incline, the splendour of Mwingi was suddenly revealed, electricity lights forming a milky way like swathe in the great expanse of darkness, a promise of human companionship ahead. Daylight reveals bare nude the shades the cloak of night chose not to reveal, competing new and old architecture, colors and a representation of the rainbow tribes of Kenya. The easy life of the provincial towns is evident; no hurry no worry as people go about their business at a relaxed
As the eye roves over the country side where dark green shrubs beautifully roll into the distant far, it’s the imposing rocks, jutting above all else and at times forming into small hills that make their ancient presence felt. White and brown against a seasonal green landscape, the bare rocks seem to be reminding people that lush season is inly a visitor while sand a stone is the perennial king. Not that this ancient rocks don't have challengers to their legacy; gigantic masts tower over the highest rocks as lazy power pylons snake and disappear into the horizon. These gigantic steel structures seem to spell that short may be mans life span, but he lords supreme during his short sojourn on earth.
Mid morning we take a stroll around town and the sun is making a show of force, blazing in all its glory, hot. A mad ass randy wildly kicking donkey has us squeezing out of its way a young man, stick hand hot beyond its flying hoofs. Phew!. The young man in pursuit of the riotous donkey reminds me of a thousand other young men aboard chinese motorcycles sending old women diving out of their roaring way in every track, path or rut in Kenya. My host and I head toward an eatery as the sun starts to stamp its supremacy. Its over some of the juiciest ribs I notice a peculiar thing about the town's vegetation.
Stunted yet aged looking trees withered at the very tops blossoming from mid trunk line the towns main street. I wonder aloud and the riddle is solved. ‘This is the cool season, when the dry season is here it literally rains sun and the expanse you see covered in green is usually covered by bare rock and sand’, am told. I shiver at the thought. The nights have been hotter than what I have ever experienced. The mosquitoes too are notoriously relentless. As I board a Nairobi bound bus early morning a day later, I know I will be back to test the so called temperatures of Mwingi while unwinding amidst a people who make you feel home away from home.
Mwingi, I will be back.
The town I envisioned as we drove toward in the night is different from daylight Mwingi. Last night, driving up an incline, the splendour of Mwingi was suddenly revealed, electricity lights forming a milky way like swathe in the great expanse of darkness, a promise of human companionship ahead. Daylight reveals bare nude the shades the cloak of night chose not to reveal, competing new and old architecture, colors and a representation of the rainbow tribes of Kenya. The easy life of the provincial towns is evident; no hurry no worry as people go about their business at a relaxed
As the eye roves over the country side where dark green shrubs beautifully roll into the distant far, it’s the imposing rocks, jutting above all else and at times forming into small hills that make their ancient presence felt. White and brown against a seasonal green landscape, the bare rocks seem to be reminding people that lush season is inly a visitor while sand a stone is the perennial king. Not that this ancient rocks don't have challengers to their legacy; gigantic masts tower over the highest rocks as lazy power pylons snake and disappear into the horizon. These gigantic steel structures seem to spell that short may be mans life span, but he lords supreme during his short sojourn on earth.
Mid morning we take a stroll around town and the sun is making a show of force, blazing in all its glory, hot. A mad ass randy wildly kicking donkey has us squeezing out of its way a young man, stick hand hot beyond its flying hoofs. Phew!. The young man in pursuit of the riotous donkey reminds me of a thousand other young men aboard chinese motorcycles sending old women diving out of their roaring way in every track, path or rut in Kenya. My host and I head toward an eatery as the sun starts to stamp its supremacy. Its over some of the juiciest ribs I notice a peculiar thing about the town's vegetation.
Stunted yet aged looking trees withered at the very tops blossoming from mid trunk line the towns main street. I wonder aloud and the riddle is solved. ‘This is the cool season, when the dry season is here it literally rains sun and the expanse you see covered in green is usually covered by bare rock and sand’, am told. I shiver at the thought. The nights have been hotter than what I have ever experienced. The mosquitoes too are notoriously relentless. As I board a Nairobi bound bus early morning a day later, I know I will be back to test the so called temperatures of Mwingi while unwinding amidst a people who make you feel home away from home.
Mwingi, I will be back.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
THIS WOMAN
Look at you, woman
Girth ballooning out of control
Too,your husband says you resemble
His ancient looking mother in law
This your husband, neat a trim forgets
You were the boys crush of the village
The reference girls used for beauty
The girl whose eye's captured his heart
This man, your husband, woman
The boy through toil you molded into a man
This broke lackey you broke your back for
Says you are not good for him
He spends days in boardrooms
Power accessing him secretaries skirts
Never touching your creaking bed
Saying its too old to play games in.
An old shoe, sure has its knocks
But it best knows where not to pinch
Is best accustomed to providing comfort
Its embrace knows the owners soft spots
Your grandmother filled your grandpas granaries
Your mothers back your father maintained
Now you anchor man who has no thanks
Is it your curse or man has played you a losing card?
