Fire burning inside of me.

On one freezing evening

My friend Okoth gave me a frantic gaze

And asked amid chattering teeth

“How are you unshaken in such unforgiving climes?”

And I answered with an enigmatic smile

“It’s the fire inside of me,

That lets me lend out my coat in winter

And run naked on the beach on a summer forenoon”

This unquenchable longing

Is the fierce burn that scorches from the inside out.



To the underdogs.

To the belly of the beast

They cast you like vermin

And haul you into winding waters

To drown in eternal misery.

Of your past I don’t know and never wonder

But if my glass of water will ease your pain

Or my smile warm your heart

Then I’ll gladly balm your bruises,

Many have gone to heaven for lesser acts,

Like a flicker in the darkness.

Take me there.

Take me to the seat of compassion

Where the scent of roses

Shall waft away the stench of resentment

And its sweetest nectar

Choke all bitterness of the past

I want out of these haunted rooms

Behind these curtains,

Lots of failed romance.

Take me there

Where beautiful music is made

Let me join in the chorus

And play little drums to blistered fingers

Play my harmonica to ending breath

Take me there.

Where the world stops

When drunk on love brewed by bonfire

And full on roasted game upon it.

Take me there

Where I’d bare all my fears and pain

All my nakedness to the streamlet

“Come swim with me.”

Take me there

Where it is dangerous as it is beautiful

I am not scared by threat of imminent death

For it is better than drawing breath

And not living at all.

Take me there I beg of you.

Make haste we are losing daylight.

Tale of the Handsome young dreamer.

I invented a blissful tale,

Of a handsome young dreamer,

Who traversed these hills,

And stole mama’s heart away

Then dreamt on to distant lands.

I crafted a majestic image,

For when mean boys scolded me at play,

I told them he’s big and strong,

That He’d return and take me upon his shoulder,

Beyond the reach of their scorn.

But when I got home,

I tugged mama’s skirt,

And asked her who he was,

Her face dropped in gloom,

And she pointed me to church.

I dwelt beneath the altar,

Its stones grew moss from my constant tears,

As I prayed my tale would turn true,

I prayed for the handsome dreamer,

And mama’s broken heart.

Unnatural Mother.

All this worry has weakened my knees,

My mind boggled to pulp.

The motherland that nature entrusted to me,

Flogs me and mocks my pacing heart,

Sets on the strangest of climes,

To silence my irrefutable laments.

Indifferent souls with their coldness,

Sets winter on the horn of Africa,

And snow falls black,

With no promise of what lies beneath.

The destitute brought down by hunger,

But heartbreak kills them first

By a most unnatural mother.


Who shall lead us on?

When sages have fled to greed’s breasts

And men feigned all reason

Who shall restore our withered faith?

When cities are strewn with drunk priests.

Therefore you run or die where you fall

Stay up or never wake at all.

For me I’ll find solace in the parting clouds

Just like a loan oak

Amidst the vastness of a wheat farm

I’ll embrace solitude among the meek,

In peace under the ethereal sky.


Wandering Blues.

Wondering blues got my feet,

A darling of strange lands.

No child bearer to bring me home,

Just adventurers illusions to take me yonder,

An unscratchable itch,

And nothing to hold me back.

Living off my guitar case,

Sounds of my plucked strings,

And on my light tongue,

A few tunes and the truth.

A runaway from all mortal concerns

Washed over on stranger banks each day,

Sometimes eyes swole shut,

When it was too late to cower,

From angry hounds upon my heels,

To settle down with their maidens.

And sweethearts wailing on my wake.

But neither the sighs of their hearts,

Nor words of their prayers,

Could prevent my flight.

By sunrise on the morrow,

I’ll be upon the wind, long gone!

Lest my feet transform to solid rock.



Stone cold bedfellow.

On retiring to bedtime

The clock struck ten

And my bedfellow turned to stone

Right by my side,

No turn, no voice and fled of all affection

The clock struck twelve

And the stone grew colder

Froze my fingers on every touch

And skin once warm and soft

Was as hard as it was smooth.

The clock struck on

The longer the colder

So I turned to my mud wall,

And swept it away with bitter tears

In all hopes when sun rises

Would streak its beams through

And scorch my bedfellow back to life.

The clock struck countless hours after

And still wide awake as ever

the morning birds went on

and I sent them murmuring whispers

”O you feathery creatures

Soothe my desire,

And tell my beloved of my longing.”