The boys play their hearts out
While the mother teaches her daughter work
Boards fidget at the A girls grades
And smile at loutish sons fathers bring
Mother of humanity
Isn't the maternity hard enough already
That the heaviest of chores we leave to you?
Who set this roles we expect of you?
The village butcheress awaits with pain unbearable
To rob the innocent unknowing girl
Of her source of marital pleasure
Into the wilderness of man she's thrown
Each seeking an easy lay and faster exit
And woe to her if she gets pregnant
She's excommunicated, the slut
Be it she leads her class
Her father is led by promise of dowry
Sacrificing this sweet soul
Is there no reprieve for you my sister?
Marriage, that bed of roses you dreamt
Lays more thorns than petals on your bed
Nay, better, on your side of the bed
All wrongs you all rights him
Battered, slaved, scolded, chastised
You are the mother of lose ass children
The absent father becomes a present father
Only when one kid shines in the arena
Have you no shame, man
Treating these gods of benevolence
As if they were mats to rise on
Instead of worshiping at their altar?
I will fight your battles, sister
I will wash your feet, woman
I will respect you, girlfriend
And I will love you dear wife
For the years of toil in the Kitchen
The hassles of raising brats single handedly
Fast bring wrinkles and woes we shun
Where are those chores customs forbid me?
Girth ballooning out of control
Too,your husband says you resemble
His ancient looking mother in law
This your husband, neat a trim forgets
You were the boys crush of the village
The reference girls used for beauty
The girl whose eye's captured his heart
This man, your husband, woman
The boy through toil you molded into a man
This broke lackey you broke your back for
Says you are not good for him
He spends days in boardrooms
Power accessing him secretaries skirts
Never touching your creaking bed
Saying its too old to play games in.
An old shoe, sure has its knocks
But it best knows where not to pinch
Is best accustomed to providing comfort
Its embrace knows the owners soft spots
Your grandmother filled your grandpas granaries
Your mothers back your father maintained
Now you anchor man who has no thanks
Is it your curse or man has played you a losing card?
The boys play their hearts out
While the mother teaches her daughter work
Boards fidget at the A girls grades
And smile at loutish sons fathers bring
Mother of humanity
Isn't the maternity hard enough already
That the heaviest of chores we leave to you?
Who set this roles we expect of you?
The village butcheress awaits with pain unbearable
To rob the innocent unknowing girl
Of her source of marital pleasure
Into the wilderness of man she's thrown
Each seeking an easy lay and faster exit
And woe to her if she gets pregnant
She's excommunicated, the slut
Be it she leads her class
Her father is led by promise of dowry
Sacrificing this sweet soul
Is there no reprieve for you my sister?
Marriage, that bed of roses you dreamt
Lays more thorns than petals on your bed
Nay, better, on your side of the bed
All wrongs you all rights him
Battered, slaved, scolded, chastised
You are the mother of lose ass children
The absent father becomes a present father
Only when one kid shines in the arena
Have you no shame, man
Treating these gods of benevolence
As if they were mats to rise on
Instead of worshiping at their altar?
I will fight your battles, sister
I will wash your feet, woman
I will respect you, girlfriend
And I will love you dear wife
For the years of toil in the Kitchen
The hassles of raising brats single handedly
Fast bring wrinkles and woes we shun
Where are those chores customs forbid me?
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
BECAUSE I GOT HIGH
The pounding headache tries to pry my eyes open but while the little dim light in the room threatens to blind me if I as much as peer. The taste in my mouth? I try to prop myself on one elbow to get my bearings and its when I notice long ebony leg thrown over my shirtless chest. Hell! With her head buried under the pillows she remains a stranger. In the background is the slow buzz of a phone, crying for attention, but the more urgent matter of peeing need be attended to first.
Shoving the stranger’s leg aside, I survey the room. Nowhere I have been before, I conclude. There are two doors out of this room. The urgency of pee pushes this notion in my head to finish matters in a bottle. Silly. The half bottle of scotch lying on the table need not invite. As I reach for it, the unopened pack of cheap condoms lying on the table has me remember God; I utter his name while holding a curse under my breath. Heck!
The phone buzzes once more. I trace it under the bed. The screen, which somehow broke last night, displays one o’clock midday; seventeen messages and thirty something missed calls. Wa! Most of them are from my friend Ariel. I have to know what happened and I give him a call. Doomsday!
“Wewe! Where have you been? Where did you go with Butchers daughter?” He barks. “Hata simu hauchukui”. Small beads of perspiration form on my forehead as a cold creeps on the back of my neck. I see my careers spiralling down the gutter, possible harassment from the police and the guild banning me from ever practising. The Butcher is our ruthless Managing Editor. I piece one and two together. If that be his daughter in the bedroom its time to sprint……………..
(Catch up next week and for the continuation)
Shoving the stranger’s leg aside, I survey the room. Nowhere I have been before, I conclude. There are two doors out of this room. The urgency of pee pushes this notion in my head to finish matters in a bottle. Silly. The half bottle of scotch lying on the table need not invite. As I reach for it, the unopened pack of cheap condoms lying on the table has me remember God; I utter his name while holding a curse under my breath. Heck!
The phone buzzes once more. I trace it under the bed. The screen, which somehow broke last night, displays one o’clock midday; seventeen messages and thirty something missed calls. Wa! Most of them are from my friend Ariel. I have to know what happened and I give him a call. Doomsday!
“Wewe! Where have you been? Where did you go with Butchers daughter?” He barks. “Hata simu hauchukui”. Small beads of perspiration form on my forehead as a cold creeps on the back of my neck. I see my careers spiralling down the gutter, possible harassment from the police and the guild banning me from ever practising. The Butcher is our ruthless Managing Editor. I piece one and two together. If that be his daughter in the bedroom its time to sprint……………..
(Catch up next week and for the continuation)
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
TO SHE
Swiftly, like the fleeting wind
You slip through my fingers
Try my arms to wall you close here
My all wants more than thoughts that linger
Constant in my dreams, always together,
Your smile!, your beautiful eyes altogether,
Are an instant unspoken promise of forever,
Though you seem to slip away, I will hold on forever.
I-love-you, I may barely say,
But let actions of my love tilt the sway,
Even when ill winds try to blow you away,
I'll cast all aside to pull you close, always.
You slip through my fingers
Try my arms to wall you close here
My all wants more than thoughts that linger
Constant in my dreams, always together,
Your smile!, your beautiful eyes altogether,
Are an instant unspoken promise of forever,
Though you seem to slip away, I will hold on forever.
I-love-you, I may barely say,
But let actions of my love tilt the sway,
Even when ill winds try to blow you away,
I'll cast all aside to pull you close, always.
THIS SWORD
Scwhaaaa! in stops, comma's and spaces it cuts
Oozing crimson, blue and black blood
In its wake mortals lie dead
Death to a million uninformed minds
Freeing a billion more from shackles of ignorance
When wielded by a Knight
It is a shelter to the hungry child
It is a shield of Justice for the lowly widow
It uplifts the long forgotten and downtrodden
And however LONG suppressed
Like the sure promise of dawn birthing light
The sword always trounces
A dictators worst nightmare
A politicians nemesis
Many a false preachers foe
A liars Waterloo
A shady tycoons Achilles heel
This sword IS, when justly wielded
This PEN is.
Oozing crimson, blue and black blood
In its wake mortals lie dead
Death to a million uninformed minds
Freeing a billion more from shackles of ignorance
When wielded by a Knight
It is a shelter to the hungry child
It is a shield of Justice for the lowly widow
It uplifts the long forgotten and downtrodden
And however LONG suppressed
Like the sure promise of dawn birthing light
The sword always trounces
A dictators worst nightmare
A politicians nemesis
Many a false preachers foe
A liars Waterloo
A shady tycoons Achilles heel
This sword IS, when justly wielded
This PEN is.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
TETHER ME WOMAN
Tether me, woman. Lest I graze in the neighbors garden
Shackle me lest I wander in fields un-owned
Encircle me in the fence between your hips and heels,
For only then can these eyes see only you
Wrap me in the tentacles of your love
Treat me as your first born son, girl
May your smiling heart be what draws me home
Let it be the bed I lay my head to come each nightfall
Girth me, tight
Put a noose on my neck with your culinary
Imprison me with words that soothe the heart, lovely
Enslave me with acts of love for I want to belong. To you
Entomb me in the world of your passions
Lock me in the wonders of love making
Let mystery of your affection forever entice me home
The twinkle in your eye be my homing beacon
Give me space, woman, give me freedom
For there are a billion other I have to meet,
Even my conscience isn't always enjoined with my acts
But be strict with me, for lazing around I would graze around
Lets be more than partners, my woman
Let’s be equals but please subject to my flimsy manly ego
And thine thighs, as thy heart, - open up only to me
And only then can you reign me in. I am yours for the taking
Shackle me lest I wander in fields un-owned
Encircle me in the fence between your hips and heels,
For only then can these eyes see only you
Wrap me in the tentacles of your love
Treat me as your first born son, girl
May your smiling heart be what draws me home
Let it be the bed I lay my head to come each nightfall
Girth me, tight
Put a noose on my neck with your culinary
Imprison me with words that soothe the heart, lovely
Enslave me with acts of love for I want to belong. To you
Entomb me in the world of your passions
Lock me in the wonders of love making
Let mystery of your affection forever entice me home
The twinkle in your eye be my homing beacon
Give me space, woman, give me freedom
For there are a billion other I have to meet,
Even my conscience isn't always enjoined with my acts
But be strict with me, for lazing around I would graze around
Lets be more than partners, my woman
Let’s be equals but please subject to my flimsy manly ego
And thine thighs, as thy heart, - open up only to me
And only then can you reign me in. I am yours for the taking
Thursday, April 22, 2010
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